Shadow Conflict

by Shadow Conflict (epub)

  On the opposite side of the road, the residential buildings towered over them, as foreboding as the sky against which they were silhouetted. But between them lay a small parking area, mostly empty save for two vehicles, one of which was propped up on bricks, all four wheels removed.

  The other one looked sound, however. An old style Volkswagen Golf MK3 by the looks of it, sitting in one corner of the lot. The car was unlikely to win any style awards, but it would do. Assuming they could get it started.

  Drake tried the driver’s door just in case the owner had left it unlocked. Even in places like this, stranger things have happened. But he was out of luck, and had to settle for smashing the window with a good hard kick.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Lenka demanded as he unlocked the door from the inside, hauled it open and crouched down to get at the ignition system.

  ‘Shut up. Just keep an eye out,’ he said, teasing out the bundle of wires beneath the steering column. Modern cars had pretty sophisticated anti-theft systems, but relics from the mid-90s like this were a piece of piss to steal. Providing one had the skills.

  Hotwiring had never been a favourite pastime of Drake’s, but like all Shepherd operatives he’d been trained to do it if the need arose. It certainly had today.

  He quickly spliced two wires together, which, he hoped, would control the engine fuel pumps and other components, then turned his attention to finding the ignition wire.

  ‘Shit,’ Lenka said under her breath.

  An angry male voice shouted at them in Slovak from the other side of the parking lot.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Drake said, unwilling to abandon his task. ‘Talk to me.’

  ‘Trouble,’ Lenka replied, before shouting a reply.

  ‘What kind of trouble?’

  ‘The kind you get when you try to steal a man’s car.’

  Drake could hear another shout, closer this time. Whoever was out there was clearly not pleased at seeing his car window smashed and a mud-covered young woman loitering beside it.

  Got it. Finding the ignition wire, he prised it free from the terminal.

  ‘Fuck this,’ Lenka decided. Reaching down, she grasped the Glock pistol shoved down the back of Drake’s trousers, pulled it free and brandished it at the car owner, shouting a loud warning in Slovak for him to back away. She sounded frightened and angry in equal measure, but a gun was a gun at the end of the day. Drake certainly wouldn’t have risked his life to protect a shitty car like this.

  Touching the ignition wire against the crude circuit he’d created, Drake listened as the starter motor turned over, then caught into life as the engine fired up.

  Standing up, he snatched the pistol from Lenka’s shaking hands and pointed it at the car’s owner – a short, fat bear of a man with close-cropped hair and a thick beard. He was backing away slowly with his hands up, chuntering in his native language. Probably telling Drake to go fuck himself.

  ‘Get in,’ he said to Lenka, keeping the man covered as the young woman jumped into the passenger seat.

  ‘You, get lost,’ he commanded, gesturing with the gun for the man to leave. He might not have spoken English, but he got the gist and turned away, still shouting abuse.

  Lowering himself into the driver’s seat, Drake threw the car into gear and reversed hard out of the parking lot onto the road beyond, before swinging the wheel over and accelerating away as fast as the engine could permit.

  Chapter 19

  Paris, France

  The interior of the library building was, to Alex’s surprise, sleek and modern, quite distinct from the classically styled outside. The floors were grey linoleum, the walls stark and white, and the furniture brightly coloured. It reminded him more of an office building than a centuries-old educational institution.

  An information desk lay directly ahead, manned by a bored-looking staff member who looked him over momentarily and seemed to decide that he passed muster. Corridors branched off left and right either side of the desk. Sauntering in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner, Alex spotted the two young women heading down the left one. His French was far from fluent, but he did recognize signs for Reading Rooms 1, 2 and 3.

  Keeping his pace slow and steady, he followed them.

  ‘I’ve got them in sight,’ he said quietly. ‘They’re heading for the reading rooms at the north end of the building.’

  ‘Good. Stay with them,’ came Anya’s hushed reply. He still didn’t know where she was lurking or what she planned to do, and neither fact made him feel good.

  Passing through a set of double doors brought Alex into a different world entirely. Gone was the squeaky linoleum, the whitewashed walls and blandly economical furniture, and in their place were flawless marble tiled floors, high intricate ceilings, and an elegant staircase with a single graceful curve. Even the walls of this simple utility corridor were decorated with artworks that would likely have taken pride of place in many a collection.

  The effect was like stepping out of a sterile twenty-first century into the opulence of an eighteenth-century palace, and Alex was taken aback by the disorienting change in his surroundings.

  A pair of female voices filtering down from the staircase was enough to remind him of his purpose. He hurried up the steps behind Lauren and her companion as they reached the top, crossing a wide marble landing to a set of doors on the opposite side. The reading room lay ahead.

  Alex watched as they disappeared, and raced to catch up with them. He’d done his best to familiarize himself with the layout of the building, but his knowledge was incomplete at best. All he could say for certain was that the reading room was the biggest of its kind in the entire complex. The sort of place it might be easy to lose sight of a person, if he didn’t get a move on.

  But big wasn’t an appropriate word to describe the space. Over 200 feet in length, the massive room was not just long and wide, but high, with great stone and iron columns rising to a high domed ceiling far overhead. Light streamed in through great windows overlooking the courtyard below.

  Most of the room’s internal floor space was given over to row after row of wooden writing desks, reminding him of an exam hall from his university days, each station fitted with its own identical reading light and book rest. Given the relatively early hour however, barely a quarter of the reading stations were being used.

  Five cross sections branched off from the main reading area, their shelves practically groaning under the weight of hundreds of leather-bound tomes. An impressive enough display by itself, but this was merely the tiniest fraction of the 2.5 million books housed in the library’s collection. Most likely what he saw now were works specifically requested by students and faculty members in advance, and had been brought here out of storage for a limited time.

  ‘Where are you now?’ Anya asked.

  ‘First-floor reading room,’ he replied hastily.

  Realizing he’d draw attention if he stood there gawping, Alex approached the nearest reference book section and picked a random text on human physiology that looked old, authoritative and extremely boring.

  ‘Do you still have a visual on the target?’

  Pretending to be studying the book, he glanced over the top at the two students. ‘Her friend just sat down at one of the reading stations. Looks like she’s settling down to study.’

  In the middle of the room stood a large circular desk with computers laid out around it, manned by a couple of staff who looked about as excited as the receptionist he’d passed on the way in.

  ‘Target’s at the main information desk,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Good. I need you to do something for me.’

  ‘If you want me to start a fight, the answer’s still no.’

  ‘I want you to start a conversation,’ Anya corrected him. ‘With Lauren.’

  ‘Are you having a laugh?’

  Suddenly conscious that he was being watched, Alex turned to see a short, plump woman staring at him from behind a pair of thick-framed glasses, having
approached unseen from the other end of the aisle. She looked as if she couldn’t make up her mind whether he was drunk, playing some kind of prank, or if he was the sort of man prone to holding conversations with himself.

  ‘Sorry,’ Alex said, holding his book up and offering what he hoped was a rueful smile. ‘Sometimes I get a bit too involved, know what I mean?’

  She didn’t, and made it clear. Backing away, she turned and made a hasty exit back the way she’d come.

  ‘Who are you talking to?’ Anya demanded.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Alex said, making sure to keep his voice down this time. ‘What the hell am I supposed to talk to her about?’

  ‘Politics, the weather, pop culture… I don’t care.’

  ‘Did you just say “pop culture”?’

  ‘Just keep her talking,’ Anya said, irritation in her voice. ‘Don’t let her leave, and make sure people see you speaking with her.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just do it, Alex.’

  ‘Fuck,’ he said under his breath, trying to think of some way of approaching her that wouldn’t appear contrived.

  Fortunately however, inspiration seemed to be on his side. As Lauren finished up her conversation with the desk clerk and began heading over to the books section, Alex was suddenly struck by an idea.

  Having hacked into her private university directory, he was well versed in the subject of her dissertation, and had a feeling he knew where she was headed. Abandoning the book he’d been pretending to read, he quickly side-stepped behind his aisle, making for the section on French history.

  He was moving fast, eager to reach his destination before she did while not drawing too much attention to himself. Fortunately she had more ground to cover, giving him a precious few seconds to scan the shelves in front of him. As he’d hoped, the books were arranged by author’s name, mostly in alphabetical order.

  ‘Come on, you fucker. Where are you?’ he mumbled, eyes flitting down the rows of books until he found the section starting with V.

  ‘Gotcha,’ he said, grabbing the leather-bound edition as if it were an ancient treasure. He’d barely flipped open the cover when a voice spoke up to his left.

  ‘Excusez-moi, monsieur?’

  ‘Yeah?’ Alex said innocently, turning to face her.

  Though he’d seen pictures of Lauren Cain online, and even viewed her with his own eyes – albeit from a distance – it was quite different to be in her presence.

  She was smaller than he’d expected, maybe five foot five, and lightly built. Having discarded her overcoat, he could make out the trim, compact physique of someone who clearly took regular exercise. Her wavy dark hair was worn loose, falling past her shoulders and framing a face that was at once delicate and feminine, but which hinted at the stronger will and intellect that lay behind it.

  Her eyes, seeming to shift between green and brown, were regarding him with curiosity and a hint of interest. Her full lips were slightly parted with the beginnings of a friendly smile. She was a young woman for whom smiles came easily, he sensed. Someone who had no reason to see Alex as a threat.

  That made him all too conscious of what he’d been sent here to do, and he felt an intense pang of guilt for being complicit in what was about to happen.

  ‘I’m sorry, I assumed you were a French student,’ she explained, her tone polite but warm. ‘I take it you speak English?’

  Alex opened his mouth to reply, but no words would come. It was as if someone had wiped his mind of all thoughts, and immediately he felt a blush rising to his cheeks. Seeing his difficulty, Lauren smiled a little in amusement, perhaps mistaking his embarrassment for something else.

  ‘I think you’ve got something of mine,’ she said, her tone one of mock severity.

  ‘Make words come out your mouth, Alex,’ Anya’s tinny voice demanded, her tone hard and insistent in his ear. ‘Anything will do.’

  ‘Hmm?’ Alex said, trying to focus his mind on two different conversations at once.

  Lauren nodded to the book in his hands. Lettres philosophiques sur les Anglais, better known by its English title Letters Concerning the English Nation.

  ‘I’d actually reserved that copy myself,’ she said, a little more guarded this time. She was about to challenge him, and was testing to see how he’d react. ‘I was just coming over to pick it up, but it… looks like you got there first.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Alex said, his brain finally starting to engage. ‘I’m new around here.’

  ‘I noticed,’ she said, her smile broadening. ‘England, right?’

  ‘You’ve got me.’ He launched into the story he’d concocted in the ten seconds or so it had taken her to get here. ‘I’m only in Paris for a week or so, doing a bit of a research trip. I’d come to view some documents from just before the Revolution, but I happened to see this in passing. I’m such a big fan of Voltaire, I just had to take a look. Especially hearing his thoughts about my homeland.’ He smiled, feigning rather than feeling embarrassment this time. ‘Afraid I got rather absorbed in it. You caught me off guard.’

  ‘Sorry about that. I promise, I’m not in the habit of sneaking up on people.’ She was relaxing a little having discovered he shared her interest in French literature. ‘I’m Lauren, by the way.’

  The answer came out before he could stop himself. ‘Alex.’

  Lauren nodded to the book. ‘Have you read many of Voltaire’s works, Alex?’

  He certainly hadn’t, being about as familiar with classic literature as Anya was with crochet knitting, but he had memorized a good number of their titles during his research on Lauren. ‘As many as I can find,’ he assured her, with a tone of gushing enthusiasm. ‘Especially Candide. That’s one of my favourites.’

  Her look of delight told him he’d hit the right mark with that one. ‘Now you’re talking. I must have read it five, six times. What did you think of the relationship between Candide and Cacambo?’

  Fuck. Even his photographic memory couldn’t help him with this one. Knowing the title of a book was one thing, but understanding the intricacies of its plot quite another.

  ‘Well, I thought it was interesting how it changed over the course of the story,’ he lied. ‘But I felt like I was always waiting for Candide’s friend to do something, like he was dragging his heels,’ he added, hoping Anya was listening in and took the hint.

  He could only bullshit his way through this conversation for so long before Lauren realized he wasn’t what he claimed to be. He also couldn’t communicate directly with Anya and tell her to hurry the hell up.

  He just hoped that wherever she was, she got what she needed pretty damn fast.

  Chapter 20

  Anya was indeed hard at work, not that anyone would have known it to look at her. Having situated herself at a reading table in the far corner of the vast room, she was hawkishly scanning the students and the scattering of staff members around her for the one face that didn’t belong.

  She knew they were here somewhere. Despite the multitude of precautions taken to maintain her anonymity, a man like Cain wouldn’t have left his daughter’s security to chance. He would have a physical presence on site as backup, monitoring her movements constantly and ready to respond to any threats that presented themselves.

  That meant at least one person in this room wasn’t what they seemed. And Anya had to find and neutralize them before she could put the rest of her plan into action.

  Her gaze shifted constantly from person to person, looking for anything that would clue her in. A suited field operative with a microphone wire trailing from his ear wasn’t going to be the order of the day here. Any agent operating in a setting like this would be in deep cover, probably even based at the university to make their presence more believable. On the surface they would look, talk and act just like everyone else. She doubted even Lauren herself was aware that she was being watched 24/7.

  Anya would have to go on gut instinct. She’d served as a field agent herself for years, and
knew every trick of the trade.

  Anyone taking an unusual interest in Lauren now that she was talking to a stranger would be a red flag. Casual glances or passing interest weren’t enough. There had to be situational awareness, threat assessment, constant juggling of possible scenarios. All the things Agency operatives were trained to do without anyone seeing.

  And Anya had mere seconds to find that person and act.

  There. A young man standing at the end of a book aisle, his eyes on Lauren. He was tall and well built, and unusually clean-cut for a student, his hair cut short in a low-maintenance style. His clothes were practical, designed for movement and activity. A man with military training whose fresh-faced complexion allowed him to pass for someone several years younger, to serve as a deep-cover operative?

  Possibly. She could feel herself preparing to move, only for her target to break into a beaming smile as a young woman approached him. Kissing her on the cheek, he headed for the exit at the far end, his arm around her waist. No go.

  Alex’s conversation was faltering. She could hear his vague responses and vain efforts to steer the chat towards a more comfortable topic. Like a typical British man, he had no idea how to talk to an attractive young woman. She could only hope he was able to keep Lauren in place for a little longer as her eyes continued to scan the room with increasing urgency.

  That was when Anya saw her.

  Lauren’s friend. The one with the plain looks and the short red hair. She was sitting at a reading table not far from her companion, pretending to study, but Anya could see her eyes were on Alex almost the whole time. And her expression wasn’t that of a friend intrigued by her companion’s new acquaintance; it was the serious, focussed look of a trained agent.

  Anya knew the thought process the young woman was going through, comparing Alex’s face with known terrorists or wanted suspects, sizing him up for concealed weapons or malicious intent.

  The Agency often employed women like this in the field, not because they were better at fighting and killing, but because they blended in. People were less inclined to see them as a threat, and dismissed them without even realizing it, often to their cost.