He could barely bring himself to ask the next question, but he had to know. ‘Keira, listen to me. Did they… do anything?’
Frost shook her head. ‘It’s okay, don’t worry about it. Fucking pussies haven’t come near me since you broke out.’ She flashed the almost feral smile he’d come to know so well, but it was weaker now, strained. It was obvious she’d suffered a lot over the past few days. ‘Must be losing my sex appeal.’
He managed to force a grin, which soon faded when he remembered the injury Hawkins had inflicted on her at the church.
‘Your hand…’
Like Drake, her arms had been cuffed behind her back, but she’d managed to slip her hands beneath her feet to at least give her some use of them. She held them up. Her right hand was still covered by grubby bandages, with spots of blood showing through the dressing.
‘Won’t be writing any books for a while, but I’m still in the fight.’
As if to prove it, she flexed her fingers. She managed to curl them into a loose fist, though it was painfully obvious how much effort it required.
‘That’s good,’ Drake said, feigning relief.
‘What happened to you?’ she asked, eager for news. ‘After we were separated…’
Drake related his escape from the church and subsequent flight to Prague, where everything had unravelled and he was recaptured.
‘It was a set-up,’ he finished bitterly. ‘Hawkins faked the whole thing, even sacrificed his own men so I’d lead them to Anya.’
‘And did you?’
He shook his head. ‘There’s some bad karma heading their way, I think,’ he said, giving her a meaningful look. ‘Around my neck. I brought you a little gift.’
As she lifted the lucky charm necklace Drake was wearing into view, Frost’s grin returned, stronger and more heartfelt. ‘No wonder the bastards are so pissed at you.’
Drake, however, was in no mood for smiling. This was the first chance he’d had to talk with her properly since the disastrous mission in Pakistan, and there were many things he wanted to say.
‘Listen Keira, I’m sorry,’ he began. ‘What happened in Pakistan… I should have seen it coming. Cole’s dead because of me.’
‘Don’t, Ryan,’ she said, shaking her head forcefully. ‘Don’t go there, you hear me? You did your best; we all did. The only one responsible for what happened is Cain, and we’re going to make that bastard pay for it.’
He knew she was saying it as much for herself as for him. She needed something to hold on to, to focus her grief on. It was easier to feel anger and hatred than grief and despair.
The moment was disturbed by the solid clunk of a steel bolt, and both Drake and Frost turned just as the door swung open to reveal a tall, heavily built man in silhouette.
‘Well, isn’t this a beautiful moment?’ Hawkins said as he stepped across the threshold, accompanied by two armed guards who immediately trained their weapons on the two prisoners. ‘You know, I could have held you in separate cells, but what’s the point when it’s such fun bringing people together?’
‘Fuck you,’ Frost said.
‘Careful there, little firecracker. That mouth’s already gotten you in trouble. Or do you need a hand remembering?’
Frost’s eyes shone with fury, and Drake could sense her tensing up to attack him.
He moved in front of her. ‘Save it,’ he whispered. ‘Save it.’
Hawkins smiled. ‘Got to admit, I underestimated you, Ryan,’ he said, slowly circling Drake, forcing him to match his movements. ‘I figured you’d make your move at the church, but I didn’t know you’d get so… creative. Almost reminds me of the good old days. I especially liked the message you left for me.’ He looked Drake up and down. ‘Tell me, how do you feel about it now?’
‘Take these cuffs off and maybe you’ll find out,’ Drake hit back.
‘Believe me, I’d love nothing better than to party with you, Ryan. But wouldn’t you know it, work’s getting in the way. I’ve been asked to deliver you in one piece, and the boss is really riding me on this one.’
‘Where are you taking us?’ Drake asked, struck by Hawkins’ choice of words.
Ignoring Drake, Hawkins carried on. ‘There’s just one thing I’ve got to know,’ he added, resuming his pacing. ‘When did you figure out Lenka was one of ours?’
‘That little whore? Why do you care?’ Drake taunted him. ‘She’s just another piece of shit you threw at a wall, hoping she’d stick.’
‘That’s no way to talk about a lady,’ a voice said from over by the doorway.
Drake spun round see Lenka walk into the room, apparently recovered from the beating she’d taken at his hands earlier. She had changed clothes, now donning a black leather jacket and turtleneck sweater. Quite conservative compared to her previous attire.
The only evidence of their fight was some bruising around her jawline that was partially hidden by make-up, and a couple of cuts near her right temple, held together with surgical tape stitches.
‘Show me one, and I’ll rethink,’ Drake said as she sauntered over.
She had the same maliciously gleeful look as Hawkins, of someone about to take great pleasure in what they did.
Drake felt nothing but contempt for her. ‘Tell me, how does it feel having just one job, and fucking it up?’
Her right hand struck out at his unprotected midsection, and Drake immediately doubled over. He felt like he’d been hit with a hammer, the blow far stronger than she should have been capable of. Only when she turned her hand did he see the brass knuckles gleaming in the light.
‘Damn, that felt even better than I expected,’ she mused. ‘Anything else to say, Drake?’
Drake tried not to show how badly he was hurting as he began to straighten up. ‘Yeah, you hit like a girl. Do you even work out?’
Rather than being angry, she seemed excited. She wanted him to taunt her, to resist. Wanted an excuse to hurt him more.
She came in again, drawing back her leg and planting a vicious kick right in his stomach. This time there was no stopping it. Drake went down, coughing and struggling to draw breath.
Frost launched herself at Lenka, trying to knock her down, to claw at her face and eyes. She almost made it, before a brass knuckle stopped her in her tracks, and a sharp elbow to the head sent her staggering sideways. A final kick to the side dropped the former Shepherd operative as well.
Frost lay curled in a ball, bleeding and hurting, her burst of energy spent. Drake knew there was nothing he could do to help.
‘I’d be careful, buddy,’ Hawkins said almost sympathetically, having watched the violent display with satisfied approval. ‘Riley here is one of my best operatives, and she has the worst temper. Even I wouldn’t want to piss her off.’
Riley flashed a malevolent smile at her mentor, as she carefully removed her leather jacket and handed it to one of the guards. Giving herself more freedom of movement.
‘Jason taught me everything I know,’ she said, loosening up a little, as if the vicious beat-down of Frost had been nothing but a warm-up.
She turned her attention back to Drake, closing in on him as he struggled to get up. ‘Especially how to do this.’
Another strike to Drake’s back engulfed him in agony, like the metal implement had crushed his spine. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, trying to block it out, trying not to make a sound.
‘It hurts, doesn’t it?’ she said, hunkering down beside him, relishing the torment that was etched into his features. ‘A little harder, and I’ll shatter a vertebrae. The bones will fragment into your spinal column, severing the nerve endings. You’ll never walk, never run, never fuck again.’ She smiled, before adding, ‘Oh, and you’ll probably shit yourself right here on the floor.’
Drake didn’t respond, but Riley no longer cared. She’d spotted the lucky charm dangling around his neck.
‘Well, look what we’ve got here,’ she said, carefully removing it rather than snapping the leather
necklace. With his hands bound, Drake was in no position to stop her.
Riley examined the objects hanging from it before glancing at Frost. ‘This belonged to your little bitch here, right? But you know what? I think it’ll look better on me,’ she decided, slipping it over her neck and making sure he could see it. ‘Now every time you look at me, you can think of her.’
Drake managed to push himself slowly and painfully up from the floor.
‘You want me to stop?’ Riley asked. ‘I can. All you’ve got to say is please. You’ve got to beg me, Drake.’
Now on his knees, Drake opened his mouth to respond, but all he could manage was a strangled whisper, his voice stolen away.
‘What’s the matter?’ Riley leaned closer, eager to hear his plea for mercy. ‘Cat got your tongue?’
That was when Drake finally gave her an answer, but not the one she’d been waiting for. Throwing his head violently forward he felt it make contact, and saw her stumble backwards, clutching at her face. The two guards raised their weapons, ready to pull the triggers if he made another move.
But there was no need. Drake had done what he wanted to do.
‘That clear enough for you?’ he asked, his voice now strong and even, as if the repeated hits she’d laid on him had done nothing.
Riley rounded on him, blood seeping from a newly opened cut at the corner of her mouth. He saw her flare up inside as she advanced on him, saw her raise the brass knuckles to strike him again. There would be no restraint this time. She was out to break bones and deal the kind of damage you didn’t recover from.
‘Hold up,’ Hawkins said, subtly placing himself between them. ‘I think Ryan’s done. Don’t wear him out too soon.’
Riley looked up.
‘He’s not done until I say he’s done,’ the young operative said. ‘I owe him.’
‘And once we’ve finished our business, you can have your fun with him,’ Hawkins said. He had moved a step closer, towering over her – a menacing and indomitable presence.
Cupping her chin, Hawkins gently examined the injury. ‘Until then, we stick to the plan.’
Drake could see Riley was bent on revenge. But she also knew who really called the shots around here, and that Hawkins was not a man to tolerate insubordination – even from the most favoured of his students.
Riley touched the necklace, as if to emphasize to Drake that she could take what she wanted from him.
‘I’ll be seeing you real soon,’ she promised, snatching her coat from the operative holding it for her.
‘I’ll be looking forward to it,’ Drake called.
Hawkins watched her leave. ‘You’ll have to forgive my associate,’ he said with mock regret. ‘I don’t know what it is, but you just don’t seem to mix well with her.’
Drake looked over at Frost, who was only now starting to recover from the beatdown she’d suffered, then up at Hawkins. ‘You can’t kill us, can you?’ he said, realizing that his captor’s uncharacteristic restraint was down to more than a new-found sense of compassion. ‘You’ve been ordered to keep us alive. That means Cain needs us.’
Drake knew then that he was on the right track, and he could already guess where it was leading.
‘He’s planning a trade, isn’t he?’
The only person who could hold that kind of leverage was Anya. Drake had no idea what she was using to bring about this prisoner exchange, but it meant one thing – it meant Anya was still alive.
It looked like he’d gotten beneath his tormentor’s armour and exposed a vulnerability.
‘Oh, Ryan,’ Hawkins said, shaking his head as his poise returned. ‘You don’t get it, do you? We only need you alive long enough to make the exchange happen. After that… well, I did make Riley a promise. And I’m a man of my word.’
He gestured for the guards to leave, following behind them at an unhurried pace, knowing that neither prisoner was a threat.
‘Make yourselves comfortable tonight,’ he advised. ‘We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and I want you guys fighting fit.’
* * *
Minsk, Belarus
Jonas Dietrich picked up the vodka bottle and turned it over to look at the label. Crystal Head – an expensive skull-shaped novelty from the United States that was starting to appear in Europe.
‘I hope you don’t mind me helping myself,’ Dietrich said as he poured a measure into a shot glass, careful not to spill any on the mahogany sideboard. ‘But I always wanted to try this stuff. Apparently they use no glycerol in the distilling process – gives it a cleaner taste. Sounds like bullshit to me, but there’s only one way to find out.’
He raised the glass to his nose, then tipped it down his throat.
‘Not bad. I must admit, you have good taste, my friend,’ he decided, setting the glass down carefully. ‘Now, where were we?’
There were three other men in the room, only one of whom was still alive. Konstantin Petrov was kneeling on the polished floorboards, his hands bound, trembling with fear. A man who had spent much of his life profiting from other people’s misery, turning kids into drug dealers, young men into gangsters and women into prostitutes. A man who took great pleasure in throwing his weight around, and for whom no vice was unpalatable if it meant a healthy income.
Always with the protection of his enforcers, of course.
Not that they had served him well today, their blood and brain matter slowly pooling on the floor. Petrov must have had it waxed recently, Dietrich noted, because the gore wasn’t soaking in like it usually did.
‘Ah yes,’ Dietrich went on, speaking in Russian. ‘You were going to tell me everything you know about Bruno Muller, the young student you kidnapped in Estonia. His parents would very much like him back, and luckily they came to the right man.’
He saw a flicker of recognition, even as Petrov tried to hide it. ‘Fuck you, German pig,’ he spat, mustering some of his former bravado. ‘My brother will make you eat your own balls when he finds out. You should leave now while you still can.’
Dietrich lifted his silenced USP .45 automatic from the sideboard, took aim and fired. Petrov’s left leg exploded just below the knee.
Waiting until the man’s screams had died down, Dietrich took aim at his other leg. ‘Does this jog your memory, my friend?’
‘I will bleed to death,’ Petrov stammered. ‘Then you will never know.’
‘Yes, but it will take some time,’ Dietrich acknowledged. ‘And I can make this last all day.’
The man let out a choking sob and dropped his head. ‘Tajoznaja,’ he whispered. ‘Number 57, apartment 12.’
Dietrich was about to reply, but was interrupted by the vibration of his cell phone. ‘Hold that thought,’ he said, holstering his weapon.
It was a US number.
‘Yes?’
‘Dietrich, it’s Franklin.’
Dietrich’s mindset changed. Dan Franklin was head of the CIA’s Special Activities Division, and Dietrich’s former boss. Back when he’d still been a Shepherd team leader, before Cain had shut the programme down, disbanding its members. Before Dietrich had been forced to take up a new profession chasing Russian gangsters and settling petty disputes.
‘What do you want, Dan?’ he asked, glancing at Petrov. ‘I’m a little busy here.’
‘Listen very carefully.’
It took Franklin less than 60 seconds to summarize what had happened, and what he needed from Dietrich.
‘I need your help,’ he finished. ‘We won’t get another shot at this. How soon can you be there?’
Dietrich hesitated, reaching instead for the vodka and pouring himself another glass. Franklin was asking him to return to a world that had almost killed him, to risk everything against a man with almost unlimited resources and not an ounce of mercy.
Bad odds by anyone’s standards.
‘I can’t do it alone,’ he said. ‘I’d need help.’
‘I have someone in mind.’
Of course you do, Dietri
ch thought. Franklin, always the man with an ace up his sleeve. He downed the second shot.
‘I need an answer, Jonas,’ Franklin pressed him.
‘Give me a couple of hours to get organized,’ Dietrich finally said as the vodka settled. ‘I’ll call you when I’m ready.’
Shutting down the phone, he turned towards Petrov.
‘Thanks for your help, Konstantin,’ he said, drawing the gun. It kicked back against his wrist, but this time there was no cry as the round hit home. Petrov let out a low grunt, and slumped backwards.
A couple of hours, Dietrich mused as he left the room. Enough time to reach the apartment where they were holding Bruno, and fulfil his contract before leaving Minsk.
Chapter 43
Grass stretched in front of her, the long stalks reaching past her waist, like an undulating sea as the breeze sighed across. Thin ribbons of cloud spanned the vast blue sky.
She crept forward, driven by curiosity and the childish desire to explore. Near the crest of the gentle hill lay a stand of trees, and she made towards it.
‘Lauren!’ a distant voice called out. Her father’s voice. ‘Don’t stray too far!’
Lauren paid little attention as she moved beneath the shade of the leafy canopy. It was a warm day, and she was grateful to escape the hot sun.
She surveyed her little woodland haven, taking in the gnarled tree trunks, the tangled bushes and swaying branches. Then she spotted something on the ground ahead. Something that compelled the young girl to move closer.
A perfectly round hole in the ground, partially covered by old wooden planking, weeds and fallen leaves. Wanting to see how deep the well was, Lauren leaned over the edge.
The crack of rotten wood giving way was followed by a cry of fright as she pitched into the darkness.
Lauren sat bolt upright as Anya shouted. ‘Get up.’
‘What is it?’ Lauren asked.
‘Breakfast,’ Anya replied. ‘You have 60 seconds before I lock the door.’
Lauren couldn’t recall falling asleep. She remembered exploring every nook and cranny of the room, looking for anything that might prove useful, some hidden object that could aid her escape. Lauren’s only exposure to escape techniques had been the occasional kidnap movie and the fantastical adventure novels she’d read as an adolescent. Neither had served her well so far.
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