by Will Jordan
‘Everyone has their assignments. Let’s move like we know what we’re doing.’
‘That’s a stretch,’ Mason called after him as he headed for the exit.
‘Wing it, mate,’ Drake advised. ‘It’s what I always do.’
Chapter 41
A few hours later, and Drake was behind the wheel of his brand new-third generation gunmetal-grey Range Rover. Well, not exactly brand new, but a mere five years old felt like cutting-edge vehicular luxury compared to the ancient transmission and steering mechanism he’d wrestled with in the Bukhanka.
After scouting out a few potential locations in the busy city, one or two of them suggested by local taxi drivers, he and McKnight had settled on a dealership on the southern edge of town that looked seedy enough to put through a cash sale with minimal paperwork, but also decent enough not to fob them off with a heap of scrap metal.
McKnight had argued in favour of a Honda SUV that she’d spotted, since Japanese cars seemed to be heavily represented in Pakistan, but Drake had been adamant about the Range Rover. It was bigger, more powerful and more durable than the Japanese car. And more importantly, he liked it.
The dealer had flashed him a knowing smile as the matter was settled and money exchanged, perhaps assuming McKnight to be a demanding wife who had just been put in her place. Drake was happy to let him think what he wanted as long as he signed over the car and let them go on their way.
Now here they were, on their way back to the warehouse with the air conditioner blasting cold air in their faces and Pakistan’s answer to Beyoncé blaring through the speaker system while central Rawalpindi slid by outside the tinted windshield.
Not a bad way to get around, Drake had to admit. He felt a little like one of those rich arsehole footballers he used to see cruising down the King’s Road in Chelsea, on his way to get a designer haircut or a spray tan or whatever the hell such people did with their spare time.
He couldn’t help but smile at the notion. Driving, listening to the radio, thinking about normal everyday things. Simple pleasures that most people took for granted. But not him. Not ever again.
‘Enjoying yourself?’ Samantha asked, noticing his expression.
‘I was just thinking.’
‘Always a dangerous state of affairs.’
‘Since we’ve started this op, we’ve flown in a private jet – with a disco ball, no less – blagged ourselves a free skydiving session, and now we’re cruising in our own luxury car. If I’d known it was going to be like this, I’d have gone freelance years ago.’
She snorted in amusement. ‘Yeah, I’ve been having the time of my life since we got here.’
Drake flashed her a sidelong grin. ‘I was thinking about taking you out for dinner, maybe a couple of drinks afterwards. See where the evening takes us, you know?’
McKnight feigned a look of profound regret. ‘Tempting, but I’m pretty sure we’ve got a prior engagement.’
‘Killjoy.’
‘Arrogant asshole,’ she fired back. ‘Don’t think I’ll forget you overruling me back at that dealership. That shit’s not going to fly well.’
He shrugged, enjoying the banter all the same. ‘Had to be done. It’s about time you learned your place, woman.’
Forced to keep his grip on the wheel, he was unable to dodge aside as she thumped him soundly in the arm. It was a playful gesture, but delivered with enough sting to let him know she could still hurt him if she wanted to.
‘Careful, Mr Drake. You’re on dangerous ground.’
‘Story of my life.’
Easing their way along the crowded street as cars, bikes and vans jostled for position all around them, Drake was afforded plenty of time to observe the situation outside. His impression of Rawalpindi when they’d arrived last night had been that of an ancient, chaotic city dragged uncomfortably into the twenty-first century, its old ramshackle buildings and winding back alleys standing in stark contrast to the neat efficiency of nearby Islamabad.
That impression was only heightened now that he saw it in the full light of day. If anything, the streets and roads were even more congested than before, the air thick with traffic fumes and smoke from outdoor kiosks cooking meat over open fires. Judging by the threadbare clothes and the gaunt, haggard faces, Drake guessed this was one of the less desirable districts. Nobody looked happy, nobody walked with energy or purpose, everyone was just plodding along, trying to get through another day.
It was the kids that put a dampener on his good mood, though. He was sadly familiar with their ilk after serving tours in Afghanistan. Any place there was poverty or conflict or deprivation, you saw them lurking in alleys, begging for food or money, or just wandering lost and alone. Ignored by most, pitied by some and preyed on by others.
And whatever their race or nationality, they all looked pretty much the same. The same skinny limbs, the same faces prematurely aged by the things they’d seen and done, the same hungry, desperate look in their eyes. The lucky or resourceful ones would band together into gangs for protection, constantly vying for the favour of a few ruthless leaders. As for the rest, they learned very quickly that only the strong survived.
McKnight could sense his change in mood.
‘Saw plenty of them in Iraq,’ she remarked quietly. ‘Doesn’t make it any easier.’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ Drake agreed, pressing down on the accelerator, eager to get them away from this part of town. Eager to get those lost, desperate faces out of his mind.
The remainder of their journey passed in relative silence, each of them content to think their own thoughts as they left behind the dense urban sprawl and merged onto a main drag that would take them where they needed to go. It couldn’t come fast enough for Drake, who was keen to rejoin his companions and complete the last of their preparations.
After driving halfway across the unfamiliar city, he almost felt like he was coming home as he turned into the run-down industrial estate and pulled to a stop in front of the rusting, neglected edifice that was their base of operations.
Knowing that Mason or Anya would spot their arrival on the security cameras, Drake sat there with the engine idling, waiting for the big double doors to slide open. But they didn’t. No one emerged from the warehouse, and the doors remained firmly closed.
Exchanging an uneasy look with his passenger, Drake shut down the engine and yanked the keys from the ignition.
‘They could just be changing shifts,’ McKnight cautioned him, though her voice lacked conviction. ‘Maybe they haven’t seen us on the cameras.’
Honking their horn would of course settle the matter, but it would also alert anyone in there who wasn’t supposed to be. He would rather keep quiet until he knew what was going on inside that building.
‘Maybe.’ Reaching behind him, Drake pulled out the Browning automatic that he’d kept with him all day, mostly to guard against carjackings. ‘Maybe not.’
Bowing to the inevitable, McKnight armed herself in similar fashion and followed him outside as he eased his door open and stepped down. Straight away both of them felt the heat and humidity. It was approaching noon, the sun was high in the sky and the temperature had risen along with it.
Drake inhaled, the air hot and damp as a tropical jungle, and laced with the acrid scent of engine fumes and smoke from the industrial chimneys nearby. Almost immediately he could feel perspiration beading on his forehead and trickling down between his shoulder blades.
With McKnight covering him, he advanced towards the wicket gate set into the bigger set of sliding doors, making sure to keep his weapon out of sight in case they were spotted by a passer-by. Halting beside it, Drake leaned in close, pressing his ear against the metal.
Sure enough, he could hear raised voices echoing inside, though the acoustics combined with ambient noise and the closed door made it impossible to discern what was being said. One thing was clear, however – someone in there was not happy.
Had the rest of his team been ambushed and tak
en hostage? Were they being interrogated at this very moment, trying to make them give up Drake’s whereabouts?
One way or another, he had to find out.
An experimental tug on the door handle confirmed it was still locked and secured, so whoever was in there hadn’t made entry that way. Fortunately he’d made sure to take a spare key with them. Slipping it into the lock, he glanced up at McKnight and silently mouthed the countdown.
Three, two, one…
A single turn of the key allowed him to swing the door open and slip inside, with McKnight following close behind. As he crossed the threshold, he drew his weapon and brought it to bear with a single deft movement, his eyes sweeping the gloomy interior of the building as he tried to discern enemies from friendlies.
It didn’t take him long to find them, though the scene that confronted him was so incongruous that he actually stopped in his tracks, uttering a single statement that perfectly summed up his reaction.
‘Oh shit.’
Chapter 42
Of all the sights and possibilities Drake’s mind had conjured up in those anxious few moments before entering, this was not one of them.
First to catch his attention was Mason. The big specialist was standing near the parked Bukhanka, clutching his automatic as if ready for a fight. His shirt was ripped and bloodied by a long gash across the left side of his chest, as if someone had slashed at him with a knife. The wound was still oozing blood that gleamed dark in the wan light, though Mason himself was still very much in the game.
As for the perpetrator, that wasn’t hard to guess.
A young boy was cowering on the floor by Mason’s feet, his wrists and mouth bound by duct tape. He was trying to shrink away from the weapon in Mason’s hand, trying to crawl beneath the van and hide, though the man’s iron grip on his tattered shirt was more than enough to keep him in place.
This would have been unnerving enough, but it was the situation in the centre of the room that represented the greatest danger. Anya and Frost seemed to be locked in an armed stand-off against one another; Frost with one of the MP7s and Anya with her Colt .45 automatic. The younger woman had positioned herself between Anya and the boy, using herself as a human shield.
‘Well, this doesn’t look good,’ McKnight said under her breath.
‘Goddamn it, you put that fucking weapon down right now before I blow you in half!’ Frost snarled, staring at Anya down the sights of the compact submachine gun. She hadn’t even acknowledged Drake’s return, so intent was she on facing down her enemy.
‘You won’t do it, Frost. You are not a killer,’ Anya replied, her voice deceptively cold in contrast to her adversary’s barely restrained fury. ‘Stand aside.’
‘Fuck you! I won’t let you do it. Not again.’
‘Both of you stop this shit!’ Mason implored them, torn between keeping a grip on the youth at his feet and trying to intercede in what could prove to be a deadly battle of wills. ‘This is out of control.’
‘You don’t know what she’s capable of, Cole,’ Frost shot back. ‘She’s a fucking murderer! I saw it with my own eyes last night.’ She braced the weapon against her shoulder, tensing up to fire. ‘Someone has to stop her before she gets us all killed.’
‘And are you the one to do it, Keira Frost?’ Anya challenged her.
Drake had heard enough. Whatever events had transpired in his absence, they could wait. He needed to end this situation now before one called the other’s bluff.
‘What the fuck is going on here?’ he yelled, striding into the centre of the room and purposefully blocking their lines of fire. There was no thought of exercising restraint or diplomacy this time. He needed to be as loud and angry as possible, which suited him just fine. ‘Put those guns down now! Both of you!’
‘Stay out of this, Ryan,’ Frost warned, trying to sidestep him and get a clean shot at her target. He made sure to match her movements. ‘This is none of your business.’
‘I’m making it my business,’ he promised her. ‘You’ve got exactly three seconds to lower your weapon, or I swear to God you’ll have to shoot to stop me beating the shit out of you. One.’
Frost clenched her teeth. ‘You know what she did last night. She’s a killer; it’s all she knows. She’ll do it again if we don’t stop her.’
‘What’s she talking about?’ McKnight demanded.
Drake didn’t answer. That was a conversation for another time.
‘Two.’ He took a step towards Frost, his fists clenched. He didn’t want this to get physical, but if it came to it, he really would beat her down rather than see half his team wiped out in a needless friendly fire incident.
‘You’re fucking blind, Ryan. I’m not your enemy, she is!’
‘Three…’ Drake was moving towards her now, completely blocking her shot. If she wanted to hit Anya, she would have to kill him too.
‘All right, goddamn it!’ Frost snapped, lowering the gun and turning her back on him. ‘Fucking Christ!’
Drake let out a barely perceptible breath. He hadn’t really expected her to open fire, but in such a tense confrontation the chances of an accidental discharge were all too real.
‘I did not need your help, Ryan,’ Anya said from behind him.
Drake rounded on her, his anger and disappointment no less than it had been towards Frost. ‘Don’t say another word. Right now, I want to know what the hell’s been going on here.’ He jabbed a finger at the kid, who was still cowering at Mason’s meet, mumbling something into his duct tape gag. ‘Who’s that little shithead, and what’s he doing tied up?’
It was Mason, perhaps the most level headed of the three operatives by this point, who ventured to offer some explanation. ‘Got ourselves a stowaway here. Anya found him crawling out through one of the rooftop ventilation ducts, with one of our tactical radios shoved inside his shirt. Fortunately she got to him before he made it out.’
Oh shit, Drake thought, looking at the boy and realising pretty quickly what he was about. He supposed it made sense – industrial lockups like this were probably rich pickings for street kids, filled with a wealth of goods or expensive equipment that could be stolen and sold on. He just hadn’t expected one to find them so quickly or gain entrance so easily, especially with the security cameras they’d set up. It was a sobering realisation.
He glanced at his friend’s chest wound again. ‘You’ve got red on you, Cole.’
‘Little bastard didn’t go down without a fight.’ Mason made a pained face, then reached into his pocket and produced what looked like a small home-made knife, its haft little more than strips of worn leather and duct tape wrapped around the steel blade. ‘Tagged me pretty good. I’ll live, though.’
If nothing else, Drake had to commend the kid on his bravery. It took balls to fight back against a man of Mason’s size and strength. Then again, considering the world he was forced to survive in, fighting back was probably all he knew.
‘The kid won’t, if Anya has anything to do with it,’ Frost interrupted, still bristling with anger. ‘She wanted to take him out and kill him.’
‘I did not say that,’ Anya corrected her.
‘You didn’t have to. I know how people like you operate – you made that clear last night. Nobody gets in the way of the mission.’
‘Will someone tell me what the hell happened last night?’ McKnight demanded.
Drake was about to tell her to leave this one until later, but Frost beat him to it, no doubt feeling she’d kept it to herself long enough. ‘We caught ourselves a couple of rent-a-cops during our recon trip. They tried to arrest us, but we disarmed them and took them out to the middle of nowhere. Ryan was all set to let them go, then Anya just pulled out a weapon and executed them. Cold-blooded, no hesitation. It was a fucking disgrace.’
McKnight let out a shocked breath and turned away, shaking her head. As she did so, she caught Drake’s eye. The look that passed between them made it clear she didn’t appreciate him keeping this to himself, a
nd would likely have more to say on the matter when circumstances permitted it.
Meanwhile, Mason’s attention turned to both Drake and Anya. Like McKnight, he too had been kept in the dark about her actions last night. ‘This true?’
Anya didn’t respond. She’d already said what she had to say on that matter.
‘Why didn’t you tell us, Ryan?’ Mason demanded. McKnight might have been prepared to wait until later, but he wasn’t.
Drake levelled an angry look at Frost. ‘We’ve got enough problems as it is. I was trying to stop it getting worse.’
‘He’s covering for her, as always,’ Frost spat, moving closer to the boy to protect him. ‘Well, I’m not going to sit by and watch her murder a kid. You really will have to kill me first.’
Of all the people Drake had expected to demonstrate that kind of maternal protectiveness, Keira Frost would have been pretty near the end of the list. Not that he blamed her for taking a stand. There were lines even he wasn’t willing to cross.
Unmoved by this display of self-sacrifice, Anya pointed to the youth at Mason’s feet. ‘Whether he is a child or not, he was old enough to infiltrate this warehouse, old enough to steal from us, and old enough to compromise us. He has seen everything; our weapons, our equipment, our radios. Even he must know this is no normal storage building. If we let him go now, there is no telling who he will talk to.’
‘So you’re suggesting we execute him?’ Mason asked.
‘Clearly we have to do something. We can’t hand him over to the police, and we can’t afford to let him go.’ She shrugged. ‘If you have a better idea, feel free to share it.’
Chewing his lip, Drake looked over at the boy. He’d stopped trying to crawl away from Mason and now sat in silence on the dusty concrete floor, eyes flicking from person to person, knowing they were talking about him and perhaps trying to decide how their debate was going to pan out.
‘First things first,’ he decided, tossing the keys for the Range Rover to McKnight. ‘Bring the car inside before some arsehole nicks it. Keira, help her with the doors.’