This was fortunate, since everything he owned had been taken from him in Pakistan. Not to mention that the arrival of a man and woman in torn, mud-streaked clothes would certainly have aroused suspicion from even the most lax of security guards.
‘What are we looking for?’ Lenka asked, glancing fearfully over her shoulder.
‘A security blanket,’ he explained, his eyes on the unit numbers.
The young woman frowned. ‘A what?’
‘You’ll see.’
Drake halted beside unit 561. It looked no different from the others – just a plain steel door with a reference number, painted blue and secured with a combination padlock.
‘I need to pee,’ Lenka whispered. It had been a three-hour car journey north from Slovakia, with no rest stops along the way.
‘Hold it in,’ he advised, indifferently.
Drake turned the padlock on its side to expose the four combination dials. Every cache he’d set up had its own unique code. He couldn’t rely on notes or prompts – the only option was to commit each of the numbers to memory.
Turning the dials one after the other, he hesitated before twisting the final one into position. There was a click, and the shackle sprung free.
Drake opened the door a fraction and checked that the fragment of matchstick he’d wedged into the frame hadn’t been disturbed. Satisfied that the tell was intact, he stepped inside.
‘In,’ he said, pulling Lenka after him and closing the door.
The storage locker itself was square, and small enough that Lenka could stand in the centre, stretch out her arms and touch the cinder block walls with ease. It was certainly not an expansive space, but it didn’t need to be. The only contents were a pair of metal boxes pushed up against the wall.
‘I do not understand,’ Lenka said, frowning. ‘There is no blanket here.’
‘Look closer,’ Drake replied as he knelt down in front of the first box, easing it open an inch or so.
The reason for his caution soon became obvious. The lid was rigged with a tripwire, attached to a simple hook inside. Anyone who tried to open it without disabling the concealed trap would trigger an incendiary grenade all but guaranteed to vaporize everything within the unit.
Disabling the tripwire, Drake swung the lid open. First and most obvious was the money: two thousand euros in various denominations, sealed in plastic ziplock bags. Certainly not a fortune – Drake couldn’t afford to spread his resources too thinly – but enough to buy food and a place to stay, or secure travel to a safe location.
The next item was a gun: a Beretta M9 automatic with the magazine removed, and a box of 9mm shells. Since these caches were intended for Drake or his teammates, he’d chosen a weapon that all of them were comfortable using. The M9 was second nature to most.
Beside the weapon were four Canadian passports: one each for Drake, Frost, Mason and McKnight. Biometric security measures were making passports increasingly difficult to forge, but it was still possible if one knew the right people. An accompanying driver’s licence was inserted into each.
He lingered for a moment on Samantha McKnight’s passport photo. The woman who had betrayed them in Pakistan, facilitating their capture and the death of at least one of his colleagues. Drake knew he could never forgive her for such treachery, and caught himself wondering what he would do if their paths ever crossed again.
‘You left this here?’ Lenka asked.
‘If we’re ever in the shit, emergency caches like this contain everything we need – money, IDs and weapons. They’re called security blankets,’ Drake explained.
Lenka looked at him. ‘There are others like this?’
He nodded.
‘How many?’
‘Enough,’ he said as he lifted out what looked like a chunky, old-fashioned cell phone with a foldable antenna. It was powered down and had been sitting there for some time, but in favourable conditions the battery was supposedly able to retain its charge for up to 18 months.
Switching it on, he was rewarded with an electronic chime, and the screen lit up: 30 per cent charge remaining.
‘Why keep that here?’ Lenka asked. ‘You can buy phones anywhere.’
‘Not like this one,’ he replied, powering the unit down again. ‘It’s a satellite phone, with customized GPS encryption. A good friend wrote the software. It’s untraceable, in theory.’
She frowned. ‘In theory?’
Drake said nothing, instead turning his attention to the second box. After disabling the anti-tamper device, he swung the lid open to reveal three sets of civilian clothes, neatly folded and ready to go. Like money and ID, you never knew when you might need a change of clothes.
‘Here, these should fit you,’ he said, tossing her the set intended for Frost. The two women were about the same height and build. Anyway, they had to be better than the filthy clothes she was wearing.
Drake gratefully peeled off his filthy jacket and the damp shirt underneath. He was happy to rid himself of every trace of his imprisonment.
‘You want me to undress?’ Lenka asked. ‘Here?’
Drake looked at her.
‘Wouldn’t have picked you as the modest type,’ he said as he pulled on a clean pair of jeans.
He realized he’d hit a raw nerve. ‘That is different,’ she said heatedly. ‘I am not working now.’
Drake shrugged. ‘Fine. Stay as you are, then.’
Glaring at him for a moment, Lenka finally resigned herself and removed her mud-covered parka, dumping it in the corner of the locker. It was soon followed by the rest of her clothes, leaving her standing in just her underwear, her skin dimpled with goosebumps.
Drake turned away, giving her some measure of privacy as she slipped on the unfamiliar clothing. As appealing as Lenka undoubtedly was, he had other matters on his mind now. He knelt beside the security blanket and removed the money and ID, quickly transferring them to his pockets.
He opted to leave the Beretta where it was. He still had the Glock 17, and the two weapons were roughly comparable in terms of accuracy and stopping power. There was little to be gained by lugging two of them around, and he certainly wasn’t entrusting Lenka with a weapon.
Drake also took Frost’s passport in case it might prove useful for his reluctant companion. The two women didn’t look much alike, but they were at least in the same rough age group. With a change of hair colour and the right make-up, it was possible to bluff past most immigration controllers. Drake still remembered one of his regiment, who had travelled to three different countries on a friend’s passport. It was simply a matter of bullshitting your way through.
The last item brought a faint, wistful smile to his face. A simple leather necklace, with three objects dangling from it – dice, a crucifix and a wedding ring. Once belonging to a member of Drake’s team named Keegan, the lucky charm had symbolized his three big loves in life: gambling, religion and women. It had since passed on to Frost, who seemed to have inherited Keegan’s penchant for charms and superstition.
‘What is that?’ Lenka asked, her voice quiet now.
‘A good luck charm.’ He sighed, thinking about Frost, about the torture she had endured, and the bloodstained dressings in the abandoned church. ‘It belonged to a friend of mine. She was a big believer in stuff like this.’
‘What happened to her?’
There was no telling where Frost might be, what condition she was in, or whether she was even still alive. But he chose to cling to that hope, however slender it might have been. He’d already lost two of his teammates. The thought of losing Frost as well was more than he could bear.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘We got separated.’
To his surprise, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to face the young woman. Seeing her standing there dressed in Frost’s clothes was another painful reminder of the friends he had lost in the past few days.
‘I am sorry,’ Lenka said softly. He was suddenly very conscious of how close they were standing. ‘F
or what happened to you.’
He understood, but he knew he couldn’t afford to indulge such sentimental thoughts.
‘Save it,’ he said, slipping the necklace on. With luck, he’d be able to return it to its owner before too long. ‘We have what we need here.’
Lenka withdrew her hand, looking crestfallen. ‘What will you do now?’
Shoving the Glock down the back of his jeans, Drake looked her hard in the eye. ‘I’m going to get her back.’
Chapter 34
Alex stared for several seconds, shocked by what he saw.
He couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11 years old. His black, buzz-cut hair and dark complexion suggested Middle Eastern or Asian descent. His clothes were too big for his slender frame, which made him look even younger.
The chunky, plastic-covered weapon in the boy’s hands looked almost like a toy – an impression heightened by the age of its wielder – though clearly it was anything but. Even Alex recognized a police-issue stun gun when he saw one.
‘Who are you?’ he repeated. ‘Start talking or I start shooting.’
The boy’s dark eyes flicked to Alex’s handgun, which was now trained on him. ‘Someone who does not like having guns pointed at him.’
He spoke perfectly serviceable English, but his accent suggested an Indian or Pakistani upbringing. It certainly fit with his appearance, but it still didn’t explain what this kid was doing here.
‘And I don’t like uninvited guests,’ Alex hit back, keeping his weapon raised. ‘So that makes us even. Who are you?’
‘You are Alex, yes?’
‘That’s right,’ Alex confirmed, even more confused that this kid knew his name. ‘Now answer my question.’
‘My name is Yasin.’
‘Lovely to meet you, Yasin,’ he replied sarcastically. ‘Now tell me what the hell you’re doing here.’
Yasin hesitated, searching for the right words. ‘I am… insurance.’
‘Anya sent you?’
He nodded, then pointed at Lauren, who was beginning to stir. ‘We must get her inside quickly. Pick her up.’
When Alex didn’t move, Yasin frowned at him.
‘Are you not listening, Alex?’
Alex blinked. Yasin’s suggestion made perfect sense, but he couldn’t reconcile the fact that a child was holding a gun and issuing orders, as if dealing with escaping hostages was routine for him. Anya’s choice of allies was growing stranger by the day.
‘I heard what you said. How do I know you won’t use that thing on me next?’
Yasin shrugged. ‘She told me not to shoot you unless I had to.’
‘How reassuring,’ Alex said, lowering his weapon. Removing his shirt, he angrily tore away one of the sleeves and wrapped it around his injured arm, swearing under his breath as he tightened the makeshift dressing.
Approaching the young woman, he gave Yasin and the taser a dubious look. ‘Put that bloody thing away before someone gets hurt.’
‘You are already hurt because you had no weapon,’ Yasin observed. ‘That was stupid. Anya will be angry with you.’
Of that, he had no doubt.
Lifting the semi-conscious woman onto his shoulder with difficulty, and doing his best not to get blood on her, Alex glared at the boy, who seemed to be watching his efforts with a combination of interest and amusement. He briefly considered his chances of using the taser against its owner, but decided against it.
He was in enough trouble already.
Chapter 35
Prague, Czech Republic
A short drive brought Drake and Lenka to a low hill overlooking the city’s old town. Behind them rose the towering battlements, carved stonework and cathedral-like spires of Prague Castle. Below, the maze of red-tiled rooftops and tree-lined avenues was interrupted by the placid waters of the Vltava river bisecting the city. Pleasure boats and commercial craft of all shapes and sizes plied the wide, slow-moving waterway, while countless tourists and residents swarmed across the city’s medieval bridges.
It was an impressive view, but Drake’s mind was on other matters. He paced back and forth while he waited for the phone to acquire a signal. Satphones could be hit and miss, which was why he’d chosen high ground to make this call.
‘How long will this take?’ Lenka asked nervously, watching the tourists pose for selfies in front of the castle.
‘You got somewhere else to be?’
‘Yesterday,’ she remarked pointedly. ‘I was happy then. And safe.’
Drake ignored her barb as the phone finally locked onto a satellite signal. He dialled a number from memory.
It rang a couple of times before a crisp, efficient female voice answered. ‘Access number, please?’
It was game time. Drake had just entered a highly secure and discreet switchboard, set up specifically for Agency field personnel when they had no other means of reporting in. Every call was carefully logged, every word recorded for later analysis.
Drake reeled off his old Agency access code from memory, knowing full well the reaction it would provoke once entered into the system. It didn’t take long.
‘Please identify yourself, sir,’ the operator said, her voice a little less machine-like, a harder undertone emerging.
‘My name’s Ryan Drake,’ he said. ‘Connect me to Deputy Director Marcus Cain.’
‘Sir, that’s not possible.’ All trace of pleasantries had vanished. ‘I can’t—’
‘I know you’re following protocol and running an automatic trace on this call. You’re wasting time you don’t have,’ Drake interrupted. ‘Put him on the phone right now, or I hang up and disappear. And you can explain to him why you allowed a blacklisted operative to slip away.’
He heard muffled voices in the background. She was consulting with a supervisor, trying to obtain the authority to transfer a disavowed rogue operative through to the second most powerful man in the Agency.
‘One moment please, sir,’ she said at last.
A series of clicks and low-level buzzes followed as the call was shunted through the Agency’s complex internal communications system, each juncture bringing Drake one step closer to his enemy.
Then, finally, it was done. He heard the buzz as the call connected, the sounds of traffic and voices in the distance, the intake of breath.
‘Ryan,’ Cain began. ‘I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you again.’
‘You thought wrong about a lot of things, Marcus,’ Drake said, turning away from the tourists milling around lest they catch sight of his face. ‘We both know people are listening in on this call, and your best men are trying to figure out where exactly I am right now. I left a few of them back at that church, as a reminder of what happens to people who come looking for me.’
He could imagine the frantic efforts to break his satellite phone’s encryption and track down his location.
‘Maybe they’ll find me,’ Drake conceded. ‘Then again, maybe they won’t. Maybe I’ll disappear as soon as I hang up, drop right off the face of the earth, find a place even the Agency can’t track me down. And every morning you wake up, every evening you leave the office, you’ll have to wonder if today’s the day I come for you. A man could go mad living that kind of life.’
He heard a chuckle on the other end. ‘Son, I’ve been threatened by people far more dangerous and resourceful than you. If you were smart – and that’s a big if – you’d be hiding in the deepest, darkest hole you could find. But since you’re not, I assume you called to do more than throw idle threats my way.’
In that at least, he was right. ‘You’re holding Frost captive,’ Drake said.
‘I’m holding a disavowed former operative in connection with a terrorist attack,’ Cain corrected, no doubt mindful that the call was being listened in on.
‘Call it what you want. You’re going to release her.’
‘And why would I do that?’
‘Because I have something you want.’
‘Enlighten me.’
Last chance to back out.
‘Anya,’ he said. ‘Give me Frost back, alive and unharmed, and I’ll give you Anya. And we all go our separate ways. It’s that simple.’
He knew nothing else would get Cain’s interest, and Drake had no other cards left to play.
‘What makes you think for one second you could just hand her over to me?’ Cain asked. ‘Better men have tried and failed.’
‘They didn’t have what I have,’ Drake replied. ‘Her trust. That’s the only weapon I need.’
‘And why the change of heart, Ryan?’ Cain asked, clearly suspicious. ‘I offered you this deal before, and you refused.’
Drake thought of all the people who had lost their lives over the past few years, the futures destroyed in a pointless, seemingly endless conflict. Where would it end?
Perhaps there was only one way it could end.
‘I was your prisoner. I knew you’d kill us all the second you got your hands on Anya, no matter what you’d promised. Now I’m free, and we can make a proper deal. One we can both live with.’ He glanced around at Lenka, who was sitting on a nearby bench smoking a cigarette, trying not to make it too obvious she was eavesdropping. ‘I want out, Marcus. For good. I want this to be over.’
‘Getting out isn’t an easy thing to do. Especially for a man with as much blood on his hands as you.’
And you should know all about blood on your hands, Drake thought.
‘But it can be done,’ Drake insisted. ‘I want full and total amnesty for myself, Keira, everyone associated with me. No pursuits, no surveillance, nothing. You’re the deputy director of the CIA. You can pull the right strings.’
‘Ryan, you surprise me,’ Cain remarked with thinly veiled derision. ‘So many people willing to fight and die for you, and here you are going behind their backs, cutting deals to save your own ass. What would Anya think of you if she could hear you now, so eager to bargain away her life for your own?’
Shadow Conflict Page 23