by J. B. Turner
He revved the bike hard and moved through the gears as the car rushed toward the bike.
The car was coming right at him, but he accelerated hard and fast, and sped away from the oncoming car.
Stone’s heart was pounding. He accelerated again and again. Hitting one hundred in the driving rain as the car began to catch him. He drove faster as the rain lashed off his visor, his visibility now only peripheral.
He looked back, the car nearly upon him.
Stone could see the car was aiming to ram him off the road at high speed in the next bend. He needed to do something. Fast. He couldn’t outpace the driver on the bike. He’d tried, but the car had quickly made up ground.
His options were pretty much zero.
Kill or be killed.
Who was this guy?
Was this another operative unleashed from the facility?
Stone sped on at max, reaching well over one hundred miles per hour. He was squeezing every bit of speed out of the bike. Glancing in the mirror, he saw the car was only six feet behind him. Up ahead in the far distance, he saw the lights of a huge truck, winding its way slowly down the hill.
Stone’s mind was flipping through ideas. He rode on harder and harder. Then he switched off his lights, chest tight to the gas tank. Around a bend over a stone bridge. Then a sharp right.
He glanced up ahead through the rain. The truck was within sight.
Stone swerved and skirted the huge truck with only a yard to spare as it braked hard. Screeching on the slick asphalt. Then behind him an almighty explosion as the truck plowed straight into the high-speed oncoming vehicle.
Sixty-Seven
Brigadier Jack Sands was watching as a live Sky News chopper feed showed the smoldering remains of the truck and the car. Firefighters were hosing white foam over the blackened metal. Police cars nearby, forensics wearing white full-body suits taking pictures of the burning wreckage. Investigators discussing on the sidelines.
Sands kicked over a chair, sending papers flying onto the floor. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”
Drenge was blowing on a cup of hot coffee.
“What in God’s name is he doing?”
“This, Jack, is what is known in the trade as going rogue.”
“No fucking kidding!”
“Indeed.”
Sands folded his arms and stared at the images. He could see that what had been a little local difficulty had dramatically escalated. “Two missing operatives.”
“Consider them gone.”
“This is not the game plan. This is not the fucking game plan.”
“This is Nathan Stone we’re talking about, Jack. You said so yourself. We made that crazy fuck. We built him as he is. Molded him. Trained him. He’s our guy.”
Sands sighed. “My boss, the US ambassador to the UK, was on the phone to me a few minutes ago.”
“Oh shit, what did he want?”
“Asked what the hell was going on.”
Drenge sipped some coffee. “What did you say?”
“One of our guys got hit by an oncoming truck.”
“And that’s it?”
Sands nodded.
“What else did he say?”
“He said he wanted a full report on why he was speeding. What was his role?”
“Give him the usual spiel. Our guy was stressed, drinking too much, maybe wasn’t concentrating, that kind of thing. The last thing he needs to hear is we’re running a shadow operation.”
Sands ran his hands through his hair. “Ben is not a stupid man.”
“Does he know anything about this operation?”
“Not a thing. He thinks I’m hanging out in Scotland with some British diplomats, drinking whisky with NATO planners and doing all that schmoozing crap.”
“Jack, I don’t have to tell you we have a problem.”
Sands nodded.
“Nathan Stone is a bad-to-the-bone motherfucker. He’s gone rogue. And this has all the makings of a diplomatic incident.”
Sands began to pace the room as he tried to gather his thoughts. “The cell phone signal of Operative B is still live.”
“Question is, what’s his next move? Is he going to make a jump for freedom?”
“Back home?”
“Yeah, that’s where his sister is.”
Sands bit his lower lip. “This seems like something else.”
“Something else? Like what?”
Sands said nothing.
“Worst-case scenario you can envisage?”
Sands stopped and stared at the red dot on the screen, still on the move. “Nathan Stone is going to try and kill each and every one of us for double-crossing him.”
Sixty-Eight
The weather began to abate, and Nathan Stone was thinking of stopping for a break. Farther up the road, he spotted a man standing beside an RV with binoculars, scanning the deep gorge below. He slowed down as he considered his options. The man was wearing a burgundy polo shirt and pale-blue shorts, white socks, and sandals.
Stone parked beside the RV on the gravel overlook. He noticed the expensive mountain bike on the rear rack and the German license plates. He took off his helmet and jacket as the sun came out.
The guy with the binoculars turned and smiled at Nathan. He had a mug of coffee on the ground next to him. “What a view, no?”
Stone wiped his brow and nodded as he scanned the forests and mountains and the river down below as the vista opened up. “Helluva place.”
“That accent . . . Are you American, yes?”
Stone nodded. “Yes, sir, I am.”
The man stepped forward and shook Stone’s hand, looking admiringly at the motorbike. “BMW, huh? Very nice. German.”
Stone said, “You got it.”
The man spoke. “Gerdhard.”
Stone smiled. “Gerdhard, nice to meet you. I’m Tom McMasters.”
“You on holiday, Tom?”
“No, I’m a student at Edinburgh University. Just taking a few days off.”
“Interesting.”
“Can I ask a favor, Gerdhard?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Have you got any coffee? I’ve just had a bit of a nightmare ride in the rain. Need some warming up.”
The German looked concerned. “Of course. I’ve just made some coffee. How do you take it?”
“Just black, that’d be great.”
Gerdhard blushed. “My pleasure.” He headed into the RV and returned with a piping-hot mug of coffee, the way Nathan liked it.
Stone took a few gulps, feeling the warmth in his stomach. “That’s mighty decent of you. Great coffee, thank you very much.”
The German picked up his mug sitting on the ground. “Are you visiting anywhere in particular?”
“Just traveling around. Catching a few sights. A few castles, that kind of thing.”
“I was down in Edinburgh a couple of days ago. At the castle. My God, it’s fantastic. Utterly amazing. In the middle of the city. Breathtaking.”
Stone looked at the RV again, the door ajar. “Where’s your family?”
“My two sons are back in Munich. Doctors. Always working.”
Stone nodded. “Tell me about it. What about your wife?”
The man went a bit quiet. “I lost my wife, sadly, exactly a year ago. She always wanted to make the trip to Scotland.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Time heals, trust me. Slowly. But this is what she would have wanted me to do. And she’d have been doing this trip with me, so it was a way of remembering her.”
Stone gulped the rest of the coffee and sighed.
“Your family back in the States?”
“I’m not married. But I have a sister.”
The man smiled.
“Cool RV you’ve got.”
The man smiled proudly. “It took up a small chunk of my retirement income, but it allows me to get out and about, explore, go hiking, camping. Germany, Austria, France. And now Scotland.”
&nbs
p; “I’ve always loved the thought of getting an RV just like that. Beautiful.”
“Very spacious too.” The German cocked his head. “It’s ideal for a single guy but has enough space for a couple if you wish. Check it out yourself.”
Stone followed the man inside and looked around. Saw the leather upholstery, large-screen TV, expensive hi-fi equipment. German newspapers neatly piled on the table with glossy magazines. “Oh yeah, this is more like it. What a beautiful interior.”
The man picked up a remote control and pressed a button. The TV came on, showing English soccer. “What do you think?”
“I could get used to this, my friend. Wow!”
The German looked pleased.
Stone pulled out the silenced 9mm, pressed the nose to Gerdhard’s head, and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered off the interior as the German, dead already, collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Stone shut the door and drew the curtains. Wrapped the body in a duvet and stuffed it into a closet, upstanding. Then he locked the door.
He looked under the faucet and found antibacterial wipes, cotton cloths, and a bucket. He filled it with bleach and warm water and wiped down the surfaces. Then he went over the same area with the lemon-scented antibacterial wipes.
He put all the dirty, blood-spattered cloths in a trash can under the sink, then went outside. He picked up the binoculars and scanned the roads in both directions as far as he could see. No cars. And he hadn’t seen a car, truck, or bike for the last fifteen minutes.
Desolate.
Stone walked up to the cliff edge and stared down into the gorge. He went across to the motorcycle, kicked the stand away, and maneuvered it to the precipice. Then he pushed it over and watched it disappear hundreds of feet below into the mud, trees, and foliage. He waited for a couple of minutes. No explosion.
The dampness had its upsides.
Stone went back to the RV and slid into the driver’s seat. He began to laugh as he turned the ignition, then pulled away.
Sixty-Nine
When Brigadier Jack Sands saw the face of Clayton Wilson appear on one of the big screens in the command room, his heart sank.
“Jack, what in God’s name is going on?”
Sands took a few moments to compose himself. “We’re still trying to establish what has happened. But . . . we believe he’s dropped off our radar, that’s what’s happened.”
A deep sigh. “Any updates?”
“I sent a three-man extraction team in to see what the hell’s going on. We can say for sure that one operative is now missing, and another we found just fifteen minutes ago in the cellar of the cottage.”
“Fuck.”
“Indeed.”
“Flash drive gone?”
“We’re working on the assumption that Nathan Stone has it.”
“Are you kidding me? This is a mess.”
“Sir, we haven’t used up all our options.”
“Maybe not, but you have, Jack.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re being relieved of your duties, effective immediately.”
“Clayton, sir, that’s crazy. We’ve got an ongoing operation.”
“It should’ve been wound up by now. But instead we’ve got a full-blown crisis. He’s gone rogue, hasn’t he?”
“Sir, we don’t know that.”
“What we do know is that things have gone wrong. On your watch, Sands. Maybe the truth of the matter is that Nathan Stone was the wrong man at the wrong time.”
“I don’t accept that, sir.”
“This has all gone to shit. We have that fuck on the loose in a friendly country, one operative missing, and another deceased.”
“Sir, if I can interject here.”
“What is it?”
“The two main targets have been neutralized.”
“But the fallout is potentially catastrophic. The documents on the flash drive. Are you kidding? This is so ridiculous it’s hard to know where to start.”
“Sir, I’m asking for a chance to put this right.”
“Jack, we go back a long way. You know how it works.”
“Sir, I can fix this situation. Gimme a chance.”
“You’re out of chances. Drenge is taking over.”
“What? When?”
“Now. You’re relieved of duties. You’ll be shipped out within the next twenty-four hours by chopper, then taken to the air base, where you will be flown back to London to be with your family.”
Sands stared up at the face on the screen. “Is that your final word?”
“The damage has been done. We need to make things right. Frank is now officially in charge. Dismissed.”
The screen went blank.
Seventy
It was dark when Nathan Stone pulled up at the near-deserted trailer park in the stolen RV. He parked and slept for a couple of hours. When he woke, the first thing he did was check that the flash drive was still in his pocket. He took it out and looked at it for a few moments before putting it back.
His mind replayed the events of the previous crazy day. He looked at the locked cupboard that hid the body of the German tourist. He knew it was in the early stages of decomposition. But it wouldn’t be long before it would start to smell something awful.
Stone checked his watch. It showed 0119.
He shut the curtains and sat down on the sofa bed.
Stone held his head in his hands as he wondered what his next move should be. He clenched his fists tight into balls. He felt deceived. They thought he was dispensable. He didn’t think so. He’d never questioned orders before. But it stuck in his throat, the thought that the man who had overseen his recruitment into the CIA from the US Army, then as a freelance military contractor, had turned on him. The mask had slipped, allowing him to see with terrible clarity that he was just a cog. A mere fucking cog. A man who had outlived his usefulness.
A man who could be killed as easily as he could kill.
The more he considered it, the angrier he got.
The sound of a cell phone vibrating snapped him out of his dark thoughts.
Stone couldn’t understand. He’d gotten rid of the two operatives’ cell phones. There was nothing to explain the ringing.
The sound seemed to be coming from a drawer adjacent to the RV sink. He opened the top drawer and saw a large-screen Samsung Galaxy Note with a message in German. It had been sent by someone named Claudia.
Was this from the man’s girlfriend? Sister? Were they asking how his vacation was going?
Stone looked at the phone. He had been out of circulation for more than a year. The cell phone looked brand-new. Big screen.
He toyed with it for a while as he gathered his thoughts. Should he move now or wait?
Stone ran his thumb across the screen and accessed the menu. It was then he noticed, down the side of the phone, a USB port. He’d never seen a USB port on a phone before.
“Son of a bitch,” he said.
He leaned over and picked up the flash drive.
Then he slid it into the phone. The screen filled with encrypted gobbledygook, but slowly it began to populate with words, sentences, and then pages. He had before him an eight-page document stamped Top Security Clearance, code-named Sundowner Winds.
Stone felt as if he were in free fall. He was no longer moored to reality. He was floating in some surreal parallel universe. The document listed several people in alphabetical order by last name. It also gave a rationale for killing each one.
Top of the list was CRICHTON, Senator Brad William.
Stone read the details. He didn’t know most people on the list, although one or two newspaper writers he’d heard of. A right-wing talk-show host. An industrialist.
When he’d finished reading the document, he saw there was a five-man distribution list. Generals, admirals, in addition to Brigadier Jack Sands, the man he knew so well.
He felt sick. Conflicted.
He’d been tasked to carry out the targ
eted assassination of one man. But this was a whole goddamn list, with reasons given for executing them.
The questions were piling up. Had someone passed on this information who had then subsequently decrypted it? Was that it? Was it Jessica Friel? Was she the one who had brought it from the States? Was that why she had to die too?
The more he thought about it, the more his burning rage gnawed away. Eating him alive.
So this was what they wanted so badly.
Stone knew the information would be dynamite. He didn’t know if it was legitimate. But the tone sounded military. Like an intelligence briefing, professionally assembled.
He began to wonder what he should do. If he kept it, what if he was apprehended before he could act? What if it was retrieved by another operative, who might at that moment be trying to track him down?
Stone made a snap judgment. He clicked on the Google icon and keyed in Tor. A moment later, he was staring at the screen for an anonymous but highly secure router of information. It was used by WikiLeaks, among others.
He navigated his way through Tor to a part of the site, where he uploaded the document and keyed in a short message to accompany it:
This is what I found around the neck of the man I was hired to kill, Senator Brad Crichton. He had clearly been passed this information. It appears to be a top-secret military document. I have no way of verifying if this is authentic. But what I can say, categorically, is that I was tasked with assassinating Senator Brad Crichton, along with Jessica Friel. Weapon used: long-range electro-pulse rifle to initiate a heart attack. Friel I did not kill. That hit was carried out by two operatives whom I did not know. They buried her body in the woods at the base of mountains in Knoydart, northwest Scotland.
My name is Nathan Stone. I did not drown in a car accident. I was saved. And I was disappeared. The records show I died. But I did not die.
Do with this what you will.
Stone pressed the “Send” button, and the document and his message were uploaded to the secret site. But he knew that his own location would now also have been geotagged, and his security was therefore compromised.
He had to move.