Shadow Conflict

by Shadow Conflict (epub)

  Drake laid down his drink and crossed the room, sitting beside her as she clung to him, her warm tears soaking into his T-shirt. He held her, saying nothing, just letting her get it out.

  In the past 24 hours she’d been the victim of an armed carjacking, shot at, thrown down a garbage chute, driven into a foreign country in a stolen car, forced to go on the run with a fugitive of dubious motives, and generally seen her entire life come crashing down around her.

  ‘I’m afraid, Ryan,’ she whispered when the tears had at last subsided. ‘I am not brave like you. I think… I think I will die.’

  ‘No you won’t,’ Drake said confidently. ‘It’s me they’re after.’

  She pulled away, shaking and vulnerable. She was far prettier without make-up, he realized.

  ‘You will protect me?’ she asked. Her slender arms were still wrapped around him, and he was very conscious of their closeness, the warmth of her body, the smell of soap that still lingered on her. ‘You will keep me safe?’

  ‘If you need me to.’

  Lenka looked away for a moment, searching for the right words.

  ‘You said there was a way to get your friend back,’ she said, clearly hesitant to broach the delicate subject. ‘By giving up someone else.’

  Drake nodded.

  ‘Her name is Anya, yes?’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  She took another drink to hide her embarrassment. ‘I overheard you speaking when you made that phone call. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…’ She trailed off, knowing such apologies were futile. ‘This Anya – she is the one they want?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Who is she? Why is she so important?’

  The full answer to that question required more time than either of them had. ‘Anya used to work for the Agency herself, a long time ago. A man named Cain brought her in, used her to fight his battles for him. Eventually she turned against him, and ended up in a Russian prison for her trouble. But I helped her escape, she went rogue, and he’s been looking for her ever since.’

  ‘So she is like you?’

  There was a time when Drake used to think of himself as very different from Anya, but he was starting to see how narrow the gulf between them had become. How long would it be before he ended up just like her?

  Would he even live that long?

  ‘She is who she is,’ he answered. ‘But she trusts me. Maybe I’m the only person left that she trusts.’

  ‘She means something to you, yes?’ she asked, noticing his change in expression when he spoke of Anya. ‘She is… a friend?’

  ‘Something like that,’ he acknowledged.

  ‘So what will you do?’ Lenka asked. ‘Will you give her up?’

  Almost without him being aware of it, she had turned towards him, one leg draped over his, her face so close he could feel her breath on his skin. She was wearing nothing beneath her vest, her nipples standing out firm and erect against the thin fabric.

  ‘Would you, if you were me?’ Drake asked, trying to ignore it. ‘Would you give up one life to save another?’

  ‘I think it is more than just one life at stake. If you don’t give them what they want, what will they do to your friend?’

  ‘They’ll kill her.’ He was under no illusions about that. Frost was expendable to men like Cain, and especially men like Hawkins.

  ‘Then they will come after you and me, and probably kill us both,’ she finished for him. ‘That means three lives for the loss of one.’

  She made it seem so easy, as if simple arithmetic could determine the value of a human life. And yet, there was a certain merit in her suggestion, as cold as it might have seemed. By giving up Anya, he might save not just Frost’s life, but also his own, Lenka’s, even his sister’s back in the UK.

  ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me,’ Lenka said, inching closer to him. ‘I did not mean to be so… I do not know the word. Cold?’

  ‘I asked for your opinion,’ Drake reminded her. ‘You gave it.’

  ‘I did,’ she said, nodding, her mouth parted, her breathing coming a little faster. ‘I wanted to be honest with you, Ryan. Because I trust you. I think you are a good man.’

  She tilted her head back and kissed him, tentative at first, but quickly growing stronger and more confident. She slid across, straddling him, her arms wrapped around his neck as she pressed her breasts against his chest. She let out a soft moan as she ground against him.

  ‘We don’t have to,’ she whispered, looking unsure but hopeful at the same time. ‘If you… don’t want me.’

  Drake didn’t try to pull away from her. His voice was hushed when he spoke again. ‘There’s something I have to tell you, Lenka.’

  She leaned forward, desperate to know. ‘What?’

  That was when he did it. Shoving her roughly away, Drake brought his arm around and backhanded her across the jaw, sending her tumbling to the floor. She landed hard, with an audible thump that would likely leave telling bruises tomorrow.

  A trickle of blood was running from the corner of her mouth where he’d struck her. ‘What… why did you do that?’

  ‘Enough bullshit,’ Drake said, rising to his feet and drawing the Glock from the back of his jeans. ‘You’re a good actress, but even you can’t sell this one.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Lenka asked, staring at him in disbelief.

  ‘You think it’s coincidence that I ran into a car on that mountain road just when I needed it most? And who should be inside but a stripper, trying to pay her way through college? Very original.’

  He hadn’t figured it out right away, being too preoccupied and exhausted to properly examine his conveniently timed escape. Even now he was angry at himself for being so sloppy.

  ‘But you know what gave you away? It was the coffee you made. You didn’t know your way around your own kitchen. Do I even want to know what happened to the real owner of that place?’ He trained the weapon on her forehead, taking a step towards her. ‘Then the clumsy ambush, blind firing through your windows and sending up an assault team just slowly enough for us to escape. That was when I knew for sure. It was to make me trust you, want to protect you. Like I said, you were good. I wonder how far you would’ve gone to win me over?’

  ‘I’d have gone as far as it takes. I always do,’ she said, spitting bloody phlegm on the cheap carpet. Her Slovakian accent was disappearing, giving way to an American Midwestern lilt. ‘Hell of a punch you’ve got there, by the way. That how you treat all the women in your life?’

  ‘Depends if they’re assigned to kill me.’ Seeing her trying to sit up, he brandished the weapon. ‘Stay the fuck down.’

  ‘Nobody’s assigned to kill you, for Christ’s sake,’ she hit back, wise enough not to push him. ‘I’m a HUMINT specialist with the Agency, assigned to undercover work. I don’t kill people. I was just brought in to get information out of you.’

  Drake’s eyes narrowed. ‘By who?’

  ‘I don’t know his name, but his clearance level was way above mine. He was a big guy, with a scar on his face. He reported directly to the deputy director’s office.’

  Hawkins. That much made sense at least.

  ‘What did he tell you?’ Drake demanded.

  The operative sighed and looked down. ‘He said you were a former agent that went rogue, that you were working with a known terrorist and you’d tried to assassinate the deputy director. They knew they couldn’t force you to give her up, so they gave you a window to escape instead.’

  ‘Hoping I’d lead them right to her,’ Drake finished for her, shaking his head. ‘You know those bastards executed one of my team in cold blood, right? Tortured and threatened to rape another.’

  She shrugged, unmoved by this revelation. ‘They said you’d say that. Anyway, it’s not my job to make moral judgements. All that matters is the mission.’

  ‘The mission,’ he echoed bitterly. ‘Well, I’ve got a new mission for you. You’re going to tell me where they’re holding K
eira.’

  Her eyes opened wider. ‘I don’t know anything about that!’ she protested, an edge of fear in her voice. ‘I was just brought in to get information. The rest of this shit is above my pay grade.’

  Drake looked her up and down, considering her words.

  ‘Like I said, you’re good, but I’m not buying it,’ he decided. Grabbing a pillow from the bed, Drake jammed it against the barrel of the weapon to form a makeshift silencer, then took aim. ‘First one goes in your kneecap. After that, we’ll see where we end up.’

  ‘Please! You’re wasting your time, Drake. There’s nothing I can tell you.’

  Drake shrugged. ‘Maybe not, but I’ve got 17 little friends in here that are just dying to find out.’

  She had fallen near the armchair when he’d struck her. Her legs were near the base of the chair, and as he’d been interrogating her, he’d failed to notice her slow but deliberate change in posture as she positioned one foot carefully behind the piece of furniture.

  With an explosive fling, she whipped her foot forward, sending the cheap, lightweight chair hurtling towards Drake. He reacted quickly, jumping aside to avoid being knocked off balance. However the sudden movement disrupted his aim, giving Lenka a small but precious window in which to act. A window she wasted no time exploiting.

  Jumping to her feet, the young woman threw herself at him, going straight for the gun. Her hands clamped down on Drake’s wrist and twisted it out of position, bending it backwards with vicious force, trying to snap the bone.

  The room resounded with a muffled crack as a round discharged inside Drake’s makeshift pillowcase silencer, impacting the ceiling in a spray of charred feathers. Drake felt her sharp nails gouge mercilessly into his skin, scratching and tearing, doing anything she could to disrupt his hold.

  The gun was her only focus. She wasn’t going to stop until that was in her hands or out of the equation. Unarmed, Drake’s superior size and strength would give him an advantage she couldn’t hope to counter. That being the case, the only course of action was to sacrifice the weapon she so desperately wanted.

  A second unaimed round blasted outwards from the pillowcase, missing Lenka but obliterating the TV behind her. Sparks and broken glass exploded from the unit.

  Drake could feel warm blood trickling across his hands. Lenka’s nails were going to cause serious damage. He had to do something.

  Lowering his shoulder, Drake shoved his way forward, practically lifting her off her feet, across the room and straight into the wall-mounted wardrobe. The mirrored sliding door immediately gave way as the pair slammed into it, knocked off its roller track, while shards of broken glass rained down on them. Ignoring this, Lenka lashed out with her foot, aiming for a groin kick that would take him out of the fight.

  In response, Drake threw a hard strike at Lenka’s neck with his free hand. His intention was to damage her larynx or windpipe, but instead she seemed to melt away, dodging to the left while deflecting the strike with her forearm. Her speed and agility were incredible.

  She swiped at the weapon and finally knocked it from his hand. It landed a few feet away amongst the broken glass.

  This was the chance she’d been waiting for, and she went for it. Even as she dived for the gun, Drake leapt up, tackling her around the waist and driving her into the thin plasterboard wall that divided the bedroom from the shower room. The young woman snarled, slamming a sharp elbow between his shoulder blades. Drake twisted aside to avoid another painful hit.

  Making the most of the opening, the young woman jumped back and launched a high kick at the side of his head. As he’d done many times before, Drake fell back on his years of boxing training. His arms went up immediately, absorbing some of the considerable impact, and buying a precious instant to throw his weight to the side, away from the arc of her kick. It wasn’t entirely effective, and the blow was nonetheless enough to knock him off balance, but at least he’d avoided blocking it with his head.

  Even as he recovered, the young woman bent down, and used the shredded remains of the pillowcase to snatch up a foot-long shard of broken glass from the wardrobe doors.

  She smiled at Drake, wielding the broken glass in a reverse grip as if it were a combat knife. ‘The boss ordered me to keep you alive,’ she said. ‘You’ll wish he hadn’t by the time I’m done.’

  Clearly the young woman had been thoroughly trained in unarmed combat. She might have been smaller than him, but a blade was more than enough to make up for such shortcomings.

  She came at him, swiping left and right, aiming for anywhere she could make contact. Stabbing someone to death is no easy business at the best of times, and the idea of a single fatal puncture wound to the chest or back is pure fantasy. The ribcage makes for a formidable defensive armour that can easily catch and foul a blade. The harsh reality is that it often takes multiple penetrations of vulnerable areas like the stomach and neck to put someone down for good.

  He knew this, and so did Lenka. She wasn’t aiming to deal a lethal wound, but rather to slash and damage muscles and arteries, weakening him enough that she could subdue him.

  She swiped wildly, backing him up into a corner. Fighting someone with a knife was always a tough day out. Your only chance was to accept you were going to get hurt to some extent, and try to take the blade out of play as quickly as possible.

  She slashed again, aiming for his face, perhaps hoping to blind him. Drake was left with no choice but to throw up his arm to defend himself, and instantly felt a rush of white-hot pain as the shard cleaved its way through skin and muscle.

  No sooner had the improvised blade done its work than she whirled around and reversed her grip on it, lashing out again. This time she aimed low, the glass slicing through his T-shirt on his right side, just below the ribs. He’d managed to throw himself backwards a little, but a flash of pain and a spreading warmth told him the shard had nonetheless hit home.

  He bent lower to protect his injury, knowing even as he did so that it was a bad move, that it would only encourage her to come in from above, aiming for his face or neck.

  A sudden kick to his side dropped him, and Lenka plunged the blade down again. Drake threw his hands up and caught her knife arm, managing to stop the sharp point impacting, only for Lenka to slam her fist down on the end of the blade like it was a nail to be pounded into a piece of wood.

  Drake couldn’t contain his scream of agony as the shard of glass penetrated his chest, grating on two ribs. He saw a look of triumph and eager malice in his enemy’s eyes as she tried to force it in further.

  His reaction was born from necessity. Swinging his hand sideways, he connected with the long tapering piece of glass hard enough to break it away, leaving the point still embedded in his chest.

  He caught a glimpse of something lying on the floor beside him. A bedside lamp, knocked off its table during their struggle. It was a cheap and simple wooden item, with a flared base giving way to a narrow neck, and a simple paper shade on top. Not much of a weapon, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  Grasping it by the neck, Drake tore it from its power cord, which immediately shorted out the bulb, and swung the improvised club just as Lenka slashed at him with the remaining shard.

  He was half a second ahead of her. That was all it took.

  The impact of the solid wooden base meeting glass and bone was followed by a crash, then a musical tinkling as the shard broke apart in her hand. He saw bright red blood staining the empty pillowcase she’d used to protect herself, and heard her whimpering as she retreated, throwing herself at something on the floor.

  The Glock.

  Drake closed in, but knew he couldn’t make it in time. He watched as she brought the weapon up to bear, took aim and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Nothing there. The weapon had been rendered useless even before Drake had allowed her to knock it out of his hand.

  He saw her disbelief even as he raised the crude weapon and brought it around against the sid
e of her head. That one was hard enough to break the lamp’s wooden stem, but it didn’t matter now.

  As the young woman pitched sideways and landed in a limp heap on the glass-covered carpet, Drake dropped what remained of the lamp. The pain was kicking in big time, but he managed to reach up, grasp the fragment of glass still embedded in his chest and pull hard, stifling a groan as it slipped free of his flesh.

  Tossing the fragment aside, he retrieved the gun from beside his enemy. It took him a few seconds to locate the magazine he’d ejected during the fight, unnoticed by Lenka in the general melee.

  ‘Works better with this,’ he said as he slapped it back into the magazine port and racked back the slide to chamber a round.

  His heart was pounding as he looked around at the destroyed remnants of the room. People would be on their way soon, either concerned hotel staff alerted by the struggle, local police or, more likely, the black ops team that had deployed Lenka in the first place.

  The first two he could handle. The third would be a real problem.

  He peeled back his sticky, blood-soaked T-shirt to expose the stab wound on the right side of his chest. It was bleeding steadily, but his ribs seemed to have prevented the shard penetrating too deeply.

  His injuries would need treatment, but right now that was less important than getting the fuck out of here.

  No sooner had this crossed his mind than he heard footsteps in the hallway outside. Someone was coming.

  Forcing himself to his feet, Drake grabbed the chair that his adversary had used as a makeshift missile. He rolled it across the room and jammed it against the door handle, barring the only way into the room, albeit temporarily.

  The barricade wouldn’t last long. Drake snatched up his jacket from the bed and threw it over his shoulders as he retreated to the far side of the room. He certainly didn’t care about staying warm or dry, but the jacket contained the passports, satellite phone and money.

  A sudden blast, accompanied by the splinter of disintegrating wood, told him his enemies were about to make entry, using a breaching shotgun to destroy the lock. The door resounded with the impact of a heavy kick, the chair legs screeching an inch or so across the floor but holding firm.