The Agent (An Isabella Rose Thriller Book 3)

by Mark Dawson

  Pope opened the door to the restroom and stood aside so that Maia could go through.

  ‘On your knees.’

  Maia knelt down. Pope aimed the pistol at her torso between her shoulders and waist. She raised her arms so that Isabella could unlock one of the bracelets. Isabella took the key but paused, noticing the small wound on the back of Maia’s neck, dead centre, just above her shoulders.

  ‘What happened there?’ she asked.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Maia replied.

  ‘Answer the question,’ Pope insisted, brandishing the gun.

  ‘That was where they put my implant,’ Maia said.

  ‘What kind of implant?’

  ‘A tracking device.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Pope said.

  ‘The people I work for like to know where I am. It’s the same for all of us. I didn’t want them to know where I was, so I removed it.’

  ‘Why would you do something like that?’

  ‘I told you. I found out that Dr Litivenko was flying to Washington and I knew that they would try to kill her. They told me to leave the country. I decided not to do that.’

  ‘Why?’ Isabella asked.

  ‘Because Aleksandra was my friend. I was at the airport to help.’

  ‘Don’t listen to her,’ Pope said. ‘She was there to make sure she was dead.’

  ‘No, Mr Pope. That’s not true.’

  ‘No more talking,’ Pope said. ‘Get the cuffs off.’

  Isabella turned the key and the bracelet popped open. Maia massaged her wrists.

  Pope flicked the gun towards the cubicle. ‘In,’ he said. ‘Don’t get ideas. There’s nowhere you can go, and we can put rounds through the door if you mess around.’

  ‘You’re not listening to me. I told you. I’m not going to do anything.’

  Maia was as good as her word. She emerged from the cubicle, knelt on the floor once more and allowed Isabella to cuff her with her hands behind her back. Pope led her back into the hangar. McCluskey was closing the main door.

  ‘Do you have a room where we could leave her?’ Pope asked him.

  ‘There’s the office,’ McCluskey said. ‘Ain’t no windows in there and we can lock the door, too. No way out without us knowing about it.’

  McCluskey pointed to a room at the rear of the hangar. Isabella went over to it. It had steel walls and a steel roof and, when she opened the door, she saw that there was a desk, a filing cabinet and a couple of chairs. There was a phone on the desk; she pulled the cable from the wall and put the unit outside. Maia came through with Pope following behind.

  Pope looked around. ‘This will be fine,’ he said. He nudged Maia between the shoulder blades with the muzzle of the pistol. ‘We’ll be outside.’

  ‘I’ll wait here until you’re ready.’

  She lowered herself into one of the chairs, her hands still pinned behind her back. Pope closed the door and turned the key in the lock.

  McCluskey had boiled a kettle and was making coffee for the three of them. There was a low table and chairs at the front of the space next to a reception desk where visitors could be welcomed. The table had a selection of aviation and military magazines spread across it. Isabella sat down next to Pope and waited for McCluskey to bring over a tray with their drinks.

  ‘You better tell me what’s going on.’

  Isabella sat and listened as Pope explained what had happened. He gave the broad strokes, leaving much of the detail unsaid. He described the abduction of his family in Montepulciano, but did not relate any of their journey through Syria or the betrayal that had led both him and Isabella to al-Bab. He did not mention Maia’s background or that there was any connection between them and the bombing at Dulles. He lied that Maia was an agent working for the Chilean government and that the taking of his family was revenge for a Group Fifteen operation years earlier. He explained that an exchange had been arranged for the following day at midnight.

  If McCluskey doubted any of the story, he said nothing.

  ‘Where’s the exchange?’

  ‘Clingmans Dome.’

  ‘The observation tower?’

  ‘Just below it.’

  ‘Where we practised before?’

  Pope nodded. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Can I still get in and out of there? Sure. There’s a big parking lot and it’ll be empty this time of year. They close it off for winter – it gets snowed in. Big space like that, I could land with my eyes closed. The only problem might be the weather. If you get a dump of snow up there, you can’t see nothing.’

  ‘Is there going to be any?’

  ‘When you thinking of doing this?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘I’d have to check the forecast. They’ve been saying it’s coming.’

  ‘Assuming it isn’t – are you in?’

  ‘Land, collect you, get out? Sure. I’m in.’

  Chuck put out his hand and Pope clasped it.

  ‘Good man,’ Pope said.

  ‘You need anything else?’

  ‘A long gun. You still hunt?’

  ‘Sure do. Got a Winchester Model 70 at home.’

  ‘Could I borrow it?’

  ‘You think things might get hot?’

  ‘They might. And I don’t want to go up there unprepared.’

  ‘I can fetch it. Anything else?’

  ‘Is there a decent hunting and fishing shop around here?’

  ‘Sure. There’s Gander Mountain and Beikirch’s in Knoxville.’

  ‘Good. Could you go over there? I’ve got a shopping list of stuff I need.’

  ‘I can do that.’ The old man gave a nod. ‘Snow’s gonna make it tough to get up there tonight.’

  Pope glanced over at the jeep. ‘You don’t drive just that, do you? Got anything else?’

  ‘There’s a Jeep Cherokee back home.’

  Pope looked at him expectantly.

  ‘Shit,’ McCluskey said. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘I don’t like to ask, but unless you’ve got snow chains for the Chevy . . .’

  ‘Nah,’ the old man said. ‘You want to get up there, you’ll need a four-by-four. Don’t know that chains would cut it, and that piece of shit looks like it’s held together by spit and glue. You can borrow the Cherokee.’

  ‘I appreciate it. The weather and the terrain help us. It’ll be tough for them and for us. It’s a leveller. And we’ll get off the mountain quicker than they will.’

  ‘That’s where I come in?’

  ‘If you’re still up for it?’

  ‘Shit, sounds like fun. You try to stop me.’

  Pope told Isabella to get some sleep. There was a sofa in the waiting area and she made herself comfortable on it, then set her alarm for four hours’ time so that she could wake to guard Maia while Pope got some sleep of his own. Pope and McCluskey talked, and Isabella drifted away to the sound of their voices. She tried to visualise what might happen later that day, but she was more tired than she realised and she couldn’t focus on her thoughts. She was dimly aware of her breathing becoming deeper and that her muscles were relaxing, and then an involuntary jerk as she tripped over the last moments of wakefulness and tumbled into sleep.

  PART FIFTEEN:

  Great Smoky Mountains

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Pope followed the highway through Maryville, Melrose, Walland and Wears Valley. Their destination was another sixty miles from Knoxville, but each mile that passed brought them closer to the prospect of a conclusion. Pope was tense, and it was difficult not to be infected by his anxiety.

  They were in Chuck’s Jeep Cherokee. It was eight in the evening.

  McCluskey had gone out to a hunting store for equipment that afternoon and had returned with appropriate clothes for them: he had bought Isabella an insulated jacket that was, fortunately, almost a perfect fit for her. The boots he had purchased were a little too small, but they were better than the sneakers that she had been wearing and she was glad to
swap them.

  Maia was cuffed in the trunk space. There was a dog guard between her and the rest of the cabin, and Isabella was facing backwards so that she could cover the woman with the Glock. The precautions had, so far, been unnecessary. Maia sat quietly, staring ahead, as if anticipating what was about to happen.

  Pope pulled over to the side of the road, switched off the engine and glanced out of the windshield. The clouds had rolled in as they had made their way higher into the mountains, and now they sealed them off beneath a canopy the colour of slate. The road bent away from them to the left, with a one-lane track cutting off to the right and heading farther up the mountain. It was signposted ‘CLINGMANS DOME OBSERVATION DECK’, with a second sign beneath that read ‘CLOSED FOR WINTER’.

  Pope opened the window.

  ‘It’s going to snow,’ he said.

  It was cold, with icy moisture in the air. Isabella heard a crackle of thunder in the distance.

  Pope reached into the footwell and brought out the Winchester rifle that Chuck had brought with him when he returned to the hangar that evening. He put the strap over his shoulder and arranged the long gun so that it rested diagonally across his back. He reached back in again and collected the bag with the extra ammunition, the home-made booby trap he had spent the afternoon putting together and the binoculars.

  ‘You remember what we’re going to do?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘It’ll be fine. We just need to hold our nerve.’

  ‘I know.’

  He nodded. ‘Are you nervous?’

  ‘I’m not crazy, Pope. Of course I am.’

  ‘It’s all right if you are. It’s normal. I’m nervous, too. But this is the best chance we have to bring this to an end.’

  Isabella didn’t say anything. Pope opened the door and stepped down to the icy road. Isabella climbed across to the driver’s seat.

  ‘Don’t talk to her,’ Pope said. ‘Just get her up there. I’ll do the rest.’

  Isabella leaned forward and turned the ignition. The engine started up.

  ‘The road is slip—’

  ‘I know how to drive,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry. I know I don’t need to worry about you. Force of habit.’

  His voice started to choke. It took Isabella by surprise and she didn’t know how to react. She wasn’t good with emotion; it made her uncomfortable.

  ‘Listen to me,’ Pope said. ‘We’ve come a long way together. I’m not very good at this.’ He paused and shook his head. ‘Look – I’m trying to say I care about you.’

  She looked out at Pope standing next to the side of the road. They had been through a lot: London, Switzerland, Turkey, Syria, Italy, and now India, Shanghai, Vladivostok and Washington. She had grown to like him and respect him as a soldier. He was usually so coolly confident; indeed, she realised that she had seldom seen him anything other than composed and calm. He was neither of those things now.

  ‘You, too,’ she said.

  She put the Jeep into gear and gently pressed down on the accelerator. It edged forward, picking up speed as she pressed down. She glanced back in the mirror: Pope was at the side of the road, watching her go.

  The road slowly turned to the left. A trail broke away, cutting sharply left and then climbing steeply. Pope raised his arm, and then, as the trail turned and ascended more steeply, she lost sight of him.

  She wondered whether she would ever see him again.

  It was growing darker minute by minute and, as she flicked on the headlamps to light the way ahead, the first flakes of snow began to fall. The road curved around the haunches of the mountain, with a steep drop behind a barrier on the left-hand side. Isabella tightened her grip on the wheel.

  She felt very alone.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Pope followed the trail as it climbed along the flank of the mountain. It was broad enough for him to proceed quickly for the first few hundred feet, but, as it cut more steeply into the rock, it became more and more treacherous. The surface was composed of loose shale with occasional patches of mud that had been stirred up by the recent downpours that had lashed the mountains.

  He had been careful as they had made their way southeast from the airport and he was as confident as he could be that they hadn’t been followed. He was even more confident up here. It was pitch-black and the trail was shielded by a dense line of fir trees. That was a relief. There might be others on the mountain, even with the conditions seemingly about to turn, and he didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to himself.

  He climbed for thirty minutes, almost slipping on several occasions, just barely maintaining his balance. The trees shouldered up on either side of the track, smothering visibility even farther. He negotiated a tight switchback, gained another twenty feet and then passed out of the treeline.

  Snow was falling now. It fell fast and heavy, quickly gathering into windblown drifts.

  He stopped and looked around. He had been here before, to this very spot. This was where they had trained for the hit on the man in the Rockies. Pope remembered the night that he, John Milton and the two other agents that comprised the Group Fifteen hit squad had spent hiking to this lookout spot. He opened his bag and took out the high-powered Armasight night-vision binoculars that Chuck had provided. He put them to his eyes and looked down at the parking area and, beyond that, the visitors’ centre. The buildings were unlit and apparently empty. A paved trail continued up from the edge of the parking lot, leading to the final half-mile climb to the summit. The access road stopped here; there was no way to get back down the mountain apart from descending along it again.

  There was one vehicle in the parking lot. It was the Cherokee. Pope could make out Isabella in the front seat. He couldn’t see Maia.

  He lowered the binoculars and looked up into the falling snow. The night was drawing in quickly now, and the thick clouds were covering the moon. Visibility would be at a premium. On the one hand, that was to their benefit. It would be more difficult for the enemy to find him, assuming that they knew to look. On the other hand, it would be more difficult for him to offer cover to Isabella. She would be alone down there, too far away for him to get to her if she needed him. He looked down at the kitbag. He would have to rely upon his ability with the rifle and her persuasiveness. He hoped that both would be enough.

  He took the walkie-talkie from the bag. McCluskey had bought him a set of Motorola XT420s from the hunting and fishing store; they had one each.

  ‘Isabella, this is Pope. Can you hear me?’

  The squelch of static was quickly replaced by the sound of her voice. ‘I can hear you.’

  ‘Everything look okay?’

  ‘It’s quiet. Didn’t see anyone coming up.’

  ‘I can’t see anyone either. Is she all right in the back?’

  ‘I’ve got the gun on her now. Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Stand by. I’ll call them.’

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Vivian Bloom leaned back in the rear seat of the Escalade as they slowly climbed into the mountains. It was a comfortable car, expensive and fully optioned, but he felt every bump and shudder as they rumbled over the road. They were the middle car in a convoy of three vehicles. The car in front of them was also an Escalade. It contained Michael Pope’s wife and children and was being driven by one of the men who had been assigned to the task from the Manage Risk detachment based out of the Lodge, Manage Risk’s vast training facility just north of Elizabeth City, North Carolina. There was a second man in the car to guard the passengers.

  Bloom’s car was being driven by a third Manage Risk man, with one of Jamie King’s aides-de-camp in the passenger seat. One of the Daedalus assets, the man they referred to as Blaine, was sitting in the back next to Bloom.

  The vehicle at the rear of the convoy was a Mercedes-Benz Vito, a light civilian crew van that was equipped to accommodate six people.
The van contained a second Daedalus asset – Curry – and another five Manage Risk personnel.

  In total, they had eleven men to put against Michael Pope. He didn’t count Isabella Rose. It didn’t matter how proficient she was, she was a fifteen-year-old girl.

  Pope was a dangerous man, and he had successfully vexed them so far, but this was the end of the road for him. Eleven to one. There was reassurance to be found in that ratio. Bloom focused upon it. They had the numbers. They had two assets with them, with presumably a third waiting for them in Pope’s custody.

  Why, then, did he feel like he wanted to be sick?

  The call had been received four hours ago. Pope had insisted that he speak to Bloom. They had expected that, and the call was quickly patched through to him even as they started to run the triangulation algorithms that would allow them to pinpoint the caller’s location. Bloom had expected that he might have to keep Pope on the line long enough for the trace to be made, but Pope made all of that irrelevant.

  He told him exactly where he was waiting, and invited him to come and make the exchange.

  Bloom had been waiting at the Lodge. It was situated within the Great Dismal Swamp, nestled at the centre of hundreds of acres of ranges and testing grounds that were kept away from prying eyes by armed sentries and a sixteen-foot-high wire fence. Pope’s location was confirmed as Clingmans Dome, the tallest peak in the Great Smoky Mountains on the border of Tennessee and North Carolina.

  Bloom had been taken by private helicopter to an airstrip outside Elizabeth City. Pope’s family were already waiting there. The rest of the team assembled. The men were obviously veteran soldiers, arriving with neat kitbags and dressed in black with heavy black boots. Blaine and Curry had arrived together, both men being driven out on to the airstrip, barely saying a word as they took their seats in the waiting area. A Manage Risk Gulfstream waited for them on the taxiway. They boarded and took off, banking sharply to port and plotting a course due west, headed to McGhee Tyson Airport. They landed ninety minutes later, transferred to the convoy and drove east, covering the sixty miles between Knoxville and the mountains in another ninety minutes.