by Will Jordan
Drake’s head rose up, hardly daring to imagine what else this man had in store for him. ‘What business?’
Hawkins gave him a look of patient, sympathetic understanding. ‘Here’s the problem, Ryan. A lot of my men are dead after last night, mostly because of you. Hell, you even took a swipe at me. That’s the sort of thing I can’t allow to go unpunished. You understand, don’t you? The boys are just baying for blood. Your blood, and they won’t be happy until they get it. Fortunately for you, Cain wants you alive, but that puts me in a tricky spot. So… what’s a man to do?’
Drake could feel his pulse rising by the second. Knowing Hawkins as he did, he sensed something terrible coming. But nothing could prepare him for what the man did next.
‘Bring them in!’ he called out.
The door opened again, and Drake heard scuffling footsteps, muttered curses and struggling. Nonetheless, two of Hawkins’s men appeared a moment later, their faces obscured by masks, each with a bound prisoner in front of them.
‘Take a seat, guys,’ Hawkins said, nodding to them.
A kick to the back of the legs dropped Mason and Frost to their knees in front of Drake. Both had their hands bound behind their backs, both were battered and bruised by the crash and, he suspected, rough handling by their captors. But they were alive, and they were looking to him. He saw fear in their eyes, matching his own.
‘Great, now that we’re all here, it’s time I explained the situation,’ Hawkins carried on, clearly enjoying every second of this. ‘I’ve been ordered to bring you guys in. I’m cool with that, but wouldn’t you know it? I’ve only got space for two.’ Drake watched in horror as he drew a big square-looking automatic from the holster at his waist. ‘But I’m a reasonable man, and I want this to be a fair process. So, I’m going to let Ryan here decide which one gets to come along, and which one… well, doesn’t.’
Oh God, Drake’s mind screamed at him. Hawkins was going to make him choose which one of his teammates was to be executed.
‘No!’ Drake cried out, straining against his bonds. ‘No! You take me. You kill me, and you leave them alone, you fuck!’
He didn’t see the blow coming from behind, but the sudden explosion of light and pain inside his head told him one of Hawkins’s operatives had struck him across the back of the head. Not hard enough to render him unconscious, but enough to silence him and leave stars flickering across his eyes.
‘Next time you interrupt like that, I’ll kill them both,’ Hawkins promised him. ‘Now, it’s pretty simple. You’ve got to the count of five to decide which one to save. You can’t take one for the team on this, so forget about nominating yourself. If you refuse to pick one, I’m just going to have to go ahead and kill them both. And we don’t want that, do we?’
‘Don’t give this piece of shit the pleasure,’ Frost spat, glaring up at Hawkins.
He grinned in amusement. ‘She’s a little wildcat, this one. That the kind of person you want to keep around a little longer?’
Mason, who had remained silent until now, swallowed and raised his chin in defiance. ‘I’ll do it, Ryan,’ he said calmly. ‘I’m ready. I’m not afraid of this asshole.’
‘Shut the fuck up, Cole!’ Frost hit back, though her eyes were shining with tears. ‘Ryan, if one of us has to go, pick me. No way I could live with that shit otherwise.’
‘Wow, noble stuff,’ Hawkins remarked, impressed. ‘All this self-sacrifice is bringing a tear to my eye.’ His comment was met with a few chuckles from the other operatives in the room. ‘But time’s marching on. Let’s get this done, shall we? One.’
‘Don’t do this,’ Drake pleaded, staring at both his friends. How could he possibly make such a choice?
Hawkins ignored him as he readied his weapon. ‘Two.’
‘Ryan, I swear to God, you’d better save Cole!’ Frost implored him, fury and fear vying for control of her. ‘I’ll kill you myself if you don’t.’
‘Three.’
Mason ignored her, concentrating on Drake. ‘Ryan, listen to me. Just do it, man. Pick me. Don’t pussy out now! Fucking choose me!’
‘Four.’
Drake closed his eyes, tears trickling down his cheeks as the shouts, the threats and pleas blended together into background noise, and all that remained was the countdown. One final second to save a friend’s life, and condemn another.
‘Five. Time’s up, Ryan.’
Drake opened his eyes then, staring straight at Hawkins. The word came out almost before he knew it. ‘Keira,’ he said quietly. ‘I save Keira.’
‘Good man, Ryan.’ Hawkins smiled, satisfied. ‘Now, you might think I’d pull some dickish move, like killing her just to fuck with your head, but I’m not going to do that. I want you to know that what happens next is all on you, Ryan.’
With that, he pressed the gun against Mason’s head. Drake’s eyes met them in that final instant, seeing not fear but acceptance. And gratitude.
‘No!’ Frost screamed as he pulled the trigger.
The single thunderous shot echoed around the room, drowning out Drake’s cry of grief and agony as his friend slumped to the floor at Hawkins’s feet.
Drake could feel himself trembling, the breath frozen in his throat, shock setting in as he stared at Mason’s body. He was gone. He was dead.
‘There, that wasn’t too hard now, was it?’ Hawkins said, holstering the automatic.
Drake looked up at him, burning with utter hatred. ‘You’re going to die for this. And the last thing you’re going to see is my face.’
‘Keep telling yourself that, buddy. It might make what happens in the next few days… easier.’ With this chilling warning delivered, he glanced at his fellow operatives, then pointed to the body. ‘Dispose of that, would you? And get the other two ready to move. Time’s-a-wasting, boys.’
Drake was no longer hearing him. His head was bowed, eyes closed as utter anguish swept over him like an endless wave.
Chapter 58
Samantha winced as the hood was yanked off her head, revealing a bleak landscape of rocky mountains and arid, windswept plains. The sun was just rising above the horizon, spilling its orange glow across the scorched land beneath.
The van she’d been brought here in was idling nearby, its driver and her two guards smoking, weapons slung over their shoulders. A second vehicle was parked close to it. A big Mercedes SUV – the kind used for ferrying executives and high-ranking Agency personnel around.
‘I’m disappointed in you, Samantha.’
Swallowing, she turned around to find Marcus Cain standing just a few feet away. He was still dressed in the kind of expensive suit she’d come to know him for, but he looked a little less crisp and perfect today. It had been a long night for both of them, and his mildly dishevelled appearance gave her a perverted sense of satisfaction.
She didn’t care to imagine what she must look like.
‘You let me down,’ he carried on. ‘I put a lot of faith in you. Trusted you to be my eyes and ears. I thought we understood each other.’
‘I’m happy to disappoint you. Where are my friends?’ she demanded.
This brought a chuckle of amusement. ‘Your friends? That’s funny, still calling them your friends after what you did. Well, you can bet your ass they don’t think of you as a friend any more.’ His expression turned more serious then; sombre and grave. ‘I wish I’d been there, you know. When they told Drake exactly what you were, what you’d done. I understand that was what finally broke the man.’
His words were like a knife driven into her guts, twisting and tearing with each passing moment, but somehow she forced herself not to show the agony she felt. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply she cared.
And yet, even as she stood there, part of her still couldn’t understand how he’d beaten them, how he had known where they would be and what they were planning. She had severed her ties with Cain after the raid on their villa, gone dark and dedicated herself to bringing about hi
s destruction.
‘You’re wondering how we found you. How I beat you,’ he said, guessing her thoughts. ‘There’s no shame in it. I’d want to know if I was in your shoes.’
Samantha said nothing.
‘It was your dad,’ Cain said quietly, looking almost sympathetic. ‘The burner phone you always insisted he keep with him. It took one of our people in the hospital about two days to find and bug it.’
She should have felt furious that he’d seen through her attempt at deception so easily, that she hadn’t anticipated he would have spies in the hospital where her father was being treated. She should have, but she couldn’t summon up that feeling now. All she felt was an abiding sadness.
‘As soon as you called to check in on him, we had your number,’ Cain explained. ‘We could trace you anywhere on the planet; all the way to Islamabad. That’s how I knew Drake had taken the bait. And you were in it with him. Like I said, I’m disappointed in you. It didn’t have to come to this.’
‘Cut the bullshit, Marcus. We both know what happened last night. It’s over, we’re over.’ She was under no illusions about why they’d brought her out to such a remote place. It was pretty obvious she wasn’t going to walk away from this one.
She let out a breath and looked around, taking in the snow-capped peaks and the clear blue sky. There was a beauty in the absolute starkness of it that appealed to her. All things considered, it wasn’t a bad place to meet one’s end.
With a fleeting feeling of sadness and regret, she absently touched at her abdomen. She knew she would never get to feel the baby kick, to sense its tiny movements within her, to hold it in her arms and look into its eyes. Would it have blue eyes like her, or vivid green like Drake? Such stupid thoughts to entertain, she realized then. She didn’t even know if it was a boy or girl.
Perhaps it was better not to know, she thought. It would only make what was coming harder to bear.
‘So this is where it’s going to happen.’ It was phrased as a statement, not a question. ‘Got a nice spot picked out for me, I suppose. Well, you might as well get it over with. Just do me the courtesy of making it quick, and spare me your shitty victory speech.’
‘You mean kill you?’ He sounded almost offended by the suggestion. ‘Why would I do that? No, Samantha, I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to make sure you live a long life filled with plenty of time to think about your choices. You’re going back to prison where I found you. Well, more or less,’ he added. ‘The place you’ll be calling home from now on is a little more… basic than you’re used to.’
Those words sent a chill down her spine.
‘Speaking of which,’ Cain went on. ‘Every prisoner’s entitled to a phone call. Hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of making yours.’ He held out a cell phone to her that already had an active call connected. ‘Go ahead, take it. There’s someone who wants to talk to you.’
Oh God, she silently cried. Please don’t let it be him.
Unable to stop her hand from trembling, she reached out and took the phone, raising it to her ear. ‘Who’s there?’
A pause. She held her breath.
‘Sam.’
Something died within her in that moment, and she felt herself crumbling from the inside. She knew her father’s voice instantly.
Cupping a hand over the phone, she glared at Cain with pure hatred. ‘You fucking—’
Instantly a trio of weapons were pointed her way.
‘Careful,’ he warned, gesturing to the operatives who now had her covered, and wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if she made a wrong move. ‘Time’s ticking, Sam. If I were you, I’d make use of it.’
Forcing herself to be calm, she returned to the phone. ‘Dad. I’m…’
‘There are people here, Sam. Men with guns. I don’t know how they tracked me down out here, but they did.’ There was no fear in his voice. Then again, a man dying of cancer had little left in this world to fear. ‘I’m sorry, kid. I let you down.’
Samantha squeezed her eyes shut as tears silently streamed down her cheeks. If only he knew how easily Cain had been able to find him.
‘I’m the one who should apologize, Dad. I…wasn’t there for you, when you needed me. This was all my fault. I’m…’ Her voice was breaking with the strain. ‘I didn’t want it to turn out like this.’
‘You’re wrong about that,’ he cut in then, his voice taking on a harder, commanding edge. A father to the end. ‘It was you, Sam. Don’t you see? When Liam died, when your mom left… You were the one who kept me going. You gave me a reason to go on. Every day, you were what I fought for, what I worked for, what I lived for. That was all I ever needed.’
She heard him sigh then. A wistful, peaceful sigh.
‘I’m standing by the lake, Sam. Where we used to fish. I’m looking at the most amazing view. I wish you could be here to see it.’
‘So do I, Dad.’ She had to tell him. She had to tell him now. ‘I lo—’
She jumped as the harsh crack of a single gunshot resounded down the line, letting out a cry of shock and grief and anguish all mingled together as the call was disconnected. Dropping the phone, she fell to her knees, shoulders slumped in utter defeat, tears streaming down her face.
‘It’s hard, isn’t it?’ Cain said, sounding almost compassionate for a moment. ‘Losing someone you love.’
‘My father never hurt anyone,’ she managed to say. ‘You didn’t have to kill him.’
She saw a knowing look in his eyes. ‘Since you’re so fond of my speeches, let me tell you a story about my own father. He was a different generation from your old man, served in the Pacific during the war. Fighter pilot; pretty decent one too, until he got himself shot down and captured at Guadalcanal. Like most men in that situation, he ended up in a Japanese POW camp. Now, you can probably imagine what the conditions were like there, and it didn’t take long before he started thinking about escape. Took a while, but he finally made it out through the wire during the night and vanished into the jungle, managed to stay on the run for two days before they caught up with him. They didn’t kill him, though. Instead they brought him back in front of the whole camp, picked out two of his buddies from the crowd and beheaded them both right in front of him.’ He shrugged. ‘No more escape attempts. See, it’s not the impact we have on our own lives that deters us – it’s what happens to the people we care about. They’re the ones who pay the price for our mistakes. And it’s their suffering that keeps us from sleeping at night. Believe me… I know.’
Samantha couldn’t summon a response to that. She should have been furious at him for what he’d done, should have hurled herself at him despite the armed guards, should have torn his throat out or gouged his eyes with her fingernails, but instead she just sat there on her knees doing nothing. Because deep down she knew Cain wasn’t really to blame for this.
She was.
‘Would you have honoured our agreement, if I’d come through for you? Would you have left us alone?’ she asked, not even sure why she wanted to know, why she’d chosen to torment herself with the question.
He thought about it for a long moment. ‘Yeah,’ he finally admitted. ‘Yeah, I would have.’ He allowed those words to sink in before speaking again. ‘You’re going to have a long time to think about that.’
He gestured to the nearby operatives. Two of them moved forward and seized her by the arms, lifting her to her feet so they could lead her towards the waiting van.
‘This is where we part ways, Samantha,’ Cain said, turning away. ‘You and I are headed in different directions, and I don’t imagine we’ll be seeing each other again.’
‘Wait,’ she pleaded, turning to Cain in desperation. ‘Just tell me one thing. What about Ryan? Is he alive?’
The look in Cain’s eyes was maddeningly, terrifyingly impossible to fathom. And she knew that was exactly what he wanted her to see, because he knew that unanswered question would torment her for the rest of her days.
‘Get her out
of here,’ he ordered, turning and striding back towards the SUV.
The last thing Samantha saw before the doors slammed shut was Marcus Cain slipping on a pair of sunglasses as he entered the luxury vehicle, then with a clang the world outside vanished, leaving her alone in the darkness.
Epilogue
Krakow, Poland – three days later
Careful to keep his face a blank mask devoid of expression, Alex Yates glanced down at the cards in his hand, silently contemplating them once again in the dim light cast by the single bulb positioned over the table.
Three queens, a ten and a two. Three of a kind – hardly a winning hand by any stretch of the imagination. The only question was whether it was better than his opponent’s. Only the two of them were left in the game, the others having folded as the stakes were progressively raised.
Based on the hands that had been dealt and revealed so far, and the pattern of shuffling used by the dealer, Alex estimated about a 60 per cent probability that his own hand was superior. A different man would have been forced to go on gut instinct, making a judgement call based on little more than his belief in his own hand and whatever he could discern from his opponent. Alex was of another sort.
His mind, and the photographic memory that recorded the most miniscule detail with perfect clarity, were new and unique weapons that his fellow players were unlikely to match.
Of all the ways he’d imagined his life playing out, this hadn’t been one of them. About a year ago, armed only with a fake passport and a rucksack full of cash from his exploits trying to steal classified computer files from the CIA, he’d been forced to go on the run from the authorities.
He’d almost welcomed the release from his former existence of boredom and drudgery at the time, viewing a life on the run as an almost romantic, adventurous affair, his overactive imagination conjuring up visions of James Bond-style tuxedos, cocktails and high-stakes card games in opulent casinos.
Well, he’d gotten the last one, after a fashion. But there were no tuxedos to be seen in this underground gambling den hidden beneath the medieval streets of Krakow, and the shot of cheap vodka sitting before him wouldn’t have done much to impress Mr Bond.