Sleeper 13: The most explosive must-read thriller of 2018

by Rob Sinclair

  As silently as she could, Cox stepped quickly to the last room and, gun held up, spun into the open doorway, ready to shoot.

  But Cox didn’t fire. Nor did she head for cover. Instead she found herself standing in the doorway, her gun pointed at the head of the man across the other side of the room. One of the men, anyway, because there was a second man – a petrified Kamil Torkal – at the first man’s feet. Blood poured from Kamil’s nose, and a large kitchen knife was pressed up against his throat.

  ‘Aydin,’ she said.

  FORTY-NINE

  When the woman spoke his name, it derailed Aydin for a few seconds as he stood frozen to the spot.

  ‘Aydin, put the knife down,’ she said, her voice calm, though Aydin sensed her nerves. ‘Please. He’s your uncle.’

  At her words Kamil whimpered pathetically. Was his show of fear genuine, or an attempt to make Aydin reconsider what he was going to do to him? Aydin didn’t care – he had to get the truth from his uncle, and he would do that however he could.

  ‘Where’s your aunt?’ the woman asked.

  Aydin said nothing, but the woman’s eyes moved down to the floor, where she could see the feet of his aunt poking out from behind the bed. She was hogtied and unconscious. Aydin had no quarrel with his aunt, he only needed to subdue her – just like the frail, old nurse who was tied up inside a locked cupboard. They’d both get out unharmed, as long as he got what he needed from his uncle.

  ‘Is she alive?’ the woman asked.

  Aydin gave the slightest of nods.

  ‘I can help you,’ she said. ‘In fact, I’m the only person in the world who will right now. Aren’t I?’

  Aydin didn’t bother to point out that the last person who said something similar had ended up with a knife in his heart. And that man had been a friend.

  ‘Aydin, listen to me!’ she said, her voice more purposeful. ‘I know everything. All about the Farm. All about your group.’

  ‘You can’t stop them.’

  ‘No. But maybe you can. You’re not one of them. That’s why you left. It’s why all of this happening, isn’t it?’ Aydin held his tongue. ‘That’s why you’ve travelled across Europe to get here. What are you searching for, Aydin?’

  ‘He’s a psychopath – I told you! What are you waiting for?’ Kamil blurted out.

  Aydin drove a heel into the man’s neck, sending him flying forward, his head cracking off the floor and knocking him out cold.

  Now it was just Aydin and the woman, face to face. If she wanted to shoot, he had little chance with only the knife in his hands. Was this how it needed to end – rightful comeuppance for the things he’d done? He wasn’t sure he deserved anything better.

  Yet dying without knowing the truth – about his father, or sister, and why it was all happening? That couldn’t happen.

  ‘Drop the knife,’ the woman repeated.

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘I’ll lower my gun. Then we can talk.’

  ‘You expect me to believe that? Who do you work for? MI6? Interpol?’

  ‘I said drop the knife, and then we’ll talk. Aydin, I was a friend of Nilay. I know she was searching for you. Looking for answers, just like you are.’

  ‘What?’ he spat.

  ‘Help me find who killed her.’

  Aydin didn’t move; his brain felt like it was on fire.

  ‘Think about Nilay, your mother. They wouldn’t want you to do this.’

  ‘You know nothing about them.’

  ‘I know a lot, actually.’ She looked down at his arm, at the white bandage. ‘You’re hurt. You must realise it’s time to stop running. I know you didn’t kill your mother. You’re not one of them, Aydin.’

  Before he could think better of it, Aydin dropped the knife and it clattered against the stone tiles. Out of the corner of his eye, Aydin noticed his aunt’s head bob groggily and her eyelids flicker.

  ‘So, what now?’ Aydin said, taking a step towards the woman. ‘We have a cup of tea and a quiet chat?’

  The woman looked nervous with Aydin on the move, even though his hands were empty and she had a gun barrel pointed at his face.

  ‘You said you would drop that gun,’ Aydin said. ‘I can’t do this with you pointing that at me.’

  ‘And I can’t trust you just like that, Aydin. First you have to prove you can be trusted.’

  ‘How then?’

  ‘Untie your aunt and uncle. One of them will call the police. Once everyone here is safe, then we’ll talk.’

  ‘I won’t be locked up.’

  ‘You won’t be. But it has to happen like this. Once the police are here I can call my people. They’ll straighten this up, get us both somewhere safe. Then we can figure out what to do next. Figure out how to stop the others before it’s too late.’

  ‘That sounds like I’ve got to place a lot of trust in you first.’

  ‘Aydin, for fuck’s sake! Wake up. The attack is coming. You know it is.’

  Aydin felt his face twitch as her words swam in his head. They’d been weeks away from completing their plans – had his running caused this? But then, how could she know? Was she bluffing to get him to surrender?

  ‘It’s not true,’ Aydin said, rattled.

  ‘How many lives will be lost if we don’t stop them. Hundreds? Thousands? Don’t have that blood on your hands. Please.’

  Her words hit him like a brick. He was overcome with shame. Not because of who he was – he had no choice in that any more – and not because of what he’d done in the past. But because of what he hadn’t done. Since leaving Paris he’d been hell-bent on catching Wahid, in order to find his sister’s and mother’s killer. And making them all pay. He’d not once stopped to think about the attacks. The woman was right. He was surely the only person who could stop it.

  ‘You were just a boy,’ the woman said. ‘None of this is your fault. They made all of this happen. Help me now. For your sister. For your mother.’

  ‘His mother?’ Kamil shouted, taking both Aydin and the woman by surprise. ‘He killed his mother! The boy is a monster, just shoot him!’

  The woman’s eyes flicked to Kamil, giving Aydin the split-second distraction he needed. He crouched low and burst upward, lifting his arm above his head. The woman pulled the trigger but Aydin’s wrist had already slammed into her lower arm, pushing the gun up and sending the bullet into the ceiling above them. The woman moved quickly to defend herself, taking another step back, but even with Aydin’s injuries she was no match for his speed. He snapped the gun from her hand, twisted behind her and kicked out her legs. Before she could respond she was on her knees with one of his arms locked around her neck, choking her, the gun pressed up against the side her head. She pulled on Aydin’s arm, trying to get the room to breathe.

  ‘No, Aydin, don’t!’

  It was his aunt. He looked over. Still hogtied but conscious, she was leaning against the edge of the bed to hold herself upright. His uncle was lucid too and staring at him – well, more like glaring daggers. The hatred coming from the man was unmistakable.

  ‘Please?’ his aunt begged.

  Aydin had no more time for any of their crap. He lifted the gun then brought it down and smashed it against the woman’s skull.

  FIFTY

  Minutes later Aydin had his uncle and the woman shackled in the kitchen. Each of them was tied to an oak dining chair, the chairs tied together, side by side. A line of dried blood snaked down the woman’s head. His aunt was secured in the bedroom, locked in a cupboard, just like the nurse. Aydin just needed those two to stay put, because it was his uncle and this woman who he needed answers from.

  He had the woman’s handbag on the worktop in front of him; a passport in his hand, British, in the name of Joanna Taylor. The picture was of her, but he was certain the name wasn’t real.

  ‘You said you were searching for the truth,’ Aydin said to the woman. ‘Mrs Taylor?’

  She shook her head and mumbled. Aydin moved forward and pulled
the tape from her mouth.

  ‘My name . . . is . . .’ She gasped for air as she tried to speak. ‘Rachel Cox . . . I work for SIS. MI6.’

  Aydin thought hearing that would have troubled him more. It wasn’t that he was feeling confident about his situation, more that he, for the first time, felt resigned to his fate. Between his brothers and the security services, he surely didn’t have much time left.

  ‘You’re alone?’ he asked.

  ‘Do you think if I had a partner they’d let me be tied up like this? I was sent here to find you, Aydin. I want to help you. Don’t do something you’ll regret.’

  Aydin snorted. ‘Something I’ll regret? Have you any idea of the things I’ve had to do?’

  ‘You were taken as a child, weren’t you? You were forced to do things. But you aren’t like the others. You couldn’t accept the things you were being told to do – then or now. It’s not too late.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Cox’s phone vibrated on the worktop.

  ‘That’s HQ,’ Cox said. ‘They know I came here. If they don’t hear from me they’ll know something is wrong. They’ll send help. They won’t think twice about killing you now, Aydin. Unless I call them off.’

  ‘Then I’d better be quick.’

  Aydin snatched the pliers from the marble counter. Cox’s eyes widened in surprise, but she needn’t worry – he wasn’t going for her yet.

  His uncle began panting in horrified expectation. Aydin knelt down and pulled the sock from Kamil’s left foot as the man rasped and begged. He couldn’t move his foot at all, and the skin around his ankle was heavily discoloured from the strength of the ties, but he would still be able to feel the pain.

  Aydin took Kamil’s big toe and clasped the pliers over the edge of the thick nail. This wasn’t just about finding the truth, it was about revenge too – but he had to push the primal need for vengeance away.

  ‘I only want to know why,’ Aydin said.

  ‘No!’ Cox shouted. ‘Please, Aydin.’

  ‘Why what?’ his uncle blubbered.

  ‘You knew about the Farm, didn’t you? You knew what they’d do to me there.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about! You . . . her . . . she said the same thing. You’re both crazy!’

  Aydin looked to Cox, who nodded, as if confirming what his uncle was saying.

  ‘Nilay came to visit you,’ Aydin said. ‘Why?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her in years.’

  Aydin tugged on the nail, just enough to tear the edge away from the skin. Enough to remind his uncle of the position he was in. He screamed – perhaps more in anticipation of what was still to come.

  ‘And what about Ismail Obbadi?’ Aydin asked. ‘Or perhaps you know him as Wahid?’

  ‘What . . .’ Cox said. Aydin saw the look of confusion on her face. But she didn’t say anything else about it. He turned his attention back to his uncle.

  ‘Aydin, don’t cross this line!’ Cox screamed.

  ‘You’re a liar!’ Aydin shouted at Kamil as he struggled to keep his growing rage inside. Yet the look of confusion in his uncle’s eyes . . . Could Aydin really be so mistaken?

  ‘He’s telling the truth,’ Cox said. ‘He hasn’t seen them – he told me the same thing. He wouldn’t lie to you now, Aydin, like this.’

  ‘What would you know?’ Aydin said, spitting the words.

  ‘More than you realise. I’m serious, this isn’t the way. I want to find out who killed Nilay just as much as you do, but not like this.’

  ‘I’m not lying to you,’ Kamil butted in, his words quivery as the tears flowed down his face. ‘We were devastated when we heard about Nilay. And when we heard about your mother.’

  ‘I didn’t kill her!’ Aydin screamed, so loud it made his throat sting. ‘But you know that, don’t you? Because it was the people you work for who did it!’

  ‘No! I don’t understand––’

  Aydin couldn’t believe either of them. The truth would out.

  He gripped the pliers on Kamil’s toenail once more. Two or three nails would be all it took before the man crumbled and spat out everything he knew.

  Just then, a bang and a clunk from somewhere outside the house made Aydin freeze. Both his uncle and Cox took notice. Kamil’s eyes darted about. Cox looked wary. There was no way his aunt or the maid had freed themselves and raised the alarm. Someone else was out there.

  This was down to Cox.

  Aydin growled in anger and scrambled to his feet. But the next second the kitchen window smashed and a small metallic canister clattered and rolled across the tiles towards them.

  Aydin had only enough time to cower and cover his face before the grenade exploded.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Aydin heard noises. Tinny and distant, the sound swirled in his brain without any sense of direction, as though he was caught in an endless spiral, twisting round and round and out of control. All he could see was white – an intense white that seemed to set his eyeballs alight.

  The seconds passed as Aydin slowly regained his senses. The wall of white faded and he saw shapes, both moving and static. The sounds gained focus and direction, and he realised they were voices. Men shouting, giving orders.

  It was a flash-bang grenade, he realised. Non-lethal, flash-bangs delivered a thundering boom and a bright flash or light to incapacitate rather than to kill. The perfect assault weapon where hostages were involved, but certainly not the type of weapon a regular police team would carry.

  So who the hell was attacking?

  Aydin battled through the torment in his head and scrambled to his feet. He saw Rachel Cox and his uncle in front of him, still bound to their chairs. Cox was stirring, his uncle was still. Aydin sensed movement behind him. As he crawled for cover, he realised the gun he’d taken from Cox had come loose. He managed to scoop it up from the floor and fire one shot back to the kitchen doorway as he skidded along the ground, just as a black-clad figure came into view through the smoke.

  Was it smoke? Or just the effect of the wall of white that was still burned onto his retinas?

  He expected raking gunfire to follow his moves. But no, these men were too careful, and the figure simply ducked back out of sight. With captives inside they weren’t going to fire indiscriminately.

  Instead, possibly worse for Aydin, he heard that same clatter again as another grenade was lobbed into the room. His brain couldn’t take another blast like that. He’d be out for the count and dragged from there before he even woke up.

  Aydin lunged towards the broken kitchen window just as the grenade exploded behind him. The shockwave shoved him forward and, as he lifted up his arms and smashed through the remainder of the window, something tore at the flesh of his upper arm, before he found himself tumbling into a hedge in the daylight outside.

  It was a struggle to fight through the pain and the debilitating effects of the blasts, but he didn’t have time to wait for recovery. Plundering the depths of his reserve, he dragged himself upright, lifted his gun and looked left and right. There was a man barely three yards away from him, dressed in heavy combat gear – and he’d spotted Aydin.

  Aydin opened fire. Two shots. One high, one low. The high shot hit the man’s Kevlar vest and was enough to send him off balance. The low shot hit him on an unprotected thigh, and he crumpled to the ground.

  Aydin re-aimed and fired at another black figure, several yards further away on the gravel driveway. Two more shots. One miss, one leg shot. Neither man was down for good, all Aydin needed was breathing space.

  Hauling himself to his feet, he burst into a sprint, scanning for more dark masses as he moved. He reached the first guy he’d shot, grabbed under his vest and dragged him further into the tree line to the side of the house. He was still awake, and groaning. Aydin stomped on his face to shut him up. As quickly as he could he removed the vest and took the man’s sidearm. The assault rifle was too unwieldy – he just needed more ammo.
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br />   Just as he was putting on the vest two more black figures came into view in the distance, searching the grounds. They knew Aydin was out of the house. Pretty soon the whole team, however many there were, would be swarming around him.

  Maybe he’d be better off going back inside and grabbing Cox or his uncle. A hostage could help him. But where would he go after that?

  He cast the idea away – he just needed to escape. He grabbed a grenade from the belt of the wounded agent, pulled the pin and hurled it towards the house, hoping the effects of the explosion would buy him a few more seconds. He turned and quickly moved further into the thick of the garden, away from the house and closer to the outer wall, just as the blast erupted. He was at the opposite side to where he’d left his motorbike but he just needed to get off the property as soon as possible.

  Shit. Only then did he realise he’d left his backpack in the house. Itnashar’s computer. The thumb drive. The money. Wahid’s passports. Everything that had got him this far. But he couldn’t risk going back. Somehow, he’d have to make do.

  He reached the wall. The trees and bushes gave him good cover from the house, but the outline of several dark figures loomed in the distance, moving in and out beyond the bushes as they closed in.

  Aydin grimaced in pain as he scaled the wall. The fresh wound on his arm was bleeding badly, and it felt like he’d re-opened the cut on his leg again, or perhaps sustained a fresh one during the escape.

  Dense foliage cushioned his jump from the top, and he immediately moved forward, the gun he’d just pilfered held in both hands – the spare tucked into his waistband.

  There was no sign of the assault team as he reached the track that led back to the main road – no vehicles, no men, no sounds. But he knew they couldn’t be far behind.

  He hobbled down the road as fast as he could, looking back every couple of steps. When he reached the crossroad he headed right, opposite from the way he’d come, and moved into the middle of the road. He needed a vehicle, and the best bet was to simply stop one. He heard a car engine behind him, looked and saw a black SUV. It wasn’t racing towards him, ready to mow him down. It wasn’t them.