by Will Jordan
‘I can,’ she said at length. ‘Same place as before?’
‘No. Meet us at a town called Collioure, down by the old port. We’ll find you.’
Anya frowned, both at the change in location and his choice of pronoun. ‘We?’
During all of her meetings with Drake, it had always just been the two of them. She had been very specific about that point. She didn’t trust anyone else to be there.
‘It’s simpler if you just come. I’ll explain when you get here.’
‘I had plans with Anatoly today,’ she said. Anatoly was their challenge codeword, to find out if Drake was under duress. If he didn’t respond with the name Natasha, she would avoid the meeting and ditch the phone.
‘Tell him to meet with Natasha instead,’ Drake countered. ‘This is more important.’
Anya let out the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. ‘Fair enough. I’ll call you when I get there.’
‘We’ll be waiting.’
* * *
The Alamo’s main cabin was beginning to look more like a military command centre with every passing hour, albeit a ramshackle, improvised one. Frost was busy working at the computer terminal, tapping away at one of the laptops while using the overhead monitor to project important images or plans onto a larger viewing area.
Mason meanwhile had taken over one entire wall in order to plan the house assault. Already it was covered with printed images of the building, design plans, maps of the local streets, and even handwritten Post-it notes scrawled with hastily thought of ideas, equipment requirements and countless other reminders that would be needed later.
McKnight had been tasked with finding a base from which to operate once they were in Pakistan, which was easier said than done. Entry to the country required a visa signed off by the Pakistani foreign ministry, which they had nowhere near enough time to organize. The alternative was to enlist a local sponsor with a letter of recommendation from the Pakistani government. Again, not an option.
Flying to neighbouring Tajikistan seemed like the best – if only – viable prospect, as they had the option to apply for a temporary tourist visa within three days of arrival. With luck, they would have slipped over the border to Pakistan, completed their mission and been on their way home before then.
There were, however, two problems with this plan. The first was that commercial flights from France to Tajikistan weren’t exactly easy to come by. The second, far more concerning problem was that to get to Islamabad, they would have to travel across country through the mountainous border region shared by Tajikistan, Afghanistan and Pakistan. That was shaping up to be a nightmare.
With virtually no government or law-enforcement presence, the entire area was effectively ruled by bandits, tribal warlords and countless terrorist groups displaced by the fighting in Afghanistan. In fact, it was widely regarded as one of the most dangerous places on the face of the earth. And they would have little choice but to drive right through the middle of it.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the deck hatch swinging open, and steps descending the stairs. Instinctively she reached for the weapon she kept with her at all times, though she felt herself relax a little as Drake descended into the cabin.
The man himself looked tense and nervous, his jaw set and his shoulders tight as if he were expecting a battle to erupt at any moment. Only the battle he was expecting wouldn’t involve guns or bloodshed. Not yet, at least.
‘Heads-up, everyone,’ he announced. ‘We’ve got a… visitor.’
She could feel her heartbeat quicken in anticipation as he stepped away from the stairs, allowing the new arrival to descend. Samantha knew then who Drake had taken the Alamo’s small inflatable speedboat ashore to retrieve. It was someone she had waited a long time to encounter.
Everything she’d heard of this woman’s exploits over the past couple of years, all the incredible tales of survival and endurance, the accounts of her deadly skill and martial prowess had coalesced in Samantha’s mind, imbuing her with an almost superhuman aura.
Instinctively she rose to her feet, wanting to face Anya on equal terms.
This was the woman who had defected from the Soviet Union when she was just 20 years old, who had survived some of the most gruelling training programmes ever devised, fought and nearly died alongside the Mujahedeen in Afghanistan, and endured months of torture and interrogation at the hands of the KGB. A woman whose two decades of service with the Agency had brought her to the highest echelons of power, and whose destructive downfall had shattered countless lives and careers.
This was the woman people had fought and died for, who inspired devoted loyalty and abiding hatred in equal measure, whose bitter quest for vengeance had pulled in Drake and everyone around him, and on whom all of their fates now hung. The woman Cain had recruited her to help destroy.
She was standing not more than 15 feet away.
Almost without thinking about it, Samantha’s hand crept towards the pistol hidden at her back. Anya was unarmed so far as she could tell, not expecting danger amongst a group of supposed allies. She could do it, a voice whispered in her ear. A single shot was all she needed. One smooth motion would see her draw the weapon, take aim and fire.
Two seconds at the very most.
None of them would expect it, and they certainly wouldn’t be able to stop her in time. Anya would be dead before they could do a thing, and her mission would be complete. She would have done everything Cain had demanded of her and more. It would be over.
They would hate her of course, and Drake most of all. She was under no illusion that he would ever forgive such a betrayal, or that he wouldn’t kill her in retaliation. He would be angry, bitter and stricken with grief, but he would be alive. By killing Anya, she might well be saving all of their lives. Wasn’t that a worthy sacrifice? Wasn’t that worth one person’s life?
She could feel her heart pounding, adrenaline surging through her veins as she was seized by an agony of indecision, conflicting thoughts and loyalties locked in deadly battle. Her hand was trembling even as it hovered inches from the weapon.
It was at this moment that Anya, perhaps sensing something was wrong, turned to Samantha. Those eyes, as cold as a glacier and as piercing as a needle, were locked with hers. And for a heartbeat, Samantha was permitted a glimpse of the mind and the will that lurked behind them, the fierce predatory soul that had survived the very worst this world could throw at it. That mind and that will was focussed on her, questioning, evaluating, searching for a possible threat.
She could feel her throat constricting, and fought a sudden urge to swallow. The colour seemed to have drained from her face, as if her very heart had paused in its beat, frozen in place like everything else around them.
‘Oh fuck, no!’ Frost exclaimed on seeing the woman. ‘No way, Ryan. If this is your solution, forget it.’
Anya’s eyes instinctively flicked towards the source of the noise, breaking contact momentarily. The moment had passed, like a spell had been lifted. It was all Samantha could do not to let out an audible sigh of relief as she lowered her head, her heart still pounding so hard she could hear the rhythmic thud in her ears.
‘Good to see you as well, Frost,’ Anya said, eyeing the young specialist with distaste.
Frost however had no interest in conversing, instead focussing her attention on Drake. Rising from her station with difficulty, she moved over to him, speaking in a dangerously calm voice. ‘Ryan, I know we’re up shit creek without a paddle here. But I’m telling you now, this is not the answer.’
‘You said we needed more manpower,’ Drake reminded her. ‘Here it is.’
Frost raised her chin defiantly – always a bad sign – and glared at him. ‘That’s not what I had in mind, and you know it. I’d rather have fucking Hannibal Lecter watching my back.’ Only then did she spare Anya a disparaging look. ‘No offense, of course.’
‘None taken,’ Anya replied coldly, before turning her eyes on Drake. �
�You asked to see me, so here I am. Now I would like to know why.’
Drake exhaled and nodded agreement. ‘Introductions first. Keira you already have a long and fruitful relationship with,’ he said, giving the young woman a look that warned against further outbursts. Seeing that she was wise enough to hold her tongue, he gestured to Mason, who had hung back a little during this argument. ‘This is Cole Mason. Second in command of my Shepherd team.’
Anya studied him for a long moment with a look of mild recognition. ‘I know you,’ she said at last. ‘You were at Khatyrgan prison.’
‘That’s right,’ Mason said, his tone guarded. He had met Anya, albeit briefly, during the mission to break her out of a maximum security Siberian prison. Unlike Frost, however, he’d had no further involvement with her after that night.
‘You were wounded.’
Mason cocked an eyebrow at this. A stray round had hit him in the shoulder during their escape. Several reconstructive surgeries and a year of gruelling rehab had at last seen him return to active duty, albeit unofficially. No wonder he wasn’t exactly effusive in his welcome, McKnight thought. Anya had almost ended his career.
‘That was then, this is now,’ he said, no doubt eager to move past the unhappy memory. ‘Let’s concentrate on the now, shall we?’
She gave a shrug, unconcerned. ‘As you say.’
Drake cleared his throat, hoping to interrupt the uncomfortable encounter, and nodded towards McKnight. ‘This is Samantha McKnight. She joined our team in Afghanistan; been with us ever since.’
McKnight’s heart, which had only just started to calm down, suddenly leapt into overdrive again as she approached the older woman. She could practically feel the tension radiating from Drake. Two of his team had already been cold or openly hostile towards Anya. If the third member of his group was equally unwelcoming, it might prompt her to leave altogether.
Never had she felt the weight of expectation so keenly. She was unsure what to say, how to act. Somehow she doubted I’ve heard a lot about you was going to cut much ice.
But to her surprise, it was the other woman who made the first move. ‘Good to meet you, McKnight,’ she said, holding out her hand.
Knowing she couldn’t refuse it, McKnight shook hands with her. ‘And you.’
Anya’s grip was strong; stronger than it needed to be, and lingering just a moment too long. McKnight looked into her eyes, caught off guard, and that was when she knew Anya had played her.
‘I assume there is at least one person here who isn’t against me?’ she asked.
It was a test, McKnight realized. Drake had warned her about Anya’s ability to detect deception in others, to read the subtle nuances of body language that most people were oblivious to. Like a poker player who can find their opponent’s tell, she’d sensed Samantha’s unease when she arrived, and she was suspicious.
‘Wouldn’t let Keira get to you,’ she replied, feigning a smile. ‘She’s like this with pretty much everybody.’
Anya said nothing more to that, but Samantha sensed a slight easing of the tension between them, a fractional acceptance of this new acquaintance. She might not have passed the test, but she hadn’t failed it yet either.
Her grip relaxed then, and she let go of Samantha’s hand, turning her attention fully on Drake once more. ‘You called me here for a reason, and it was not to meet your team. What do you want?’
Drake was of like mind, it seemed. ‘You might want to take a seat for this one,’ he said, gesturing to a bench next to the small dinner table.
Anya folded her arms and stood her ground, saying nothing. It was plain she was perfectly comfortable standing.
‘Suit yourself,’ Drake conceded.
For the next ten minutes, Anya listened while Drake related the events of the past few days: the attacks on Mason and McKnight, the raid on the villa, their retreat to the group’s fallback position, and the conclusion that the only course of action left was to go on the offensive.
‘No more games. If he wants a war, we give him one,’ he said, speaking with the iron resolve of a man set on his course, no matter what Anya might say or do. ‘Cain’s going to be meeting with an ISI agent at a safe house in Pakistan two days from now. Don’t ask me how I know this, but I do. We’ve got a chance to take him out; maybe the last chance we’ll get. So we go there, we find him, and we end this thing.’
To McKnight’s surprise, Anya didn’t react to this right away. There was no hint of vengeful enthusiasm in her expression, no glee at the thought of taking down her nemesis, not even the kind of grim determination she might have expected from one of such stoic demeanour. If anything, she looked almost taken aback by his suggestion, as if a direct confrontation was something that hadn’t occurred to her.
‘Getting to Marcus Cain is no easy task,’ she said at last, speaking from long experience. ‘I assume you have a plan of some sort?’
Indeed he did. Despite the occasional argument, his collaboration with Mason had produced the beginnings of an operational plan. Conscious of their tight timescales, Drake immediately launched into a step-by-step description of the assault on Cain’s safe house, with Frost projecting images of the house plans and maps of the local area onto the overhead monitor for clarity. Anya made no attempt to interrupt or question him, content to simply listen.
‘It’s not pretty, but it’s what we’ve got,’ he concluded, bringing the impromptu presentation to a close. ‘And with the right people involved, it can work.’
Anya was staring at the screen, on which was projected a street-level view of the target house. As always, it was difficult to gauge her thoughts from her guarded expression, but clearly her mind was deep in contemplation.
‘So what do you need from me?’
‘For a start, we need another pair of boots on the ground,’ he began. ‘There’s not a lot of people I’d trust to work with us on something like this, and even fewer who have experience at this kind of op, but you’re one of them.’
She glanced at him then, her lips parted in an ironic smile. ‘Flattery is wasted on me, Ryan. You need something more. What is it?’
Drake held her gaze for a moment or two, then reached into his pocket and unfolded a sheet of paper, on which he’d written a shopping list of equipment. The Alamo was well stocked with weapons and gear, but this plan called for a few items that were decidedly harder to come by.
‘We need everything on this list,’ he said, seeing no point in sugar-coating it for her. ‘Plus covert transport into Pakistan at short notice.’
Anya’s eyes travelled down the hastily scrawled items, her brows rising when she caught sight of something unusual or problematic.
‘Arranging all this at short notice will not be easy, or cheap,’ she warned.
‘Put it on our tab. We’re good for it,’ Frost countered with a wry smirk.
Anya gave her a sharp look. ‘Money does not concern me. But there are only a few men in Pakistan with access to this kind of equipment, and even fewer are trustworthy.’
‘But you know someone,’ Mason pressed her, guessing from her evasive demeanour that such a request wasn’t impossible.
‘Perhaps,’ she said, thrusting the list back into Drake’s hand. ‘The more relevant question is what you plan to do when you get your hands on Cain.’
‘Isn’t it obvious? This all started with him. It’ll end the same way.’
To Samantha’s dismay, Anya shook her head. ‘You will not kill him, Ryan.’
Time seemed to stand still for Samantha in that moment as the full implications of her statement sank in. Anya wanted Cain alive? Why? What possible reason could she have?
‘Bullshit we won’t,’ Frost snapped, fists clenched in anger. ‘Good people died because of that son of a bitch. One way or another, he’s going down.’
‘Yeah, watch us,’ Mason added coldly, though no less angrily.
But Anya was oblivious to both of them, as if they were nothing more than buzzing insects to be ignored
and tolerated. Her gaze was on Drake, because she knew he was the real decision maker here.
‘You will not kill him,’ she repeated.
‘Give me a reason.’
Anya nodded to the list he was still clutching. ‘Without me, this operation is over before it begins. I will not help unless you promise not to kill Cain.’
Drake sighed and shook his head, mystified as to her change of heart. He wasn’t angry, because he understood that anger would achieve nothing against someone like her. ‘After everything he’s put you through, why would you spare his life?’
McKnight felt like she were living inside a bad dream. She watched as the muscles tightened in Anya’s throat, and the seemingly impenetrable armour she’d surrounded herself with appeared to weaken for a moment.
‘Because I want answers,’ she said, her voice carrying an underlying hint of something Samantha had never expected. Pain. ‘I want to know why he did the things he did, why he became this man, why he betrayed me. Only he can answer those questions.’
‘Fuck answers,’ Frost retorted, growing more incensed by the moment. ‘He’s an asshole – isn’t that answer enough? If you think we’re risking our lives just so you can have a Q and A session, you’re deluded. The only answer that piece of shit deserves is a bullet between the eyes.’
Again, Anya paid her no heed.
‘Hey, I’m talking to you,’ Frost said, taking a step towards her.
At the same moment, Anya began to turn, hands already raised to defend herself.
It was then that Samantha intervened, placing herself firmly between the fiery young specialist and a woman who could likely kill her with ease if provoked.
‘Take it easy,’ she said quietly, gripping Frost’s arm with enough force to show she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. ‘This isn’t worth it. Not when you’re hurt.’
It wasn’t much of an excuse, but the recent gunshot wound to her side at least provided a credible reason for Frost to back down without losing face. And even she began to see the sense in her companion’s words. She had clashed with Anya before, and it had left her with a dislocated shoulder and a mild concussion. Anya was unlikely to be so merciful again.