by Will Jordan
As he’d expected, the door opened just as he approached, revealing a tall, well-built man in his mid-thirties, who smiled in welcome. He was wearing an expensive suit, but his short practical haircut combined with his age and build suggested a military background.
Qalat could almost feel his two protectors tensing up as they approached.
‘Mr Qalat. Please, come in,’ he said, moving aside so that Qalat and his entourage could pass. ‘My name’s Wilkins.’
Qalat paid him little heed, concentrating instead on quickly taking in and assessing his surroundings. Given their situation, it was plain that this man’s name wasn’t Wilkins, and that he was simply one of Cain’s lackeys.
As he’d expected, the interior of the building was very much in keeping with its outward appearance. A lot of modernist concrete and exposed steelwork, some sparse furniture further down the hall in what he presumed was a living area. The floor was covered by polished marble tiles, their edges so perfectly aligned that he imagined a man could run his fingertips across the join without feeling a thing.
‘I’m sorry about the weather this evening,’ the American went on. ‘There’s a restroom just down the hall if you’d like?’
Qalat ran a hand through his hair. Though damp, it had avoided the worst of the downpour outside and seemed to have kept its style. And his suit jacket, spotted with droplets, wasn’t wet enough to need replacing.
His two bodyguards were another matter, but one that didn’t concern him. They were being paid well enough; they could endure a little soaking.
‘That will not be necessary,’ he assured the younger man
Wilkins nodded. ‘Excellent. Then can I ask all of you to switch off any cell phones or recording devices you may be carrying, and remove the batteries.’
One of Qalat’s bodyguards began to voice his objection, but Qalat himself raised a hand to stop him. ‘Of course,’ he replied tersely. ‘We would be happy to.’
It was a standard precaution for a meeting like this. Qalat would have done the same in Cain’s position. After removing the battery from his phone and handing it over to Wilkins, and checking that his two operatives had done likewise, he drew himself up to his full height, regarding the younger man with an impatient look.
‘You have what you wanted, Mr Wilkins. Now, I’m a busy man. I would like to speak with Cain now.’
He saw a flicker of something in Wilkins’s eyes. Not mockery or amusement as such, but a certain suggestion that he knew Qalat was bluffing. This wasn’t some minor inconvenience to be dealt with as a matter of course. It was perhaps the most important meeting of his life, and they both knew it.
‘Of course. This way, Mr Qalat.’
* * *
As the party from the car quickly entered the building and the door closed behind them, Drake turned to Anya. With the sniper rifle’s powerful magnified scope at her disposal, she had likely seen things better than he.
‘You get an ID on Cain?’
The woman shook her head, loose tendrils of damp blonde hair swinging in front of her face. ‘It was too dark to make anyone out.’
He’d guessed as much. Fortunately he didn’t need to see from up here.
‘Alpha One to Bravo One,’ he spoke into his radio. ‘Possible sighting. Fire it up.’
‘Copy that, Alpha. Bravo’s on it.’
* * *
Half a mile away, Keira Frost was in the front passenger seat of the Range Rover, oblivious to the dull hammering of the rain on the roof as she concentrated on the laptop in front of her.
‘Come on, come on. Talk to me,’ she mumbled as her portable satellite uplink tried to establish a connection with the host security program. ‘Don’t play hard to get.’
Beside her, McKnight was anxiously glancing around, a silenced automatic resting on the floor beneath her seat. The heavy rain had had the beneficial effect of limiting pedestrian traffic in the area, but that did little to assuage her fraught nerves now that they were so close to their goal. The anxiety was only adding to the lingering sense of nausea that refused to leave her, further adding to her discomfort.
‘How long is this going to take?’ she asked impatiently.
‘Chill, Sam. I’m on it.’
‘Ryan and Cole’s lives depend on this, Keira. Don’t tell me to—’
‘I said I’m on it,’ Frost bit back, giving her a sharp look. Before she could say anything more, she looked back down at the screen as a new dialogue window popped up, notifying her that a connection had been established.
Reaching up, Frost hit her radio transmitter. ‘Bravo One, we have an uplink. Inputting the Judas code now.’
The dialogue window flickered a couple of times as her computer tried to wrest control of the building’s security system, a digital battle was playing out within its coded circuits. Both women tensed up, waiting in anxious silence to see how it would end.
Then suddenly the window changed, replaced by a selection of different video feeds, showing various views from both the interior and exterior of the house. Live shots from the security cameras positioned throughout the building.
‘Yes! We’re in,’ Frost exclaimed, grinning with excitement.
‘What you got?’ McKnight asked, eager to know more.
‘Cameras, alarms, gate controls. I’ve got it all.’ Reaching up, she keyed her radio. ‘Bravo to all units. We’re online.’
‘Do you have eyes on Tempest?’ Drake asked right away.
Tempest was their code word for Cain. Not entirely inappropriate either considering the chaos and destruction he’d brought about in his time.
‘Working on it now.’
Chapter 51
After being conducted to the building’s upper level, Qalat found two more operatives standing guard at the entrance to what he presumed was a lounge or seating area of some kind. The door behind them was closed, and the two men’s presence made it impossible to get past.
‘I’m afraid I’ll have to ask your security personnel to remain here,’ Wilkins said, managing to sound almost apologetic. His two companions had other ideas, somehow making themselves even bigger.
‘You can’t go in there without protection, sir,’ Baloch, his chief bodyguard whispered urgently in Pashto. ‘There’s no telling what—’
‘I can assure you, it’s perfectly safe,’ Wilkins cut in, speaking the same language with flawless precision and taking a small measure of satisfaction in the surprise it evoked. ‘No harm will come to you while you’re in this building. That’s why we’re here.’
Qalat thought on it for a moment. It went against his instincts to go into a situation like this blind and defenceless, but once again he recognized that if all Cain wanted was to see him dead, there were easier ways to do it. And to back out now would be a great show of weakness.
‘It’s fine,’ he said at last, motioning Baloch to stand down. He gave Wilkins a sour look before adding, ‘After all, we are all friends here.’
This time Wilkins did smile, but there was no warmth in it.
‘Thank you, sir. Could you raise your arms, please?’
Qalat did as he asked. Moving forward, Wilkins quickly and efficiently frisked him for hidden weapons. Finding none, he took a step back and nodded to the two operatives guarding the door, who stepped neatly aside, one of them opening the door to reveal a wide, open-plan sitting area beyond.
‘Deputy Director Cain is waiting for you inside, sir,’ he said, gesturing for Qalat to go on ahead. ‘Please go in.’
Giving his two men a meaningful glance, Qalat straightened his back, raised his chin and walked onward to meet his adversary.
* * *
On the rooftop overlooking the safe house, the atmosphere was growing increasingly tense as the seconds crawled by without word from Frost. Every moment they delayed increased the chance they might be spotted, or lose their window to strike.
‘We’re exposed out here, Ryan,’ Mason hissed, eager to get moving. ‘I say we go now, while we sti
ll can.’
‘No,’ Drake decided. ‘Not until we have eyes on Cain.’
‘We will not get another chance at this, Mason,’ Anya added, looking up from her weapon to regard the two men. ‘Be patient.’
‘Easy for you to say.’
The look she gave him then offered a glimpse into the years of lies and betrayals she had experienced because of Cain, the lifetime she had given up in service of hopeless causes, the suffering and pain she had endured. It was only a glimpse, but it was enough.
‘It is not easy for me,’ she promised him.
* * *
The expansive sitting room was, like the rest of the house, of ultra-modern design, with bare concrete walls and exposed steelwork. The full-length windows probably offered an impressive view over the city, but all of them had been blocked by thick blinds to shield the interior from prying eyes. The floor was expensive hardwood, unlike the marble tiles downstairs, but polished to a mirror sheen.
A pair of white leather couches sat in the centre of the room, on opposite sides of a glass-topped coffee table. Cups and a pot of coffee had already been laid out. It was on the furthest couch that Marcus Cain was reclining in apparent ease, as a man might relax after a hard day at work.
Seeing Qalat’s arrival, he smiled and rose from his seat. There was no warmth in that smile, however, and despite his outward show of hospitality he had the look of a fighter making his way to the ring.
‘Vizur, good to see you. It’s been a long time,’ he said, rounding the coffee table and approaching with his hand outstretched.
Qalat shook hands with him, noting the power of the man’s grip. Typical American, trying to assert strength in a situation that demanded wits and intelligence.
‘Indeed it has,’ Qalat agreed, quickly comparing the man before him to the one he’d met in Afghanistan two decades earlier. His hair was greying at the sides, his face a little more lined and careworn than before, but all things considered he seemed to have weathered the years quite well. ‘You have an impressive place here.’
Cain shrugged, as if it were a matter of no importance. ‘The Agency isn’t short on money these days.’ Then, remembering his manners, he gestured to the couch closest to them. ‘Please, make yourself comfortable. We’ve got a lot to talk about.’
* * *
‘Holy shit! We’ve got him!’ Frost cried out, punching the car dashboard in her excitement.
Sure enough, the video window in front of her showed Cain, along with a second man in the building’s living room, just where they predicted the meeting would take place.
McKnight, her hand trembling, reached for her radio transmitter. ‘Bravo Two to all units. We have a confirmed sighting of Tempest. Repeat, Tempest is on site.’
‘Copy that,’ Drake replied, the tension in his voice evident even over the radio net. ‘What’s his location?’
‘He’s in the upper-floor living room. Right where we expected. I see one other tango with him. Male, Asian, mid-forties, likely of Pakistani origin.’
‘No one else?’
‘Negative. Two other Pakistani men are waiting outside in the upper corridor, along with three white males in suits. They look like bodyguards to me.’
‘Understood. Focus on Tempest for now. What’s his situation?’
‘He’s seated at a coffee table in the centre of the room, talking with his Pakistani contact.’
‘Can you patch through the audio?’ Drake asked quickly.
‘Stand by, Alpha. I’m on it,’ she replied, going to work.
* * *
Qalat settled himself on the couch opposite the deputy director, surveying him calmly across the expanse of polished glass.
‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ Cain asked, reaching for the pot and pouring himself a cup. ‘I understand you’re partial to it.’
Qalat felt his pulse quicken a little at that remark, Cain subtly reminding him how easily his man had been able to slip past Qalat’s bodyguards several days ago. They’d been able to get to him once. They could do so again if need be.
‘Thank you,’ Qalat replied, his tone even.
‘Before we get started, I wanted to thank you for meeting with me tonight,’ Cain went on, steaming hot black liquid tumbling from the pot into the cup. The aroma of freshly ground coffee filled the air around them. ‘Not every man would have taken a leap of faith like this, but I had a feeling you were different. After all, that’s how men like us get ahead in this business. By taking risks.’
‘Marcus, we have known each other a long time. Too long to play these games. So, as they say at times like these, let’s dispense with the pleasantries. We are both here because we want something, and we both have something to offer. Why don’t we get down to business?’
Cain, in the midst of pouring Qalat’s coffee, glanced up from his task. His expression betrayed no anger or irritation, but something akin to relief.
‘You know something, Vizur? You’re right about that.’
Out in the corridor, Baloch paced anxiously back and forth across the wide hallway. With the door closed and securely barred by the two CIA operatives, he had no idea what was going on in the room beyond. No idea what his boss was discussing, or even if he was safe.
His comrade Kassar had taken a seat on an expensive-looking oak chair about halfway along the corridor, his sodden clothes dripping water on the tiled floor. His jaw was clenched tight, fingers tensing and relaxing as if he were trying to expel the nervous tension that filled him.
This situation felt all wrong. He couldn’t pin it down to anything specific – by any normal standard their American hosts had been perfectly polite and accommodating – but on some deeper level he sensed it. An almost palpable aura of menace and foreboding seemed to linger about this place, despite all assurances to the contrary, and it was only growing stronger.
He felt edgy, confined, trapped. His damp suit clung uncomfortably to his skin, his swollen tie felt tight around his neck. Reaching up, he loosened it, then reached into his suit jacket for a pack of cigarettes he always kept there. Some men drank, some sought comfort in women or other distractions, but for him it was always nicotine.
Straight away the two American guards tensed up, no doubt suspecting the worst, but they relaxed slightly as he withdrew the pack.
‘I’ll have to ask you not to smoke in here, sir,’ the man named Wilkins warned as he tapped one out and placed it between his lips.
‘Why?’ Baloch asked, turning away to light it. ‘Worried it will kill you?’
‘Not exactly.’
Baloch started at the familiar muted thump of a silenced weapon discharging. Catching a sudden rush of red off to his left, he instinctively turned towards it, just in time to see Kassar slumping sideways and toppling off the expensive oak chair. A wide spray of blood and brain matter coated the concrete wall behind him.
‘Contact!’ he yelled out instinctively in Pashto, reaching for his concealed weapon. A second thump, and an explosion of darkness told him he was already too late.
* * *
‘Holy shit!’ Frost cried out over the radio net.
Instantly Drake felt his heart rate soar, all thoughts of the rain still sluicing down on them forgotten now. Though they were listening in on the audio patched through from the safe house, neither he nor his two companions could see a thing. Only Frost and McKnight knew the full picture.
‘Bravo, say again your last? What’s your sitrep?’
‘The two Pakistani bodyguards are dead.’
Drake’s eyes met with Anya’s. Her look reflected the same shock and disbelief he felt. ‘What happened, Bravo?’
‘Cain’s men just fucking killed them both,’ she said, abandoning radio protocol in her haste to explain what she’d witnessed.
Neither Drake nor Anya said a word, because they were both thinking the same thing. What the hell was going on in that building?
* * *
Qalat jumped to his feet at the panicked cry from outs
ide, as well as the distinctive thud of silenced weapons discharging.
‘Sit down please, Vizur,’ Cain said calmly, laying down the coffee pot.
Qalat’s heart was pounding now, his eyes dark and accusing. ‘What the hell was that?’
‘That? That was the sound of your men being executed,’ the deputy director replied, as if nothing of any great interest had transpired. ‘Now, do you take milk or sugar in your coffee?’
Qalat felt the bile rising in his throat, as well as a growing fury that Cain had staged such an elaborate ruse just to murder him. It had all been a lie. The clandestine contact, the promise of mutual assistance, of negotiation. All of it had been done to get him to come here, to expose himself.
‘You bastard!’ he snarled, fists clenched in rage. ‘How dare you? I came here in good faith!’
Cain shrugged. ‘This is one of those give and take scenarios. You took something from me when one of your men blew himself up at Camp Chapman, so I took something back today. Be thankful I haven’t taken more. Yet.’
‘Your man promised we would not be harmed.’
‘No, he promised you wouldn’t be harmed. And you won’t, provided you cooperate.’ He leaned back in his seat, cup of coffee in hand. ‘So sit down. Now.’
The veneer of polite courtesy had been cast aside, exposing the man that lay behind it. The cold, calculating, ruthless intellect that had engineered everything leading up to this moment.
Slowly Qalat lowered himself back onto the couch, his eyes blazing with hatred.
‘Better,’ Cain allowed. ‘Now, you might not think it to look at me, but I’m a lot like Father Christmas. I make it my business to know when people have been naughty or nice. And you’ve been a very naughty boy, Vizur. I know you’ve been actively working against our hunt for senior al-Qaeda commanders on both sides of the Afghan border. I know you were behind the suicide attack at Camp Chapman, and that al-Balawi was an ISI double agent operating under your orders.’