Act of Betrayal

by Matthew Dunn

  “They have no leads to go on.”

  “So we wait until Cochrane makes his move.”

  A trout broke the surface of the lake yards away from the jetty.

  “The fish are getting agitated.” Antaeus turned to Stein. “Are you sure you haven’t been followed by Gage’s team to my house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I want you to lay low nearby. I don’t know for how long.”

  “I have limited funds and—”

  “When we go back inside, I will give you cash, a mobile phone with my number stored in it, and a sidearm with spare magazines.”

  “You agree with my idea?”

  Antaeus nodded. “If Cochrane puts his head above the parapet, give Gage and her team hell.”

  The former spies walked into the living room. Stein smoothed his hand over Mr. Peres’s fur. “Try not to slow me down, my friend.”

  “He can stay here.”

  Stein was surprised. “That’s too kind and unnecessary.”

  “The Bureau grabbed you because you were fleeing with Mr. Peres.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Deduction.” Antaeus walked to the dog and placed two hands over his body. “Crystal loves dogs. It will be a pleasure to have Mr. Peres here.” He ran his hands over the full length of the dog’s back, an intense expression on his face. “He has arthritis, no doubt.”

  “And cancer.”

  “Who told you he had cancer?”

  “A surgeon in Tel Aviv.”

  Antaeus shook his head. “Your dog is predominantly Labrador. Cancer in that breed typically manifests itself as lumps on the skin. Did the vet take a biopsy?”

  “No. He said it wasn’t worth the effort.”

  “He wrote your pet off.”

  “I wanted to get a second opinion in the States. But it was hard because—”

  “You needed to stay under the radar. Going to a vet would have required documentation.” The dog was sleeping. Antaeus said, “I qualified as a vet before joining the Russian service.” Antaeus stroked a finger along Mr. Peres’s jaw. “He will die soon, but hopefully not as quickly as you may think. Leave him with me. I will do tests and care for him. When this is over, you’ll have quality time with him.”

  Stein was confused. “Why would you do this for me?”

  Antaeus pointed at the dog. “What is the difference between him and us? We help each other when we can.”

  “What will you do?”

  Antaeus moved away from Mr. Peres. “Once the biopsy is done, I will examine the cells. I don’t wish to give you false hope, but there is a possibility the tumors under his skin are benign. That said, why is he wheezing and passing blood?”

  “You know about the blood?”

  “Look at my rug.”

  There were bloodstains around the dog’s groin.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Nonsense. It’s no one’s fault.” Antaeus grabbed a bag and gave it to Stein. “Everything you need is in here.”

  Stein took the bag, his expression amused. “You anticipated the next move?”

  “I’ve anticipated the next several moves. Take the bag, lie low, only use the phone to call me. If it rings, whatever number, it will be me calling you. Go now!”

  Howard Kane was in his Pentagon office.

  Flail was the only person with him. The ex–Green Beret said, “There’s always been rumors about Haden crossing the line, but on paper he has an impeccable military career. My men are wondering if we should just leave him alone. I may not be like Haden, but I don’t want to kick the hornet’s nest.”

  Kane was in a crisp white shirt and pressed pants. He circulated his office while speaking as if he were a lecturer addressing a student. “Nothing differentiates you.”

  “Everything differentiates Haden from me and men like me!” Flail wondered about grabbing Kane’s shirt. “People like you don’t get it. I work for a living. But when the day is done I go home and suck a Bud and wish I’d gotten better grades at school so I never had to join the army. Haden’s different. You know of Paddy Mayne?”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Given you’re head of spec ops Pentagon, you should make it your business to know of him. World War II, North Africa. A whiz kid British lieutenant called David Stirling comes up with a radical idea to form an unconventional unit called the Special Air Service. He gets permission from high command to form the tiny unit, supported by the Brits’ Long Range Desert Group—guys expert in desert navigation and transportation behind enemy lines. The SAS’s first mission was a parachute drop. They didn’t know what they were doing. Half of them died in the drop, many of them getting killed as their parachutes dragged them across the desert after landing. Catastrophe. But Stirling was adamant they had to succeed in order to maintain the existence of the SAS. In their next missions they destroyed more German planes than the RAF ever did in Africa. They sneaked into air bases, put Lewes bombs on fighter planes, ran as the bombs exploded.”

  “Your point?!”

  “Stirling only recruited brilliant types. And he didn’t want anyone who just obeyed orders. He wanted thinkers. The Green Berets, Delta, and Rangers wouldn’t be where they’re at now were it not for Stirling’s ingenuity.”

  Kane was getting exasperated. “I don’t need a history lesson.”

  “But you do need to know about Paddy Mayne.” Flail towered over Kane. “It was very tough for the Brits out there. The SAS lost a lot of men in their small gang. Officers came and went. And then Stirling, now a major, spotted Mayne. Paddy was a rebel in the army, but superb. Well schooled, excellent at sports, and a natural leader. Stirling made Mayne his second in command. Thing was, though, one night after an aircraft destroy mission, Mayne and two other men entered the German barracks and shot all the soldiers in cold blood. He wasn’t authorized to do so. The Germans were unarmed. It was a slaughter.”

  Kane was silent.

  Flail continued. “Stirling knew Mayne was a sociopath. But he needed him. It was war. Colonel Haden is Paddy Mayne, at least in type. They cross the line but it’s tolerated. Don’t for one second think I’m like that.”

  Kane moved away from Flail. “And yet you can chop up a U.S. senator and feed her to pigs.”

  Flail was silent.

  “What happened to Mayne?”

  “He died after the war. Crashed his car into a wall.”

  “An accident?”

  “Boredom. He’d turned to drink. He was blind drunk when he died.”

  Kane folded his arms and leaned against a windowsill, staring at Flail. “Warmongers, sociopaths—call them what you will—need an excuse to kill. I’m fairly certain I’m looking at a sociopath right now.”

  Flail took a step forward.

  Kane held up his hand. “And that’s not a problem. You do what you’re told. And you serve the higher purpose. What kicks you get out of it are of no consequence to me.”

  “You know nothing about me!”

  Kane was unfazed. “I know you garroted three women in Syria to get a tribal leader to confess to the location of his IEDs.” Before Flail could respond, Kane continued. “Like I said, it’s of no consequence to me. That is the past and you will answer for your crimes at the gates of heaven. Meanwhile, I need rough men to help innocents sleep peacefully in their beds.”

  “You’re not Winston Churchill.”

  “And neither are you. But here we are.”

  Flail backed away. “I can forgive Haden for his war crimes. I can’t forgive him for lining his pocket in Berlin.”

  “A soldier’s code of conduct.” Kane laughed and then grew quiet. The Pentagon knew Flail and his three former Green Beret colleagues were working for him. Officially they were on the payroll as consultants. But the Pentagon had no idea what they really did for Kane. And Flail and his team had only partial knowledge of what was really happening. Kane alone carried the burden of fully understanding the truth, and it had to remain top secret. “The
priority is Will Cochrane.”

  “The Berlin shooter.”

  Kane nodded. “You’ve now met him twice. You know his face. Don’t buy that crap that he’s a private investigator working for Mrs. Haden. It’s far worse than that. He’s an ex–special operative and spy. Half American, half Brit.”

  “SAS and MI6?”

  “MI6, yes. But no, he wasn’t UK SF.”

  “Foreign Legion, then into GCP?”

  “Groupement des Commandos Parachutistes. That was his SF career. Then black ops for the French intelligence services. Cambridge University after his tour ended. MI6 after that. Joint with the CIA in more recent years. The toughest and most intelligent operator we’ve ever produced.”

  “Something went wrong?”

  “He made too many enemies. Now he’s on the run.”

  Flail was absorbing the information. “Sounds like he’s not running away right now.”

  “Exactly.” Kane had never met Cochrane, and Cochrane didn’t know of Kane’s role in the Berlin job. But Kane recalled with stark clarity what Unwin Fox had said to him before the mission.

  If we activate Cochrane, there will be no going back. He won’t take orders from me, you, Haden, anyone. Are you willing to take that risk?

  Kane was deep in thought. “We need to neutralize Cochrane before we can get to Haden. So we set a trap.”

  Flail replied, “A trap?”

  “Mobilize your team. You’ll need all four of you to take on Cochrane.”

  “Where and how?”

  Kane placed his hand against his chin. “Cochrane’s doing a mop-up job. Unwin Fox’s house, Elizabeth Haden’s house. But I know for a fact the trail runs dry there. He’ll have no choice other than to keep Elizabeth Haden under observation. That’s where we get him.”

  Flail laughed. “Dead or interrogated, or both?”

  Kane’s expression was earnest as he said, “This is no joking matter. Capture Cochrane, find out where Haden is, then kill Cochrane.”

  Chapter 20

  Pete Duggan and Marsha Gage unholstered their sidearms and approached the house.

  It was night. Kopański and Painter were at the rear of the house, their guns also ready for action.

  All of them had so much to lose by this act.

  Gage had her ascendancy to the top job in the Bureau in jeopardy. That didn’t bother her. Not providing for her husband and two kids did.

  Duggan had alimony to pay from a previous marriage and kids from his new lovely marriage to support.

  Single father Kopański was saving up to send his injured daughter to a sanctuary in Hawaii.

  Painter wanted to help him with that task.

  But tonight they were cops. Nothing got in the way of the job.

  A fox screeched as Duggan and Gage approached the house, both silent, knowing they could be shot on approach if not careful. Duggan was in the lead, his body low, pistol in both hands. Lights were on inside the house, which was modest in size and functional. Around them were trees and a few other properties. Duggan and Gage crossed the deserted road in front of the house and reached the front door. Duggan squatted to one side of the entrance and gestured to Gage to approach.

  Gage knocked three times on the door.

  Twenty seconds later, a man responded without opening the door. “Who is it?”

  Gage said, “FBI. Open up.”

  “If you’re FBI, put your guns away. I’m a detective with the Virginia PD. I’m armed and authorized to shoot people I don’t like on this property. If you’re not FBI, come in and get a bullet in your brain.”

  “We’re FBI. We’re here to help.” Gage glanced at Duggan before returning her attention to the door. “We can’t put our guns away unless you can prove you’re law enforcement.”

  “And I can’t put my gun away until I can prove you’re FBI!”

  Gage asked, “Is this your home, or are you working here?”

  “None of your damn business. Give me your name and shield ID.”

  Gage did so and added, “Don’t open the door until you’ve checked my credentials. Call my ID into the Bureau.”

  There was silence for five minutes before the man said, “Your ID checks out, but that says shit. You could be an impersonator.”

  “So could you. I want your identity.”

  The detective told her who he was.

  Duggan trained his handgun on the door while Gage called Virginia PD. The department wouldn’t verify anything to her, but made a call to the FBI, who in turn called Gage and then the detective.

  Gage called out, “You’re running a safe house. I didn’t know that. You check out and I check out. Our guns are in our holsters.” She and Duggan holstered their weapons. “There are two of us out front, two of us in the backyard. Looks like we’ve stumbled on something that might interest you. Please, let us in. You can keep your gun on us until you see we’re no threat.”

  The door opened. A tall detective had his weapon trained on Gage. At the end of the corridor behind him, a second detective had his pistol pointing toward the backyard window.

  “Agent Gage, you’d better be who you say you are. Who’s your colleague?”

  “Pete Duggan, FBI Hostage Rescue Team.” Gage held her hands up. “We had no idea what this place was. We’ve been working a national case that brought us to this town. We should swap notes.”

  “Two armed Feds entering the zone,” shouted the detective to his partner. “I’ve got them covered. Stay on point for the rear.”

  The second detective didn’t flinch, maintaining his guard on the yard. Somewhere out there were Kopański and Painter, though it was impossible to see them in the darkness.

  The detective in front of Gage and Duggan said to the Feds, “Your credentials check out. But know this: I have a duty to protect this property. You do anything dumb, I can pull my trigger.” He kept his sidearm pointed at Gage. “No court in the land will convict me for gunning down two Feds. There’s an overriding reason for that. One that I’m not going to share with you.”

  The detective didn’t know that Gage knew all about the safe house that contained Faye Glass and Billy and Tom Koenig. She had the highest security rating on all matters Will Cochrane and had known about the house ever since Cochrane faked his death.

  The detective backed away, keeping his gun on the Feds. “Enter. Every move in this house is orchestrated by me. Got it?”

  Gage and Duggan nodded.

  Duggan estimated he could withdraw his ACP and kill the cop in under a second. But he kept his hands high.

  “Can we go to the kitchen? Or somewhere else you think is neutral ground?” Gage walked along the corridor, Duggan by her side.

  “Kitchen will do just fine.” The detective backed into the room. “I need better proof of identity. Bill, time to take a risk. Get off point and use your cell to get the Bureau to send you photos of Agents Gage and Duggan.”

  The detective immediately complied, once again using Virginia PD to make the request through official channels. It took ten minutes. The images were e-mailed to Bill’s phone. “Checks out. They’re one and the same.”

  The detective holding the gun on the Bureau officers said, “Get your people out of the yard and bring them in here. Do it now!”

  Gage called Painter. Twenty seconds later, the former NYPD cops were in the room.

  The two Virginia detectives guarding the house stood before Gage’s team and lowered their weapons. “You tell us why you’re here. Then you leave and forget you were ever here.”

  Gage walked up to the senior detective. “The Bureau has been working a narco case. I’ve been in charge. There’s a guy down the street who’s been pumping around five million dollars of drugs per month into the East Coast. We want to bust him, but only when we’ve got enough evidence.”

  “And we’re in the middle.”

  Gage looked around. “Now I can see why.”

  “I’m sure you can.”

  “There are other people sleep
ing here.”

  “Your assumption, but I’m going to give you a no-comment on that.”

  Gage understood that the two detectives guarding Glass and the Koenig twins were exceptional. Still, she had to dupe them over. “We’ve had teams on rotation working this area and others. Surveillance. Intercept. You know the drill. Thing is, though, when you watch someone covertly, sometimes you see other things unconnected to what you’re doing.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning there’s been a man watching this house for five days. We don’t know who he is.”

  The detective looked urgently at his partner. To Gage, he asked, “You have a photo?”

  Gage shook her head. “Only visuals, but at night.”

  The detective dashed to his attaché case and withdrew a photo. It was of Will Cochrane.

  “This man?”

  Gage faked confusion. “I’ve never seen this man before. The person watching your house is around five-eight, probably dark haired, slim build. It’s hard to tell because we’ve only seen your stalker in the dark, but the guy in this photo looks very different. Who is he?”

  “Classified.” The detective put the photo in his pocket. “But answer me this. We’re worried about a man who’s six feet four inches. Is there any possibility that you’ve mistaken the stalker’s height?”

  “None.”

  The detective turned to his partner. “This can’t be random.”

  “I agree.”

  “Accomplice? Blast from the past? Revenge? Whatever. Shit. We need to move.”

  Gage approached him. “I don’t need to know the details. A safe house has become unsafe. Take your cares somewhere else. Don’t tell me where. No doubt you’ll have options.”

  The detective was as alert as could be. “Takes fifteen minutes for backup! Is the Bureau willing to help Virginia PD?”

  Gage nodded.

  “Perimeter while we evacuate!” The detective ran into bedrooms. “Out! Out!”

  Kopański, Painter, and Duggan guarded entrances, while the detectives woke Glass and the twins.

  Bleary-eyed, Faye Glass entered the kitchen. “Who are you?” she asked Gage.

  “Help. Essential items only. We have a threat.”