by Will Jordan
Not only that, but Apex Deliveries didn’t appear to be a functioning business entity, despite the call he’d made to ‘Douglas’s’ superior earlier in the day. And to top it all off, the van whose licence plate he’d quietly memorized had been reported stolen from a depot in Peshawar last month.
He’d seen enough.
‘Get a tactical team together,’ he said quickly. ‘Tell them to converge on that warehouse immediately.’
Mahsud’s smile was almost feral. ‘I already have.’
* * *
Located about 2,500 feet above sea level at the edge of the Margalla mountains, the hilltop viewing point known as Daman-e-Koh, literally meaning foot hills in ancient Persian, was where Drake and his team had chosen to stop after leaving the warehouse. It was a popular spot for tourists during the day, offering an unspoiled, panoramic view over central Islamabad to the south, and the impressive peaks of the mountains behind.
From an operational point of view, this place was an ideal stop-off point. They were barely a mile from the United States embassy here, and not much further from the safe house they would soon be assaulting. It was, in effect, their final staging area. A place to make their last preparations and gear up for the attack.
With the onset of evening, most of the sightseers and tourists had packed up for the day, leaving just a few stragglers making their way back to their cars from the long hike up to the peak of the mighty Pir Sohawa. Having stopped both their van and the Range Rover in a quiet corner of the parking lot, the team were able to go about their work with little fear of discovery.
A short distance away from this last-minute work, on a grassy outcrop facing the setting sun, Anya gently lowered herself to her knees. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, tasting the scent of grass and wild flowers in the air, then bent forward and lightly brushed her fingertips across the coarse, springy grass beneath her.
Though the gathering rain clouds overhead had yet to truly open up, a light drizzle had fallen over the city during their drive here, and the grass was still damp from the brief shower.
Keeping her eyes closed and her back bent, she drew her wet hands across her face, exhaling as she did so. She could feel the faint breeze caressing her damp skin, the last rays of the setting sun playing across her face as she raised it up to the sky.
Taught to her by her mother, Anya had performed this simple ritual of purification and preparation more times than she could hope to remember, always before going into battle. Once it had made her an object of curiosity and even ridicule amongst her comrades, but she did it all the same. It helped, and it allowed her to hold on to some tiny fragment of who she had once been.
‘Never took you for the religious type.’
Anya opened her eyes, disturbed from her reverie, and glanced around. Frost was standing nearby, having approached while she’d been occupied with the ritual. The young woman nodded off to her left as if to emphasize her point.
Anya followed her line of sight. Directly beneath them, situated at the end of a wide tree-lined avenue running straight through the heart of the city, lay the great multifaceted structure of the Faisal Mosque; an immense building of Islamic worship able to accommodate over 10,000 people in its main prayer hall alone. Its four minaret towers, each 260 feet tall, rose up into the evening sky like the tips of gigantic spears turned towards the heavens.
‘I was not praying,’ she said, realizing Frost had mistaken her actions for an Islamic ritual. Anya had experienced a great deal of that religion in her life, mostly through its followers. There was much about its teachings that she found admirable, but in truth no religion had ever held much appeal for her. No matter how noble their ideals or how humane their principles, they were all too easy for bitter, angry, vengeful men to twist into weapons.
‘What was it, then?’
Anya could feel the colour rising to her cheeks. This wasn’t an aspect of her life she was comfortable discussing, especially with someone like Keira Frost. The woman already hated her – the last thing she needed was to give her reason to mock her.
‘Preparation.’ She rose to her feet with the graceful ease born from long years of practice. ‘Nothing more.’
That was when Frost said a name Anya hadn’t expected to hear again.
‘Maras.’
Anya felt herself tense up. ‘What?’
‘That was your code name, wasn’t it? The one Cain gave you when you worked for the Agency,’ she explained. ‘Ryan had me look it up, back when we were first handed our mission to break you out of jail. Maras – it’s a legend from Baltic paganism. A goddess of war. That’s what Cain thought you were.’ She gave Anya a curious look then, caught somewhere between mockery and, inexplicable as it seemed, respect. ‘Must have been quite something back in the day.’
Anya smiled at that notion, but there was no humour or warmth in it. It was a sad, reflective smile. ‘It’s funny, that you should make the same mistake he did.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Maras. She was not a goddess of war, but of death and misery.’
‘Same difference, isn’t it?’
Anya shook her head sadly. ‘There is honour in war. At least, there is supposed to be. But Maras… she was a bringer of death in any form. Her fate was to love mortal men, and to watch them die for her. All who came close to her met the same end, no matter what she did to stop it. That was her fate… and mine. Maybe Cain wasn’t so wrong after all.’
For once, Frost said nothing in response. But Anya could sense the wheels turning in her mind, the pieces of the puzzle coming together to form a single conclusion. She didn’t say what she was thinking, because she didn’t have to.
‘Why did you come looking for me, Frost?’ Anya asked, quickly changing the subject.
‘Actually, I came to apologize.’
It was Anya’s turn to be surprised. ‘Apologize?’
The young woman sighed and looked out across the city below. She had the look of someone psyching themselves up for an unpleasant, difficult task. ‘I’m not in the habit of doing this kind of thing, so don’t expect it to happen again. Ever. But for what it’s worth… I’m sorry for some of the things I said to you. Some, but not all,’ she hastened to add.
Truly that was a first. Never had Frost apologized to her for anything.
‘Why tell me this now?’
‘Well, fuck it, we might be dead by this time tomorrow. Not like I’ll get another chance.’ She shrugged, glancing sidelong at Anya, her usual brusque demeanour softening just a little. ‘And… well, I get that you’ve been through some tough times, okay? I don’t pretend to know the gory details, and to be honest I don’t want to know. I’ve got a hard enough time sleeping at night. But I guess what I’m trying to say is… I understand why you are the way you are. I don’t always like it, and, to be honest, your people skills could use some real work, but I can’t exactly blame you for being a paranoid sociopath.’
Anya genuinely didn’t know what to say to that. She hadn’t prepared herself for a conversation like this, and for a moment wondered if Frost was simply trying to make fun of her. Yet she had detected no hint of mockery in the woman’s tone or expression. One way or another, she’d meant what she said.
‘Thank you. I think.’
‘Well, that wasn’t awkward at all.’ It was then that she saw a smile of amusement light up the younger woman’s face. ‘Doesn’t mean we’re friends or anything, though.’
That much was true, and Anya supposed it had always been that way. Her life hadn’t afforded many opportunities to form female relationships, and in truth she’d come to prefer the company of men after a while. That wasn’t to say they didn’t have their own flaws, but the dynamics of their relationships were simpler, easier to understand. The friendships women forged were, in her mind at least, based on subtle inference, shades of meaning, veiled remarks and constant evaluation of one another. For one easily able to sense deception or misdirection, it had often proven to be a d
ifficult and frustrating experience, and eventually she’d begun to distance herself from her own sex.
And yet, there were rare moments where she caught herself questioning the path she’d taken, wondering what she might have missed out on. As inexplicable as it seemed, given who she was standing with, this was one such moment.
‘I would not dream of it,’ she said quietly.
She said nothing more, and neither did Frost. Each was content merely to share the silence. And for once, Anya didn’t mind the young woman’s presence.
Nearby, Drake unlatched the rear doors of the decrepit old van that had somehow made it up the steep winding road to their hilltop rally point. Swinging them open, he found himself confronted by the slender face and big dark eyes of Yasin. They had untied him and removed his gag, content to keep him contained within the van while they decided what to do with him.
Now it was time to get it over with.
‘Here,’ Drake said, tossing him a pair of jeans, trainers and a fresh shirt. They had picked them up on the way here for practically nothing at one of the countless outdoor markets that littered the streets of Rawalpindi. ‘Put these on.’
The boy eyed him suspiciously, saying and doing nothing.
‘You’ve got 30 seconds,’ Drake advised him. ‘After that, you’re leaving this van one way or another.’
He closed the door again, counting out the time on his watch. Sure enough, he could hear the sound of hurried movement within the van. When he opened the door again, Yasin was dressed in the new clothes, his old ones lying in a crumpled, dirty heap beside him.
The new shirt hung loosely on his spare frame, and the jeans had been turned up at the ankles to make them fit, but overall he looked much improved from his previous appearance. He could still use a trip to a barber’s, though.
‘Out,’ Drake said, beckoning him forward.
Yasin crept forward, his movements deliberate and wary, as if he feared this might all be some cruel joke. As if Drake might have a last-minute change of heart and kill him after all. Nonetheless, he did finally clamber down onto the tarmac in front of Drake, drawing himself up to his full if modest height.
Reaching into his pocket, Drake pulled out what little cash remained to him and unrolled about a hundred dollars’ worth of local currency. Yasin’s eyes seemed to light up at the sight of what must have been a small fortune to him.
Drake held out the small wad of notes. ‘Take this. It’s not much, but it should buy you food and a place to stay for a while.’
That was when the wonder and avarice quickly turned to suspicion and borderline hostility. Doubtless he was no stranger to older men offering young homeless boys cash in exchange for favours of a different sort.
‘Why you give me this?’
‘Relax. I don’t want anything in return,’ Drake said, guessing his thoughts. ‘Just take the money and piss off.’
The kid frowned at that. ‘That is it?’
‘That’s it. I’d suggest you stay away from your old neighbourhood, though. At least as long as the money lasts.’
Drake knew all too well how these things worked, having witnessed for himself the brutality that such kids were capable of in the name of survival. Yasin was part of the food chain in his old stomping ground. He was known there, and if any of his street-dwelling rivals got even a hint that he had money on him, they would tear him to shreds to get it, until they in turn lost it to bigger, tougher, more ruthless kids. Money filtered up the ladder – that was how it always worked.
‘Oh, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention us to anyone,’ Drake added. ‘We prefer not to make a fuss, and I’m guessing you feel the same.’
Somehow he couldn’t see this kid reporting them to the police, since doing so would certainly mean parting with the money Drake had given him, but it didn’t hurt to reiterate this.
Yasin looked torn, desperate to reach out for the money that could sustain him for weeks if used carefully, but unable to let go of the wariness that had kept him alive far longer.
‘You do not answer my question. Why do you help me? I steal from you. I hurt one of your friends.’
Drake shrugged, though for a moment he glanced over at Frost, who had just returned from a grassy area beyond the parking lot. ‘A friend of mine… well, she’s all about second chances. Maybe it’s rubbed off on me. So take it before I change my mind.’
Reaching out, Yasin snatched the money out of Drake’s hand, quickly withdrawing as if he expected Drake to attack him for such impudence. When it became obvious the man had no intention of harming him, he seemed to relax and lower his guard a little.
‘It’s a long walk back into town,’ Drake said, nodding back down the road. ‘Better get going if you want to be there before nightfall.’
‘Take me with you,’ Yasin said then, blurting it out so fast that the words seemed to merge into one.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Take me with you. I can fight. I can help you.’
Drake might have laughed at such an offer were it not for the earnest, almost desperate look in the young boy’s eyes. He’d meant every word he’d just said, which made this all the more difficult.
Drake was under no illusions about what would happen to Yasin when the money eventually ran out. It might make him more comfortable for a while, but it couldn’t alter the course of his life. Drake could sense what the future held for him, and the countless others like him in places like Rawalpindi – absolutely nothing.
Doubtless Yasin sensed it too, and perhaps saw Drake and the others as a way out, a window into another world. A dangerous and uncertain world perhaps, but anything was a step up from the misery and grinding poverty of his own existence.
‘Trust me, you don’t want to go where we’re going,’ Drake promised him. ‘You’re better off here.’
‘I will die here.’ There was no anger, fear or hope in his voice when he said that. Just the sad acceptance of something known beyond all doubt.
He felt like shit for pushing Yasin away. But as things stood, he’d be lucky if he and his own team made it through this alive, never mind taking in every waif and stray they encountered along the way. He certainly couldn’t offer protection or a new life to this kid, and pretending otherwise was worse than the alternative.
Better to be straight with him than build a false hope.
‘That’s not up to me, mate. But for what it’s worth, I hope you make it.’ He pointed towards the road again. ‘Go on. Get moving, and for fuck’s sake stay away from warehouses in future. The next group might not be as forgiving as us.’
Hesitating, Yasin finally turned away and started to walk, slowly at first, but gathering pace as his natural wariness took hold once more. He turned back only once, a thin and forlorn figure in his ill-fitting clothes, and then was gone.
Drake let out a breath, putting aside the lingering guilt and forcing his thoughts back to matters closer at hand. He closed the van up, slamming the doors a little harder than necessary, then turned towards the others who seemed to have congregated by the guard railing at the edge of the parking lot.
‘Yo, Ryan. Come take a look at this,’ Mason called over.
He knew they had little time for sightseeing, but nonetheless walked over to join them. As soon as he reached the hilltop observation point and saw what they saw, he stopped in his tracks, staring in silent awe at the view that confronted him.
All of Islamabad seemed to stretch out beneath them, the steel and glass skin of new skyscrapers gleaming, the tiny headlight beams of thousands of vehicles forming thin ribbons of light, like blood pumping through the arteries of the city.Overhead, the sky seemed to be aglow with orange, golds and deep reds.
It was a breathtaking, awe-inspiring vista, and for a few seconds not a single one of them uttered a word. It was enough just to be there, to share the moment together.
Drake felt a hand reach for his, and glanced around at Samantha. In response, he squeezed her hand, wanting to pull
her to him. He saw a gentle trace of a smile; a silent acknowledgement of his intent.
‘Never waste time doing anything important when there’s a sunset you could be sitting under,’ Mason said, breaking the silence. He was smiling at the remark, but there was a wistful, pensive look in his eyes. ‘Something my old man used to say when I was a kid. Never really got it until now.’
‘I think your old man was on to something,’ McKnight agreed.
‘No argument here,’ Frost added, looking unusually quiet and reflective now.
Anya voiced neither agreement or objection. But Drake sensed from her expression that Mason’s words had struck a chord in her as well.
This was a moment, he knew then. A moment that would remain with him for the rest of his life, no matter how long that might be. The last sunset, the last moment of calm before the storm, before they went into battle against the most dangerous adversary they had ever faced. The last chance to say what he had to.
‘I don’t pretend to know how things are going to play out tonight,’ Drake began. ‘But I know what it took to get us here, how far we’ve had to go. Each of us. And I know how much we’ve had to leave behind along the way. Well, we’re not losing anything more, we’re not leaving anything else behind. I told you when this all started that Downfall isn’t just another mission, it’s the end of the line for all of us. We do this right, and it’s over. All of it. Tonight we finish this.’
He felt Samantha’s grip tighten then, felt the closeness of her presence. And more than just that, he felt the rest of the group around him, the reassurance of their presence. Five different people from vastly different lives, united behind a single purpose.
Ready to go to war.
Chapter 49
Vizur Qalat once more found himself in the back seat of his plush Mercedes SUV, watching the grand buildings that faced out onto Jinnah Avenue glide past beyond the bulletproof, tinted window. Night had fallen by now, and the traffic along the city’s main arteries had begun to ease off as the rush hour abated.