Shadow Conflict

by Shadow Conflict (epub)

  Cain watched in silence, enjoying his discomfort. When Wallace, a career politician more accustomed to committee meetings and legislative debate, had taken up the post of director a year ago, Cain had predicted he wouldn’t last long with the constant stress, lack of sleep and heavy workload. Based on what he was seeing, he might soon be proven right.

  Bad heart, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, a stroke, or simply age and declining stamina. Cain couldn’t rightly say what was ultimately going to force the director’s retirement, but he suspected it would happen before too long.

  Wallace let out a slow breath and folded his arms. ‘I want to know exactly what you were doing out there, and I want to know now.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Cain replied evenly.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Cain rose slowly from behind his desk. Drawn up to his full height, he was easily a couple of inches taller than the director, and still broad-shouldered and physically strong despite feeling distinctly middle-aged.

  ‘You’ve been a politician most of your adult life, Bob. And I don’t doubt you will be again after your assignment here is over,’ he said, making his way around his expansive desk. ‘You were brought in to clean up the Agency, improve its public image. So I’m sure you, more than anyone, appreciates the value of plausible deniability.’

  For once, Wallace didn’t look quite so cocky and sure of himself, especially with Cain standing mere feet away from him. ‘What exactly are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying, being a CIA director is a lot like being president. You have a limited shelf life. And like presidents, most of them learn pretty quickly that the only thing more dangerous than knowing too little is knowing too much. Believe me, I’ve been around long enough to understand that.’

  Wallace’s weak jaw jutted defiantly, his eyes flaring with indignation. ‘Think carefully about what you say next, because I don’t take kindly to being threatened. Especially by one of my own employees,’ he said, pointing a finger at Cain. ‘You might have been around a long time, but I can change that.’

  ‘You can,’ Cain acknowledged. ‘But you won’t. Because unlike you, this job isn’t just a stepping stone into public office for me. I’ve seen men in your position rise to some of the highest ranks in government, and I’ve seen others sink like a stone. It all comes down to how you’re remembered, and what your name’s attached to.’ He let that sink in before going on. ‘You asked earlier what exactly I was saying. Well, it’s simply this – back off, be the knight in shining armour you were hired to be, take the credit when things go well, and let people like me get on with the real work of running this agency.’

  Such was his shock, Wallace genuinely couldn’t muster a response for the next couple of seconds. He simply stood, staring, as if Cain were a fortune teller who had just foretold the man’s doom.

  ‘If whatever the fuck you’re cooking up… if it goes wrong—’

  ‘Then it’s on me,’ Cain interrupted. ‘If it all works out, then the director takes the credit, and his stock on the Hill goes way up.’

  Wallace surveyed his deputy with undisguised anger. But mindful of his earlier outburst, he was careful to rein it in.

  ‘And what the hell do you get out of it, Cain? A favour owed? Chips you can cash in later?’

  Cain might have smiled. Wallace, still thinking like the politician he was, seeing everything in terms of leverage and capital.

  ‘I get what we all want, Bob. Peace in our time.’ Cain turned away and rounded his desk once more. ‘Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do.’

  The director hesitated a few moments longer, no doubt trying to counter the feeling that he’d just been dismissed.

  ‘All right, Marcus. I’ll give a little latitude on this one. Very little,’ he said, as if it were still his decision to make. ‘But I promise you this. If your “deniable operation” goes south, I am going to come down on you so hard I’ll make you wish I was a ton of bricks.’

  With that, he strode out of the office, making sure to slam the door hard behind him.

  Chapter 14

  Compared to the soaking, freezing cold weather that he’d fought through, the warm and dry interior of the old Skoda was pure heaven, particularly after Drake had cranked the heating up to full power. Moisture from his slowly drying clothes quickly condensed against the windscreen, making it difficult to see outside, though Drake noticed the young woman maintained speed as if frightened of his reaction if she slowed.

  ‘It’s all right, you can slow down,’ he said, speaking more calmly now that the situation was less desperate. Speeding might draw police attention that he certainly didn’t need to deal with. ‘Slow down.’

  She glanced at him, uncertain, but gradually the speedometer began to drop.

  With less chance of skidding off the road, Drake was afforded a brief opportunity to study the driver in more detail. What he saw was more baffling than enlightening.

  She was young – early twenties at most. Her simple but revealing clothes emphasized a slender physique, narrow waist and breasts that were too big to be natural. Her hair was dyed blonde and cut to shoulder length, her face covered by heavy make-up that it didn’t need. Who the hell was this girl? She resembled a glamour model, though her choice of ride was anything but glamorous.

  ‘You speak English,’ he said, thinking it best to be direct.

  Again her eyes flicked to him, as if she were weighing up how much to reveal. Finally deciding to be honest, she acknowledged, ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  He saw the muscles working in her throat as she swallowed. ‘Lenka.’

  Drake shifted position, trying to get more comfortable while keeping her covered. ‘Where are we, Lenka?’

  She gestured up ahead, where the lights of a small settlement were visible through the murky weather. ‘That is Borinka up ahead.’

  ‘I mean what country are we in?’

  She peered at him in confusion, perhaps wondering whether this was a trick.

  ‘Eyes on the road,’ he instructed, wary of her losing control. ‘And answer the question. What country is this?’

  ‘Slovakia.’

  Now he was getting somewhere. Eastern Europe was a logical choice for holding prisoners like himself and Frost without interference from local government. Many of the former Eastern Bloc countries had a cosy no-questions-asked relationship with the Agency when it came to hosting black sites on their territory, helped no doubt by large amounts of cash channelled their way.

  However, to the best of Drake’s knowledge, Slovakia wasn’t one of them. Then again, the place he’d escaped from hadn’t looked particularly well prepared or set up. Perhaps it had merely been a convenient location set up in haste to accommodate him.

  ‘Are you going to kill me?’ she asked. She seemed to have gotten over her earlier shock, her voice taking on a more blunt and practical tone as if they were discussing his dinner plans for that evening.

  Drake blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘Are you going to kill me?’ she repeated, speaking slower. He could see the tension in her body, as if she were preparing to act. She hardly struck him as a fighter, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try something if her life was on the line.

  Drake knew the time had come to change tactics. He needed to reassure her that there was a way out – one that didn’t involve dying.

  ‘Lenka, listen to me. I’ve got no interest in harming you. I just need to get out of the area. If you cooperate, you’ll walk away from this unharmed. Understand?’

  The young woman nodded. He didn’t know how much of it she believed, but some of the primal fear seemed to abate at least.

  ‘What were you doing out here so early?’

  ‘Going home,’ Lenka replied, raising her chin a little. ‘I work late.’

  ‘Do you live with someone? Are there people expecting you?’ He leaned closer, scrutinizing her reactions carefully. ‘Tell the truth.’

  She was qu
iet for a few moments. ‘I live alone.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Stupava. The next town over,’ she explained. ‘Maybe four or five miles from here.’

  It was closer than he would have liked, but it would have to do. With luck, a town like that would be big enough for two people to move around unnoticed, at least for a while. He needed somewhere to lay up for a few hours, to sort himself out and plan his next move.

  ‘Take me there,’ he said.

  Lenka’s eyes opened wide. Whatever she’d imagined coming of this unhappy encounter, having Drake take up residence in her home likely hadn’t been part of it.

  ‘But—’

  ‘I said I don’t want to hurt you, but don’t push your luck,’ he cut in impatiently, moving so the Glock was in her peripheral vision. ‘Just drive the car.’

  Lenka was wise enough not to protest further, but Drake saw her hands were firm on the wheel, and she pressed down on the gas a little harder than she needed to.

  Whatever – he didn’t care too much if she was pissed off with him. As long as she cooperated and didn’t try to escape, that was good enough for now.

  Chapter 15

  Pontoise – Cormeilles aerodrome, France

  The sleek Gulfstream G280 touched down at a small airfield north-west of Paris just after 9 a.m. local time, having ferried its two occupants from southern Poland. The journey had taken a little over 90 minutes.

  ‘Well, that was… an experience,’ said Alex as he and Anya disembarked.

  Normally flying across Europe in his own luxury plane would be the stuff of dreams, but in this case it felt like the dreams had been influenced by a heavy dose of LSD. With an interior decked out in neon lights and purple leather, and a fully stocked bar and an entertainment centre that would put most hotels to shame, Alex felt more like he was in a strip club instead of an executive jet. The only thing missing was scantily clad women, though he suspected the jet’s owner had them on hand when he flew.

  He genuinely couldn’t make up his mind who was more of a mad bastard: the mysterious – and presumably very wealthy – oligarch who travelled in such an aircraft, or the Russian pilot who flew it like it was a training simulator set up for his own personal amusement. Alex had never been so happy to set foot on solid ground.

  ‘Who the hell installs a disco ball in a private jet anyway?’ he asked, speaking so that only his companion could hear.

  ‘Someone who makes a lot more money than you, little boy,’ the heavily Russian-accented voice of the pilot reprimanded him. ‘So don’t be giving me shit. And you better not have been fucking around with the PlayStation, or I’ll cut your balls off.’

  Alex glanced up at the gangly figure leaning out of the open hatch. Lean and mean looking, with receding hair kept closely cropped, and a tanned, strong-featured face, the man Anya had introduced as Yevgeny had been about as unwelcoming as it was possible to be. He resented having to ferry them halfway across Europe, and he’d made no attempt to hide it.

  ‘He didn’t touch a thing, Yevgeny,’ Anya promised him. ‘I appreciate your help. We both do,’ she added, elbowing Alex in the ribs.

  ‘That’s right,’ Alex agreed, pasting on a fake smile. ‘You’re the man, Yevgeny.’

  Yevgeny didn’t look convinced. Reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket, he lit one and took a deep draw. He had the look of someone building up to a difficult question, his former bluster gone.

  ‘We are even now, yes?’ he asked, addressing his question to Anya. ‘For Ignaty.’

  ‘Yes,’ the woman confirmed from the bottom of the jet’s retractable stairs. ‘We are even.’

  He nodded, satisfied. ‘Then I will drink to his memory. But first I must get to St Petersburg before my boss wonders where the fuck his plane is.’

  Alex might have questioned how a man could fail to notice his private jet was missing, but he supposed anyone rich and insane enough to turn an aircraft into a flying nightclub probably wasn’t too detail oriented.

  ‘Good luck, Yevgeny. And thank you,’ Anya said again. ‘I mean that.’

  That seemed to please him, and Alex saw the thin lips curl into what might have been called a smile.

  ‘Take care of yourself, you crazy bitch. And don’t count on this pussy to watch your back,’ he added, flicking some ash casually at Alex.

  ‘I won’t.’

  Bidding him farewell, they hurried away from the jet even as Yevgeny shouted to a passing maintenance worker about needing a refuelling truck. Alex waited until they were well and truly out of earshot before speaking.

  ‘Real charmer, that one,’ he said, resisting the urge to give their pilot the finger as they hurried across the tarmac to a cluster of office buildings. ‘And what was all that stuff about Ignaty?’

  ‘Ignaty was his brother. I killed him.’

  Alex blinked in surprise. ‘You mean he just forgave you for it?’

  ‘No, he thanked me for it,’ she explained, as if it should have been obvious. ‘Yevgeny asked me to kill him. He has owed me a favour ever since.’

  Alex was genuinely lost for words, and slowed down to process what he’d just heard.

  ‘Come on,’ Anya called over her shoulder. ‘Our rental car should be waiting for us.’

  Chapter 16

  Stupava, Slovakia

  Drake stood in the gloomy, piss-smelling hallway while his reluctant companion fumbled with her keys. Lenka had donned an oversized dark green parka for the short walk from the car to the three-storey apartment block she called home, and the bulky coat made her seem even smaller and more vulnerable than before.

  The moment she managed to unlock her dented front door, Drake pushed the young woman roughly inside. Small and skinny, she put up no resistance, stumbling into the small corridor leading to the living room with a hiss of fear and anger.

  Drake followed right behind, drawing the Glock pistol that he’d kept concealed in his jacket during the walk up from the parking lot. Closing and locking the door, he carefully surveyed his new environment.

  The apartment was, he supposed, a good match for the car that had brought them here. Small, cheap, untidy and cluttered, it looked pretty much exactly as he’d expected. The TV in the far corner of the living room was an old-style unit with a stack of DVDs piled up next to it. The kitchen area was a chaotic mess of unwashed dishes, unopened mail, empty wine bottles, dirty cooking utensils and unsealed cereal boxes.

  The furniture all looked like it had been bought at a thrift store, and seemed to date back to the 1970s. Then again, maybe that was cutting-edge fashion around these parts. He was, however, surprised by the number of thick, worn-looking textbooks scattered around. Written in Slovak, he had no idea what they related to, but the cover images of number formulas and calculations suggested they dealt with advanced mathematics.

  The view through her grimy windows was hardly inspiring. A couple of decaying low-rise apartment blocks identical to this one, each festooned with satellite dishes and drying laundry. Beyond them, a maze of smaller private residences, interspersed with a few shops whose flashing neon signs were pretty much the only splashes of colour amidst the sombre grey buildings and dull, overcast sky. Drake was more than happy to draw the blinds and shut it out.

  It wasn’t much of a place to call home, but it was a hell of a lot better than his accommodation over the past couple of days, and offered a chance to sort himself out while he planned his next move.

  After briefly checking the bedroom and bathroom, and finding no evidence of anyone but a cash-strapped young woman living here alone, he turned his attention back to the apartment’s owner. Lenka was standing in the centre of the room, waiting to see what he did next.

  ‘Phones,’ Drake said. ‘Any mobiles or landlines in here?’

  She stretched out a slender arm and pointed to a landline unit on a sideboard near the TV. Drake started following the cable but, unable to find the phone socket and lacking the time or energy to keep searching, settle
d for ripping the line right out of the unit. He also powered down the woman’s cell phone and removed the battery and SIM card.

  Removing his sodden jacket, Drake eased himself down into a threadbare 1960s-era armchair, which reminded him of the kind of thing his grandparents kept in the Suffolk cottage he used to visit as a kid. Except here there were no servings of sponge cake and episodes of Knightmare to watch on TV.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ Lenka asked, intruding on his nostalgia.

  Opening eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed, Drake looked at the young woman. ‘A basin of hot water and a wash cloth for starters,’ he said, trying to get back into work mode. ‘After that, some hot food and as much strong coffee as you can make.’

  As his brief reverie had just proven, he would have loved nothing more than to collapse on a bed and fall asleep. But caffeine and food would have to suffice. Once he’d cleaned himself and his clothes up, he’d be able to travel more easily.

  Fortunately the early hour had meant few people out and about, allowing him to make his way upstairs through the run-down block without attracting attention. He couldn’t count on that kind of luck a second time. Nor could he be sure his enemies wouldn’t track him down if he lingered too long.

  Hawkins was both persistent and smart, and he had the considerable resources of the Agency to draw upon. Every hour Drake stayed increased his chances of being caught. One way or another, he intended to be on his way to the border before long. His best bet was to cross over into the Czech Republic and make for Prague, where he and Anya had set up an emergency supply cache. It was a long drive, but it wouldn’t be hard to blend in, with so many foreign tourists visiting.

  The question remained of what to do with Lenka. The moment he was out of here, she would alert the police to her kidnapping. Taking her with him would be dangerous for both of them, and he felt unwilling to murder an innocent civilian just to make his own escape easier.