Shadow Conflict
Page 36
As soon as Cain’s arrival was noted the activity ceased.
‘Who’s in charge here?’ Cain asked.
A man in the centre of the room raised his hand. ‘I am, sir,’ he said, a little hesitantly. ‘Senior operative Javadi.’
‘What’s your sitrep?’
‘I’m tied into the Berlin traffic cam network,’ Javadi reported. ‘As soon as we have a confirmed location, I can access every camera in a five-block radius. Berlin police frequencies are locked in, so we’ll know exactly what they’re up to. We’re also monitoring microwave and radio transmissions, but as you can imagine there’s a lot of data to sift through. It’ll be easier once we can narrow the search area.’
Cain didn’t doubt it. Anya had chosen well, hiding in the midst of six million people.
‘Good work, Javadi,’ Cain said. ‘Call out as soon as you have something.’
‘Will do, sir.’
Turning to Hawkins, Cain lowered his voice. ‘Are our field teams ready to deploy?’
‘Say the word, we’re good to go.’
‘And the prisoners?’
Hawkins’ scarred face twisted. ‘Riley’s got it under control.’
* * *
Drake grunted in pain as a strike to the back of his legs dropped him. A moment later, his hood was ripped off, allowing him to see properly for the first time in several hours. He’d expected to find himself blinking and screwing up his eyes as bright light flooded in, but the reality was quite different.
He was in an extremely large room which was lit only by a haphazard collection of portable work lights.
He had to assume it was underground and, it seemed, still under construction – little more than a bare concrete floor with thick stone columns supporting the roof. Portable cement mixers, steel girders and various tools were scattered around.
There was a muted thump and a muffled curse to his right, where Frost had also been forced to kneel. One of their captors yanked her hood off, revealing a bloodied and very angry face. She glared up at the man who had struck her, an inch away from leaping up to attack him, but with her hands bound even Frost knew it would be a wasted effort.
‘Try that without these cuffs next time, you fucking pussy,’ she taunted him. ‘We’ll see how it works out for you.’
‘You all right, Keira?’ Drake asked, his tone upbeat, almost conversational. He wasn’t going to let them know how much it hurt to see her like this.
At the same time he was trying to take in as much information about their captors as possible. There were two that he could see, both of whom were dressed in civilian clothes but almost certainly wearing concealed body armour.
The closest was keeping them covered with an FN P90 – a Belgian submachine gun notable for its small size and 50-round magazine that fitted flush with the frame itself. It was a serious piece of kit that was more than capable of killing the two of them with a single burst of 5.70mm gunfire.
The other operative was busy with a holdall laid out on the ground, containing technical equipment rather than weapons. Perhaps they intended to set up a communications point here.
Two guards – not much considering what they were up against – but a fuck-load more than Drake and Frost could contend with as long as they were bound and unarmed.
Frost turned to him, giving him a wink. ‘Doing great. I was just hoping these pussies would grow a pair and get on with things.’
‘We’ll get to that soon enough,’ a female voice responded.
Riley emerged from the darkness, smiling maliciously as she walked around in front of them. Drake could feel his muscles tightening as she approached, noticing that she was still wearing the lucky charm necklace she’d stolen from him in Prague.
Hawkins was a sadistic piece of shit, but even he knew when to respect Cain’s orders not to harm their captives, their only leverage. Riley, however, was another sort.
However, he was momentarily distracted as the operative beside her placed a camera mounted on a tripod facing them. It was clear the camera was intended to broadcast images of them, and there could only be one reason for that.
Riley followed his gaze. ‘What? You really thought we were going to just hand you two over?’ she asked. ‘We’ve got something else in mind. But hey, at least you get to be on TV, right?’
Drake had suspected something like this. Cain had no intention of bringing them to the exchange. Not physically, at least. But he would beam a live feed to Anya so she could watch Riley go to town on them.
‘Not long now,’ Riley remarked. ‘I was hoping we’d have a little more foreplay before we got down to it.’ She reached out and laid a hand on Drake’s chest, right at the point where she’d hammered the glass shard into him. ‘Oh well, I’ll just have to make the most of it.’
With that, she pressed her thumb into the wound. Drake clenched his teeth as white-hot pain exploded, and warm blood tricked down his chest. He could feel his breathing coming faster, his heart leaping into overdrive as his body pleaded with him to pull away from her, to stop the agony that seemed to intensify with every passing second.
But somehow, through some immense effort of will, he remained silent.
‘It’s okay,’ Riley whispered in his ear, her voice as tender and intimate as if they were lovers. ‘You can scream, Drake. Nobody’s going to hear us down here.’
When he finally opened his mouth, it wasn’t a scream that reverberated around the room. It was a laugh.
So taken aback was Riley that she actually slackened her grip on his shoulder, pulling back at little to look at him. ‘I’d love to know what you’ve got to laugh about.’
‘I was just thinking back to that hotel room in Prague,’ he said, still chuckling. ‘I really should have fucked you before I beat the shit out of you. At least then Cain would have gotten his money’s worth.’
He was expecting to see her pretty face contort in anger like it had last time, but it didn’t.
‘I’m a girl of many skills. You’ll find that out soon enough,’ she said, looking at the operative powering up the digital camera. ‘We ready to go live yet?’
‘Almost,’ he said. ‘Just setting up the connection.’
‘Good.’ Riley folded her arms. ‘Wouldn’t want to miss the big show.’
* * *
Cain’s phone was ringing, and he knew who was calling.
‘We’re ready. Where are we doing this?’
Anya gave him the location, and straightaway he knew what she had in mind. He had to admire her flair for drama, if nothing else.
‘Be here in 20 minutes,’ Anya instructed. ‘If you’re late, the deal is off.’
‘I want to speak to Lauren.’
‘Time is ticking, Marcus.’
‘I don’t care. I want proof she’s with you.’
There was a pause. Cain waited until another voice came on the line.
‘Dad, I’m here,’ Lauren said. ‘Anya says not to try anything. Please just give her what she wants.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she gets what she deserves,’ Cain promised. ‘I’m coming for you now, Lauren. Hang in there just a little longer, okay?’
‘Dad, I—’
She was cut off, Anya’s voice returning. ‘You have 19 minutes and 12 seconds. I suggest you hurry.’
As the line cut out, Cain turned to address the room. ‘All right, listen up. We have a location,’ he said, reeling off the address. ‘Vector our field teams there now. Javadi, get a hold of every traffic and security camera you can, and scan for radio transmissions. They’ll be using encrypted transmitters, so I want them locked in and decrypted ASAP. Anyone not clear on what I just said?’
Not a word was spoken.
‘Good. Now move!’
As the tempo suddenly ramped up, Hawkins gripped Cain by the arm. He was holding a Kevlar vest – the kind designed to be worn discreetly beneath regular clothes – which he offered to the deputy director.
Cain shook his head. ‘I don’t need it.’
Cain fixed him with a sharp, knowing look. He’d been doing things like this when Hawkins was still in school.
‘If Anya really wants to kill me, a fucking vest isn’t going to stop her.’
Hawkins seemed to concede this. Laying the vest down, he instead reached for his sidearm and held it out to Cain. It was a silver Colt Delta Elite, a 10mm variant of the old M1911 handgun that had been around since the First World War. Cain knew from experience that it was both accurate and powerful, but with only eight rounds in the magazine it demanded careful use.
‘Then maybe you ought to take this?’ he suggested pointedly.
Cain reached out for the weapon. It had been a long time since he’d been in the field, and even longer since he’d fired a weapon in anger. The gun was heavier than he’d expected, the metal frame cold to the touch.
And today he might well have to use it.
Chapter 56
US embassy – Islamabad, Pakistan
As the Pakistani delegation filed into the conference room on the embassy’s second floor, they were accompanied by Quinn and his key staffers. They looked stiff and uncomfortable, face to face with men who had been actively working against them for years.
It was also clear they were less than pleased by Director Khalid’s security team.
Qalat’s mind, however, was on what was about to play out. Taking a seat, he pulled out the burner phone, keeping it low and out of sight, and quickly punched out a text message.
In position. What now?
Barely 30 seconds passed before the answer came.
Be ready to move.
Qalat resisted the urge to loosen his uncomfortably tight collar. He could feel beads of sweat on his brow, and hoped fervently that nobody would notice his discomfort.
On the other side of the room, Quinn was drawn aside by Barrett, one of his most senior analysts and a man very familiar with the ISI.
‘They’re here, so what the hell are we supposed to do now?’ the older man demanded, annoyed by Quinn’s failure to give orders. ‘The longer we sit on our hands, the more chance they’re going to walk out on us.’
‘Stay cool, I’m handling it,’ he whispered, dialling the number for Cain’s cell phone.
* * *
Berlin, Germany
En route to the meeting point, Cain felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. It was Quinn, calling from the embassy in Pakistan.
‘Sir, the ISI delegation is here,’ Quinn announced, voices audible in the background. ‘Now’s the time. We’re all set up to conference you in if you’re ready to speak with them?’
‘Well done, Hayden,’ he said, watching a father walk by with two small children in tow. Not a care in the world.
Reaching for his burner phone, he began to punch in a text message. ‘I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done to bring us to this point. I really am grateful that you’ve played your part.’
Even as he said this, he sent his message to Qalat.
Go now.
* * *
The time had come.
Qalat glanced around. Director Khalid had already lit up a cigarette, despite smoking being banned in the conference room, and was leaning in close to one of his advisors, who was speaking quietly in his ear.
Nearby, Quinn was on his phone, listening intently, concern etched on his face.
Qalat approached one of the American delegates and gently steered him aside. ‘I am feeling unwell,’ he said quietly, now glad that he was visibly perspiring. ‘Where is the restroom?’
The man, white-haired and clearly well past retirement age, regarded him curiously before noticing his obvious discomfort. ‘It’s just outside. I’ll show you the way,’ he said, leading Qalat out of the room.
Khalid watched him go, suspicious of his sudden disappearance. He took another drag on his cigarette, making a mental note to discuss the matter with Qalat later.
Distracted by these thoughts, he failed to notice the briefcase positioned under the table. A briefcase that belonged to no one in the room.
* * *
‘We need to get started now, sir,’ Quinn said, a little unnerved.
Cain sighed. Despite everything, despite the fact Quinn had betrayed him to Drake, he did feel a measure of regret for what he was about to do. Quinn wasn’t a bad man, but he was weak and disloyal. Two traits that Cain couldn’t tolerate in a subordinate.
‘Just one thing before you go, Hayden.’
Selecting another number from the burner phone’s directory, his finger hovered over the call button.
‘I’m sorry for the way things worked out.’
Then he hit the button.
* * *
Qalat was standing at the furthest end of the restroom when it happened. A thunderous blast rumbled through the building, the pressure wave blowing the door off its hinges and knocking him flat on the floor. Shattered glass and brickwork fell all around him as part of the wall collapsed, taking a portion of the ceiling with it. An instant later, the lights flickered and went out.
Opening his eyes and shaking his head at the ringing in his ears, Qalat groped around in the darkness. He could feel blood trickling from his head, and was vaguely aware of the distant sounds of car alarms, voices and screams.
Rising on unsteady legs, he scrambled through the rubble and out the now empty doorway. The white-haired man who had accompanied him outside was lying on the ground, unconscious or dead, he couldn’t tell. But that mattered nothing to Qalat now.
He stumbled towards the conference room, coughing as dust and smoke seared his throat. He almost bumped into a figure in bloodied clothes who looked dazed and confused.
It was Naqvi, one of Director Khalid’s security operatives.
‘Vizur,’ he said, with the kind of mild surprise one might expect when bumping into an acquaintance in the street. ‘What has happened?’
Qalat almost backed away in shock. ‘Your arm, Naqvi.’
Frowning, Naqvi looked down at what remained of his right arm, which now ended just below the shoulder in a stump of ragged flesh, snapped bone and shredded clothing. When he glanced up at Qalat again, he opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t seem to find the words.
Qalat supported him as the big man’s legs gave way and he slid down the wall, already going into shock.
‘Rest, my friend,’ he said. ‘I must help the others.’
Pushing past the dying bodyguard, he emerged into what had once been the conference room. One look was enough to confirm the bomb had done its work, reducing the plush meeting space to a horrific charnel house of smoke, fire, destroyed furniture and human remains. Anyone lucky enough to survive the blast would soon be killed by fire and smoke inhalation. The smell of burning wood and plastic was underpinned by something far worse – the scent of scorched flesh.
Throwing the phone used to contact Cain into a pile of flaming debris, Qalat turned away from the gruesome sight, already making to join the other surviving embassy staff who were evacuating outside.
* * *
Cain slipped the phone back into his pocket, satisfied that at least one problem had been handled. He hoped for Qalat’s sake that once he was appointed interim ISI director the man made good on their agreement, otherwise their working relationship would prove to be short-lived indeed.
‘This is close enough,’ Cain decided, recognizing their location. ‘Pull over here.’
As the car pulled over, Cain took a deep breath. One problem resolved, one more to take care of.
Chapter 57
The junction of Friedrichstrasse and Zimmerstrasse in central Berlin wouldn’t have meant much to anyone born outside the city, and in truth it had no inherent geographical or strategic significance. It commanded no high ground, controlled no vital road or rail links and faced no important buildings.
In most respects there was little to differentiate it from any other street in the Freidrichstadt district.
Apart from one thing. It was standing in the centre of the street: a little wooden hut, painted off-white, barely big enough for two men to sit comfortably inside. The kind of modest, unassuming structure one might find in the corner of a suburban garden. And above it, in stark black lettering, was a sign:
US ARMY CHECKPOINT
The location might have held no real significance, but 50 years of Cold War history had endowed this place with an almost legendary status: one of the focal points of that great, terrible, inspiring, wasteful and ultimately pointless struggle.
It was here that visitors to East and West Berlin were able to cross between the Soviet and American occupation sectors – from one world into another. It was here that US and Soviet tanks faced off in October 1961, the world holding its breath as the two superpowers came within a hair’s breadth of going to war. It was here that dozens of desperate civilians tried to flee from the east, many losing their lives in the process. And it was here, in November 1989, that the Soviets finally bowed to overwhelming pressure and opened the gates for good, ending five decades of division and ultimately the Cold War itself. The USSR would dissolve barely two years later.
Crossing the street, Cain glanced over at the group of students posing in front of Checkpoint Charlie, flanked by a pair of military policemen – one in American fatigues, the other scowling behind a Russian uniform.
They weren’t real, of course. Just actors hired to play the part, soaking up money from tourists who wanted a cool Facebook update. The checkpoint hut wasn’t real either. The original structures had long since been demolished or transferred to museums. All that was left were fading memories and tacky souvenir shops.