‘They don’t do animated, Peter.’ The Director steepled his fingers and looked over the points. ‘Did he ask why Sir Andrew was in custody?’
‘He asked if he was helping us with our inquiries.’
‘Probably some British joke. Routh Limited is a major player on the world scene, though. What was Frogget doing in custody?’
Sebastian felt the strength of his superior’s gaze. ‘He was caught with an underage hooker. I took the opportunity to squeeze him about Rothmann and Woodbridge Holdings.’
‘Did you now? Routh was involved, of course.’
‘It was Woodbridge’s main investment bank.’
‘Did he tell you anything?’
‘He gave us some names. We’re checking them out.’
‘Do you have a list?’
Sebastian handed over a printed page, which the Director scanned.
‘Some more big names here,’ he said, putting the sheet down. ‘You had better exercise caution.’
‘We will. I take it you approve the investigation?’
‘Oh, certainly. Good work.’ The Director looked at his computer screen and then back at Sebastian. ‘Was there anything else? I have to look over my speech to the UN Climate Change Conference…. I hope your unit is running energy-efficient vehicles.’
Surprised, Sebastian stood up, but swallowed the laugh he’d been about to let loose. It seemed the Director was serious.
‘Down!’ I yelled, diving to the soft ground. I looked to my right. Two of the Pakistanis were lying crumpled and motionless, the rest desperately taking cover. Spurts of earth were flying up as automatic weapons fire continued to rain down.
‘This is murder!’ the major screamed.
‘Keep them down!’ I yelled back. In the distance, I could see Sara crawling forward, having jettisoned one of her spears. ‘When the fire turns on us, get them to crawl back.’
The Pakistani officer nodded, his cap at an angle.
I pulled myself forward by my elbows. Before I had gone five yards, bullets began to spit into the ground around me. At least that would give the Pakistanis a chance to retreat. Ahead of me was a broken-down cart that looked like it had survived the Civil War, though only just. I took cover behind it and watched as Sara dived into a trench that ran alongside the meandering river. Spouts of water flew up from it as the defenders tried to hit her.
I crawled to the front of the cart, hearing bullets thud into the wood. The original dashboard was hanging loose at the far side. I managed to put my shoulder to the near side and detach it completely. It was about five feet long and two feet wide, and would provide reasonable protection. Now I felt like a Homeric hero behind his shield. I stuck the sword I’d picked up into my belt and lifted the board; fortunately there was a length of wood in the center that served as a grip. Taking my spear in the other hand, I stood up and made for the two-story building. By the time I got there, the wooden panel was holed and splintered, but it had done its job. Apart from a new parting in my hair and a shallow furrow in my thigh, I was unhurt. But I was pissed off in a big way, and my feet hurt like a bastard. Someone was going to pay.
I pulled myself over the remains of a window frame and threw the spear at a man in a hawk’s head. It pinned him to a door at shoulder level, causing him to drop the Kalashnikov he’d raised at me. I ran forward and grabbed the weapon. He was groaning, but the wound didn’t look mortal. There were ammunition clips in his pockets and I relieved him of those.
‘Who are you?’ I asked, as I tried to pull the door open.
‘Indian Army, Sixteenth Rifle Battalion,’ he gasped, trying to pull the spear out with his other hand.
‘I’d leave that where it is if I were you,’ I said, pulling his hand away. ‘How many are you?’
‘Forty plus two…three officers.’
Shit. We were seriously outnumbered. I heard bursts of fire beyond the door. After a few seconds, only one weapon was being fired. Then I heard Sara’s voice.
I managed to get the door open and raise the Kalashnikov as three men in turbans charged toward me. I gave them a blast in front of their feet.
‘Drop your weapons!’ I ordered, watching as rifles like mine hit the uneven floor. ‘Now turn round and go back the way you came.’
‘No, no!’ one of them gasped, his eyes wide. ‘She is a demon.’
He was right there, but I reckoned I could restrain Sara. I beckoned them forward.
Sara was in the next room, swinging a pair of Kalashnikovs at a crowd of cowering Indians. Beyond her, through the shattered wall, I could see other turbaned figures making their escape, the river reaching up to their thighs. There were several men lying motionless on the ground.
‘Oh, there you are,’ she said, looking at me blankly. I had no idea what zone she was in, but I hoped I would never go there. Blood was dripping from her right arm and there was a crimson stain on her abdomen.
‘Are you all right?’
She followed the direction of my gaze. ‘Just scratched,’ she said, looking round her captives again. ‘These fuckers were firing live rounds.’
‘I noticed. Where are the officers?’
A dark-skinned man with a huge mustache stood up slowly. ‘Lieutenant-Colonel V. J. Singh.’ His gaze dropped. ‘My colleagues are dead.’
‘What the fuck were you doing?’ I demanded. ‘This is supposed to be a training exercise.’
The officer held my gaze. ‘Who said that? We were told that live rounds were necessary. The attackers are convicted murderers, are they not?’
I stared at him in amazement. ‘You mean you signed up to kill people?’
‘This is the great virtue of Cerberus Security, is it not?’ he said, looking less sure of himself. ‘We can give our men experience of real action.’
I glanced at Sara. ‘Ever heard of Cerberus Security?’
She shook her head. ‘Sound like nice people to do business with.’
Cerberus was obviously a company with a lot to hide, hence the absence of signs at the entrance to the camp. But we had other things to worry about, such as staying alive.
‘Do you want to know who the people you shot at really were?’ I asked the colonel, not waiting for an answer. ‘Pakistani mountain troops.’
His eyes opened extremely wide. ‘What? Oh, my God…’ As I’d hoped, he had realized the seriousness of the situation. The neighboring countries were at loggerheads, both of them nuclear powers, and he was responsible for several Pakistani deaths. If that wasn’t a de facto declaration of war, I didn’t know what would be.
Everyone ducked as machine-gun fire raked the ruins from the front. Four Indian soldiers fell, two of them screaming and the others beyond that.
‘Okay,’ I said, crouching beside the colonel. ‘You can see the shit storm you’re in. Cerberus Security has obviously decided you can’t be allowed to live. Either you fight back or you die.’
He looked at me gravely, then nodded. ‘Sergeants, to me,’ he commanded.
Two men came over, bending double to avoid the fire that continued to ring out.
I listened as he gave them orders. A third of his men were to provide covering fire, while the rest were split into three sections to storm the next line of defenses, which were silhouetted against the fiery red backdrop.
I crawled over to Sara. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Never better,’ she said, breathing heavily.
‘Stay here. I’ll come back for you when we break through.’
‘If you get through.’ Her face was drenched in sweat. ‘I’m coming with you, Matt.’ She bit her lower lip till blood dripped from it. ‘Just one thing. If I…if I don’t make it…’
‘You’ll make it,’ I interrupted. Now it didn’t seem to matter what she’d done in the past—the fight for both of us to survive was all. I pulled myself up.
‘We are ready,’ the colonel said, clutching a Kalashnikov.
I nodded, my eyes still on Sara. ‘Stay close to me,’ I said, my mouth to he
r ear.
She smiled slackly. ‘I always have been, Matt.’
I had just enough time to register the truth of that before the guns opened up on either side of us.
Thirty-Two
Heinz Rothmann watched as the men in fatigues and turbans charged across the open ground in three formations. It was brave, proving that untermenschen could sometimes fight as Aryans, but completely insane. They went down like ninepins, some screaming and others immediately caught in contorted positions. Apollyon had placed him at the front of the ramparts, with a man holding a bayonet to his back, seemingly unconcerned if he took a bullet from the men who were firing from the rear—the attackers themselves didn’t have time to loose many shots. Fortunately he remained unscathed, at least until a burst rattled off the wall in front of him. He looked down and saw Matt Well’s persecutor with the short blond hair point a Kalashnikov at him. He moved to his right and heard bullets thump into the chest of his captor.
He ducked down behind the low parapet, trying to understand what was happening. Another burst of fire chipped stone from the wall. The woman was still aiming at him—he could see that from a space between the bricks. Then he took a boot in the side, was knocked flat and pulled upright again.
‘Hiding like the heretical rat you are!’ Apollyon shouted, before letting loose fire from his machine-pistol.
Heinz Rothmann stood beside the new Master of the Antichurch, willing bullets to cut the bearded man down. He couldn’t see the blonde woman anymore, but Matt Wells was leading a small group of turbaned soldiers toward the wall on the right. What was the Englishman doing in the same attack as the woman who wanted his soul?
‘Stand fast, you cowards!’ screamed Apollyon, shooting over the heads of defenders who were running toward the door in the huge red screen to the rear. ‘Stand fast!’ The assassin pulled Rothmann down as more fire was concentrated on them.
‘I think…I think we’re on our own,’ Rothmann said.
‘I’ve still got plenty of clips.’ Apollyon slotted another into his weapon.
‘I can help. Give me a gun.’
‘And lose my life instantly?’
‘I won’t shoot you. That woman is the dangerous one. She’ll kill us both.’
The bearded man dragged him over to a low wall that had been built to provide cover. ‘All right. Take the pistol from my belt. Do you know how to use it?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Rothmann racked the Glock’s slide and ducked his head as the woman came onto the roof.
Boots pounded up the stairs on the other side and clipped commands rang out.
‘They’re behind that wall, Matt,’ the woman called. ‘Apollyon and Rothmann.’
The bearded man stuck his weapon above the wall and fired in her direction.
‘Not even close,’ she taunted. ‘You’re losing your touch.’
‘Apollyon!’ Matt Wells shouted. ‘Send Rothmann out. I’m not interested in you.’
‘Maybe,’ the assassin yelled back. ‘But the blonde bitch is.’
‘Send Rothmann out,’ Wells repeated.
‘Fuck you. The heretic is mine.’
Heinz Rothmann kept his head down. He was in what looked like an impossible situation, but he still had some cards to play. All he needed was the courage to make the first move. He mouthed a prayer to the Lord Lucifer and thought of his dead sister. It was time he exacted the blood price for her.
Faster than he believed he was able, Rothmann put the muzzle of the pistol to Apollyon’s abdomen and fired three shots.
Peter Sebastian was no fool. When he received the summons from Valerie Hinton, he declined to meet her at the rural Maryland diner. Even if he hadn’t been a devotee of spy movies, he would have known that going to a rendezvous in an out-of-the-way place with a CIA operative whose orders you’ve disobeyed was asking for trouble. He told her that he would meet her in a large all-night café near Union Station in half an hour. That would put her in an even worse temper, which he could work to his advantage.
Before he left the Hoover Building, he called Arthur Bimsdale into his office.
‘Where are we with the list of Rothmann’s backers?’
The young agent opened a cardboard folder. ‘For the foreign-based companies, I’ve asked our local people to provide full reports ASAP.’
‘Full reports, as in what illicit activities we can use to put the squeeze on them?’
Bimsdale gave him an uncertain look. ‘Are you sure we should be proceeding in such a—’
‘Do you want to ask the Director about that?’
‘Em, no, sir.’ Bimsdale looked at his watch. ‘We should hear from the Far East in a few hours.’
‘And the American companies?’
‘There are only three. The financial crime unit is working up reports on the hedge funds Escorial and Lemas, and I’ve got the San Francisco field office on Tuffet and Co.’
‘There are more, of course. Sir Andrew didn’t give us them all.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Bimsdale said, closing the folder. ‘If you say so, sir.’
Sebastian got up. ‘I’ll be out for an hour or so. You should get some sleep.’
His assistant smothered a yawn. ‘Maybe I will get my head down on your sofa, if that’s okay.’
‘Whatever.’
As Sebastian drove the short distance to the railway station, he tried to come up with a strategy. Assuming Valerie Hinton knew about Sir Andrew’s death, she was going to be seriously unimpressed. Then again, maybe he was tying his gut in knots unnecessarily. How would she have heard already? It wouldn’t be the first time she had presented him with information that was classified within the Bureau. Except, in this case, she would probably have heard from her contacts in the British Embassy. The Agency had its fingers well up the asses of all the U.S.’s allies.
Valerie Hinton had already arrived. Wearing a black hat with a low brim, she was sitting at the rear of the joint, a tall cup in front of her.
‘You’re late,’ she said accusingly. ‘And it’s the middle of the night.’
‘At least you didn’t have to drive out to Maryland.’ A waitress put a cup on the table for him and filled it with coffee.
The CIA operative waited till they were alone and gave him a piercing look. ‘You owe me an explanation. What was Sir Andrew Frogget doing in the Hoover Building?’
Sebastian knew he had a little room to play hardball. He had no idea if Valerie had kids—he suspected she was married to the job—but even she might have a conscience. ‘He was caught abusing a thirteen-year-old girl.’
Her expression didn’t change. ‘Who your team just happened to be monitoring.’
‘No, we were monitoring him.’
‘After I specifically told you to keep away from him?’
He raised his shoulders. ‘Sometimes you have to do what seems right.’
Valerie Hinton spat the green liquid she was drinking back into the cup. ‘Don’t give me that shit, Peter. At all times you have to do what we tell you. Otherwise, adios career.’
‘Woodbridge Holdings was dirty—brainwashing, a Nazi militia, the attempt on the President’s life. Ergo, the people who backed the company are dirty, too. I wouldn’t have thought the Agency would be so interested in protecting them.’
‘Don’t presume to think you understand what’s going on here. I’ll crush you.’
Sebastian stared at her dully and stood up. ‘Do your worst, Valerie. I’m going ahead with this investigation.’ He walked away. When he was outside, he looked back through the plate glass and saw that she was on her cell phone—probably trying to get her superior to pull strings with the Director. He had no fears there. The former admiral had told the spooks to keep their hands to themselves in the past and he had invested too much in the Rothmann investigation to pull it now.
He got into his car and put the key in the ignition.
‘Put your hands on your thighs, please.’
Peter Sebastian looked around in amazement. ‘Arthur?�
�
That was his last word. A well-honed knife cut his windpipe and his chest immediately felt like two strong hands were crushing it. He thought of Matt Wells. Had he found Heinz Rothmann, or was the bastard going to remain at large?
Then his soul went lamenting into the dark.
I heard the three shots and assumed that Apollyon had disposed of Rothmann. Then, to my surprise, the Nazi piece of shit stood up, a Glock dangling by the trigger-guard from one of his raised hands.
‘Drop it!’ Sara yelled. ‘Now!’
Rothmann obeyed the order. There was dirt on his face, but the two livid scars were still prominent. He looked badly shaken as he came out from behind the wall. When he was in the middle of the roof, Sara went over to the low wall and looked down.
‘Apollyon’s dead,’ she said, sounding disappointed.
I turned to Colonel Singh. He had taken a bullet to the upper arm, but his expression was triumphant. ‘Keep us covered,’ I said. ‘And watch out for more gunmen.’
He nodded and passed on orders.
I walked into the open, the barrel of the Kalashnikov resting on my shoulder.
Sara was running her hand over Rothmann. ‘He’s clean.’ She stepped back and leveled her machine-pistol at him.
‘No!’ I shouted. ‘Wait!’ I still wanted the bastard to pay for what he’d done to Karen and our son, but in the light of what had just happened in the Hades complex, my priorities were changing. I wanted to find out who was behind this dump and I was sure Rothmann knew.
‘Matt,’ he said, his voice low. ‘Don’t do anything hasty.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Don’t allow this…individual to do anything hasty.’
Sara kicked him on the back of the knee, causing him to stumble forward. ‘I’m not an individual,’ she growled. ‘I’m your worst nightmare.’ The words were aggressive, but I could see the fight and her wounds were getting to her. There was even more blood on her tunic and her face was dripping with sweat.
‘Matt?’ Rothmann said, fear making his voice uneven. ‘Don’t let her—’
Sara emptied the magazine of her machine-pistol into the floor beneath his feet. He must have taken some ricochets, because he collapsed, clutching both ankles.
The Nameless Dead Page 27