by Will Jordan
As the others removed the combat gear that would only draw attention in populated areas, Drake headed for the cab with Mason in tow.
‘Played that one pretty cool, buddy,’ the older man observed with a wry grin. ‘Ever think about going into bomb disposal?’
Drake shot him a sidelong look. ‘Probably safer than this.’
A closer inspection of the van confirmed his earlier suspicions about it being of Russian origin. It was a product of the Ulyanovsk Automobile Plant, a formerly state-owned enterprise dating back to the Soviet era. Externally it looked like a rounded, featureless rectangle resembling a loaf of bread on wheels. Indeed, its appearance had earned it the nickname Bukhanka, literally meaning ‘loaf’, amongst Soviet drivers.
Drake was familiar with them because the Russian military still used them as field ambulances, with only minor modifications. They weren’t fast or elegant, but they used the same power plants as 4 x 4 military jeeps and were generally considered rugged and reliable vehicles. He hoped so, because the drive that lay ahead was not going to be easy.
The Bukhanka’s interior was as plain, functional and thoroughly aged as the outside, with cigarette burns on the upholstery and all manner of stains on the centre console that he preferred not to think about. Nonetheless, the engine fired up first time.
As the rear doors slammed closed, Drake engaged first gear and eased off the brake, beginning their unsteady, jolting journey towards Islamabad.
Chapter 33
Goodland, Kansas
It was about 200 miles from Denver to the small town of Goodland in Kansas – a three-hour drive according to Taylor’s satellite navigation unit – but with only one brief refuelling stop and the judicious application of speed on the open highway, he made it there in a little over two.
It was just as well, because after traversing endless miles of flat open farmland that stretched all the way to the horizon, he was ready for a change of pace.
Arriving at the address given to him by Samantha, he brought his car to a stop outside the modest single-storey house and sat there, just observing the building and its surroundings. It seemed like a decent neighbourhood that was more or less representative of small town America: lots of big open lawns, painted fences and people carriers parked in wide driveways. A few stars and stripes wafting in the gentle breeze suggested some households had people serving in the forces.
The McKnight house was typical of others in the street. Low and compact, wood panelled – why people in one of the country’s most tornado-prone states still made their houses from wood was beyond him – and in need of a fresh coat of paint. The lawn was overdue a cut as well.
There was no car in the driveway, but the garage door was closed. It was too early in the evening for the lights to be on, and blinds over the windows shielded the interior from view. If Pete McKnight was home, he was keeping a low profile.
Opening his door to get out, Taylor paused for a moment. Popping open his glove box, he pulled out the Beretta 9mm he always kept there, checked that there was a round in the chamber and the safety was engaged, then pushed the weapon down the back of his jeans. He was hoping to avoid trouble, but if it found him then he intended to be ready.
Stepping out onto the sidewalk, he locked the car and headed towards the house, his eyes scanning the porch area and the front door itself for any sign of forced entry. There were a few potted flowers laid out on the wooden decking, all shrivelled and dried up, but no signs of anything untoward.
Pausing by the door, he leaned in close to the window and peered inside, using his hand to shield his eyes. No sign of movement in the living room. The TV was turned off, and there was nothing to indicate anyone had been there recently.
There was no doorbell, so he settled for knocking firmly on the front door.
No reply.
‘Mr McKnight, it’s Jack,’ he called out. ‘Sam sent me. Are you there, sir?’
Still no reply.
Glancing over his shoulder to check nobody was watching, he left the porch and circled around to the rear of the building. The back yard was in much the same shape as the front, with all signs pointing to a property that hadn’t been lived in or maintained for several weeks at least.
A quick examination of the windows and back door suggested the building wasn’t alarmed. The door was secured with a simple pin-tumbler style lock that a man with his training would have little trouble overcoming, given time and the right tools.
As it turned out, however, he didn’t need to bother, finding a spare key hidden beneath a cracked plant pot. Hailing as he did from inner-city Pittsburgh, it never ceased to amaze him how trusting and naive people in these small towns could be.
Gaining entry, Taylor found himself in a small, cluttered kitchen. Lots of magazines, tools and unwashed dishes scattered around, none of which looked like they’d been used recently. A quick inspection of the refrigerator told the same story.
‘Mr McKnight?’ he called out one more time, just in case the man suddenly awoke to an intruder in his kitchen. Unsurprisingly there was no response.
Not wanting to leave any avenue unexplored, Taylor made a quick recon of the rest of the house, clearing each room one after the other until he was satisfied Pete McKnight wasn’t here, and hadn’t been for some time.
‘Goddamn it,’ he said under his breath, returning outside and locking the door.
Circling back around to the front of the house, he spotted a boy of perhaps ten years wheeling a bike along the opposite side of the street.
‘Hey, kid,’ he called out. ‘You know the guy who lives here?’
The boy looked over. ‘Mr McKnight? Yeah, I know him.’
‘Seen him around lately?’ Taylor asked without much hope.
‘Don’t think so. Why?’
Taylor was no longer listening. Fishing the phone out of his jacket, he hurriedly punched in Samantha’s number and hit the dial button.
The connection seemed to take longer than usual, and he paced back and forth beside his car in agitation as a series of clicks and buzzes sounded in his ear. The call went straight to voicemail.
What a hell of a time to be ignoring calls, Taylor thought angrily.
‘Sam, it’s me. Your dad checked himself out of hospital before I could get there. I tried his place, but he’s not home.’ He sighed. ‘I’m all out of options here. Give me a call back as soon as you get this.’
Hanging up, he glanced around one more time and shook his head. ‘Where the hell are you, old man?’
Chapter 34
Sitting on the hard, uncomfortable floor of the Bukhanka van as it chugged along a roughly paved road, Samantha McKnight let out a breath, trying hard to keep from worrying about her father. She assumed Taylor had picked him up by now, and was eager for confirmation that he was safe and well, but knew she couldn’t risk powering up her phone with the rest of the team around.
So for now, she had little choice but to wait it out.
Just concentrate on the mission, she told herself over and over again. The mission was all that mattered now. It was the end, not the means. Once Cain was dead and Anya taken care of, then perhaps she could begin to contemplate a life afterwards. Perhaps, in some scarcely hoped-for reality, she could even salvage something from this.
Almost without being aware of it, she found her hand straying down to her abdomen, as if to protect the life that was growing within. She knew it was wrong to think of it that way when she might well have to end the pregnancy, but some scarcely understood part of her psyche already saw it as something precious, to be defended at any cost.
Those were dangerous thoughts to entertain, she knew. Yet try as she might, she couldn’t quite silence them.
Having survived the almost impassable mountain track before the suspension or the unfortunate passengers buckled under the strain, they had mercifully found something resembling a real road, which had eventually brought them to the small town of Khanpur. There they had joined one of the main highways heading sou
th.
Islamabad might have been the capital of Pakistan, but in reality it was little more than a district within a larger conurbation formed from the much older city of Rawalpindi. Two cities occupying the same space, radically different but inexorably intertwined.
This curious state of affairs had existed since the 1960s, when Islamabad had been constructed from scratch as a purpose-built capital for the newly independent country. With a simple grid street layout, wide tree-lined avenues and grand government buildings every other block, it had reminded Samantha a great deal of Washington DC..
Its neighbour Rawalpindi was another matter, having grown organically over long centuries of expansion, conquest, ruin and reconstruction. Its roads were narrow, potholed and meandering, choked with vehicles of every make and model known to man, criss-crossed by haphazardly laid phone and power lines, and crowded in by market stalls, cafés, restaurants and shops. Dilapidated residential blocks, their balconies festooned with ancient satellite dishes and garish banners, seemed to lean in overhead as if caught in the process of falling.
And everywhere she looked there were people. Pedestrians darting in amongst the slow moving traffic, cyclists and moped riders squeezing through gaps they had no business attempting, beggars approaching unlucky motorists with hands outstretched, vendors hawking their wares to anyone in range, and uncountable numbers of citizens simply making their way around town. The overall impression thus conveyed was of a chaotic, intimidating, thronging mass of humanity.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Drake swore, leaning on his horn as an overloaded cattle truck lurched into their path, cutting him off. Normally he would shy away from doing anything that might attract attention at a time like this, but in such a chaotic environment it seemed that not blasting his horn every 30 seconds would mark them out as unusual.
‘Can’t say I envy you,’ McKnight said as she crouched behind him to survey the scene beyond, for once relieved not to be driving.
He gave her a sidelong glance. ‘I’m starting to wish we’d parachuted straight into the safe house after all.’
Reaching up, she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘How far out are we?’
Drake glanced up at a nearby street sign. One advantage of Pakistan’s colonial history was that English was widely spoken here, to the extent that it was still officially taught in schools. More importantly, most road signs were perfectly legible, making the navigation, if not the actual driving, a little easier.
‘Shouldn’t be more than five or ten minutes, if we can get a clear run at it,’ he replied, stamping on the accelerator and forcing his way between a pair of mopeds and a decrepit-looking taxi. ‘For the record, I’m not responsible for any fatalities along the way.’
‘Duly noted.’ Despite herself, she couldn’t help but smile as she eased herself back into a seated position in the cargo area.
Straight away she could feel a pair of eyes on her, and knew well enough to whom they belonged. Anya had said almost nothing throughout the journey, and that had suited her just fine. After her confrontation with the woman before their flight, and again after their landing, she was in no mood to exchange words with their dubious ally.
Nonetheless, the sensation of being watched continued unabated. Samantha shifted position, her discomfort growing as the minutes crawled by. No doubt Anya knew exactly what she was doing. Was she enjoying making her feel like this?
Irritated, she looked up at her adversary. Sure enough, Anya was watching her from the other side of the cargo hold. A monster lurking in the darkness; silent, unpredictable deadly.
‘There a problem?’ she asked.
Anya didn’t answer right away. She rarely did, McKnight noticed, as if intent on drawing out the tension and discomfort.
‘You seem nervous, McKnight.’ She leaned forward a little, emerging into the light filtering through the windshield like a ghost suddenly turning corporeal. ‘Maybe I should ask you if there is a problem.’
‘How about you don’t talk to me for the rest of this trip?’ McKnight retorted. ‘That’s one problem solved.’
She saw a flicker of a smile then. ‘People get nervous for all kinds of reasons at times like this. Worries about the mission, fear of capture, fear of letting the team down… Especially when they keep secrets from their friends.’
Don’t lie to her, a voice in McKnight’s head warned her. She’ll know.
‘You’re not my friend,’ she said, an edge of defiance in her voice. ‘What business is it of yours?’
‘It is my business, because there may come a time when I have to put my trust in you. I would hate to think that trust was misplaced.’
‘Hey,’ Frost interjected from the rear of the cargo area. ‘Sam already told you she’s done listening to you, and so am I. What part of “shut the fuck up” don’t you understand?’
Anya’s penetrating gaze shifted towards the young specialist. Her posture seemed to change somehow without moving, tensing up like a predator preparing to launch itself at its prey, and for a moment McKnight genuinely feared she might retaliate against Frost with more than words.
Then, just like that, she saw the muscles relax, the spring uncoiling as she eased herself back against the wall of the van. The monster disappearing back into the shadows.
‘Heads-up!’ Mason called from up front. ‘Got a security gate coming up. Everyone stay down until we’re clear.’
McKnight pressed herself against the wall of the vehicle, doing her best to disappear into the shadows like Anya as Drake brought the van to a halt and cranked down his window.
‘Morning,’ he said, forcing a cheerful air into his voice. ‘Robert Douglas from Apex Deliveries. My company should have a unit set aside here.’
Their plan naturally required a base from which to operate. Hotels and apartments were out of the question, partly because they attracted too much attention but mostly because the team needed to be able to move weapons and equipment to and from the van. What they required instead was a big, secure internal space that could accommodate vehicles.
The best solution they’d come up with was to take out a short-term rental agreement on a small warehouse, situated in one of the many industrial estates in Rawalpindi. It had been easy enough to organize at short notice using a fake company name, claiming they were moving to new offices and so needed a place to store their supplies and remaining stock during the transition. Paying a month in advance had helped grease the wheels somewhat as well.
McKnight listened to some muffled conversation coming from somewhere outside, likely from the facility’s night watchman. She hoped they didn’t require an inspection of vehicles coming in, otherwise they were in trouble.
‘Identification? No problem,’ Drake said, handing over his fake passport along with a business card for Apex Deliveries. ‘Our Islamabad branch is closed, obviously, but feel free to call head office for confirmation. The number’s at the bottom there.’
More muffled voices, followed by silence. What was going on? Was the night watchman logging their details on his computer? Was he calling a supervisor, or even the police? The seconds crawled by, seemingly stretching out into minutes while the three passengers sat in the darkness of the van’s cargo hold, not moving, barely breathing.
‘Look, I don’t want to be a pain, but we’ve got a long day ahead tomorrow,’ Drake said, sounding bored and tired. ‘Could we move this along a bit?’
He might be feigning the bored labourer, but McKnight could practically feel the tension radiating out from Drake. He was playing a dangerous game now, risking the wrath of the one man who had the power to admit or refuse them access to the warehouse.
Finally she saw Drake reach out the window, then hand his documents and a set of keys over to Mason in the passenger seat.
‘Unit Five? Take the first left, then all the way to the back? Sounds good, I’m sure we’ll find it,’ he said, all smiles now. ‘Thanks for your help.’
McKnight couldn’t help but let out a breat
h as they pulled away from the security gate, relief flooding through her. Another obstacle overcome.
It didn’t take long to find the building in question and for Mason to leap out, unlock the door and guide them into the warehouse. As soon as they were inside, he hauled the big doors closed on their rollers, shielding the interior from outside view.
No sooner had Drake brought the van to a stop and killed the engine than Frost stood up and unlatched the doors, allowing harsh electric light to flood the van’s interior.
‘Home sweet home,’ the young specialist said, leaping down from the van’s cargo bed and glancing around. Her voice seemed to echo in the cavernous space.
‘For the next 24 hours, anyway,’ Mason replied, having finished securing the warehouse doors.
McKnight felt like a cave dweller emerging into the sun for the first time, squinting in the bright light as she too jumped down, her boots making contact with solid concrete.
This had been the smallest unit available that could accommodate their needs, but even this modest warehouse easily dwarfed the single van parked within its vast interior. Illuminated by arc lights mounted high up in the roof frames, one or two of which were flickering as they struggled to stay lit, she was afforded a decent all-round view of their new base of operations.
It was easy to see why the rental had been cheap. The walls and ceiling were corrugated metal built around a steel framework; pretty much standard construction for a building of this type. The floor was poured concrete, roughly finished, and studded with pieces of paper, packaging and cigarette butts that had been pressed into its surface by the passage of countless vehicle tyres.
A well-used storage space, then, and judging by the visible rust marks that streaked the walls and, more worryingly, many of the support beams, one that had seen better days. The air smelled of damp and mould, undercut with old engine oil and other less savoury odours that she preferred not to contemplate.
Towards the far end of the cavernous space, an area had been partitioned off with dented plasterboard walls in which light switches had been crudely wired, presumably to serve as offices or work areas. In their case, however, it would likely be used for sleeping, eating and washing.