But Drake didn’t try to bargain or plead for his comrade’s life. His reply, when it came, was measured.
‘I don’t need to decide,’ Drake said. ‘You’ve already lost, you’re just too stupid to know it.’
Riley looked at Drake, realizing he was no longer glaring at her in impotent rage, no longer cowed and fearful for his comrade’s safety.
The dumb bastard was either bluffing, or he’d just lost it and no longer appreciated the reality of his situation.
‘You know what? I’ve changed my mind,’ she said, glancing at the gunman covering both prisoners. ‘You can go ahead and take out his knees. But leave his balls intact – I’ll take care of them myself.’
The man brought the silenced submachine gun up to his shoulder, the laser sight colouring the back of Drake’s knee as he squeezed the trigger.
The muted thump of the silenced round was followed by the soft crunch of tearing flesh and splintering bone. Yet Drake didn’t scream in agony. Instead, the man covering him jerked suddenly, as if struck by lightning, then suddenly went limp and collapsed to the ground with blood and brain matter painting the floor in a wide spray to his right.
At almost the same instant, a second silenced round took down the technician, spinning him around so that he fell onto his side, with what was left of his brains seeping out onto the dusty concrete.
Riley reacted immediately, grabbing Frost and yanking her to her feet while hooking the knife around her throat. Her eyes swept her surroundings, desperately trying to locate the source of the deadly gunfire.
‘Hold your fire!’ she called out, her voice now sounding empty and frightened as it echoed around the vast space. ‘I’ll fucking kill her, I swear!’
‘Bad move, little girl,’ a German-accented voice replied. ‘Then I’ll have no reason not to kill you.’
Drake watched as a figure emerged from his cover in the shadows behind a support pillar. Tall and rangy, with dark hair and a grim, severe face that seemed quite at home in their gloomy surroundings. Grey-blue eyes stared down the sights of his silenced MP5-K submachine gun, which was now trained on Riley, the red dot of its laser sight illuminating her forehead. Smoke still trailed from the barrel.
Riley bared her teeth, tightening her grip on the knife. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
‘We’re the cavalry. And you’re fucked.’ A second aggressor appeared to Riley’s right, similarly armed. A younger man, with buzz-cut blonde hair and a short beard, wearing black tactical gear and a Kevlar vest.
Riley held her ground, constantly turning and moving to disrupt their aim, her eyes briefly flicking to the camera that was still recording her actions. Maybe she could hold out until her plight became obvious and backup was dispatched. The younger of the Germans quickly put paid to that notion, moving over to the camera and powering it down.
‘I won’t tell you again,’ the dark-haired man threatened. ‘Put it down. Maybe you’ll live through this.’
Riley however had no intention of surrendering, and brought the knife in to slit Frost’s throat, fully intending to take her hostage down with her.
A single silenced gunshot rang out. Riley screamed and staggered backwards, blood flowing from her injured arm. The blade clattered to the floor as she rounded on her enemies again, only to find a pair of automatic weapons staring back at her.
‘Secure her,’ the dark-haired man growled. ‘And take her comms unit.’
As the younger operative roughly shoved Riley to her knees, his comrade drew a knife. ‘Saving your ass is becoming a full time job, Ryan,’ he said, sawing through Drake’s restraints. ‘I’d say I’m due some good karma after this.’
In better circumstances, Drake might have laughed. ‘Karma’ was their code word for the emergency rescue operation to recover Drake and Frost. During their brief phone conversation the previous day, Drake and Anya had communicated their plan using a carefully agreed system of words and coded phrases, starting with karma, all of it designed to coordinate his rescue with Anya’s endeavours.
‘Never thought I’d be glad to see your ugly face, Dietrich,’ Frost remarked.
Jonas Dietrich had been a necessary member of their team when they’d first been sent to recover Anya from a Russian prison. With a long-standing grudge against Drake and a bad attitude to match, he’d done little to endear himself to the others, even if his knowledge of Russian jails had been vital to their success. He’d since proven to be a useful ally, if a reluctant one, and today had been no exception.
‘The feeling’s mutual, Keira,’ he said. ‘Maybe you’d prefer I left you here.’
‘Shut up and cut me loose.’
The second member of their rescue team called over from the laptop. ‘Our jamming signal worked,’ he reported. ‘I don’t think they saw what happened.’
‘Who’s the kid?’ Frost asked, rubbing her neck where Riley’s knife had nicked the skin.
The blonde-haired operative glanced at her. ‘The “kid” has a name,’ he said. ‘It’s Schaeffer. You can call me Mr Neumann.’
‘I still have some friends in the BND,’ Dietrich explained, referring to the German intelligence service he’d served with before joining the Agency. ‘Schaeffer here is young and stupid and eager for action. In short, he was perfect for this mission.’
Schaeffer gave Dietrich the finger as he finished up his work. ‘I’ve looped the webcam footage. It won’t fool them for long, but it should buy us some time. Luckily your friend here decided to record the whole thing.’
He cast a disparaging glance at Riley, now on her knees with her hands cuffed behind her back, blood flowing freely from her upper arm.
She looked up at them and spat contemptuously on the ground. ‘How did you—’
‘How did we find you?’ Dietrich finished for her. ‘Luck.’
Stepping forward, Frost reached for the lucky charm necklace Riley was still wearing. ‘You won’t be needing this now,’ she said, holding it in front of Riley’s face for a few seconds.
Riley had never thought to look for it, but a miniature tracking device had been implanted into the necklace, which Drake had activated the moment he’d slipped it on. The signal it broadcast had immediately been relayed to Dan Franklin in Washington, allowing him to track Drake’s movements. Dietrich had been tailing him ever since, waiting for the right time to make their move. Waiting for Cain to expose himself.
‘Couldn’t have done it without you,’ Drake added, relishing her look of crushing disbelief as the full weight of her mistake settled on her.
‘Doesn’t make any difference,’ she decided, regaining her nerve. ‘That bitch of yours is still going to die.’
‘Only one bitch is going to die today,’ Frost snarled, snatching up a sidearm from one of the dead operatives.
‘No! We need her alive,’ Drake said, stepping in front of Riley.
Frost looked ready to hit him. ‘Bullshit. I want her.’
‘We need her alive, for now,’ Drake said, before turning to Dietrich. ‘Where the hell are we? How far is Checkpoint Charlie from here?’
Dietrich stared back at him. ‘That’s not the plan, Ryan—’
‘How far!’ Drake demanded.
The German operative chewed his lip. ‘Three blocks south-west. But this is crazy, you’re in no shape to go—’
Drake ignored him, picking up the P90 that had belonged to his former captor, as well as Riley’s gelding knife. ‘Get to the rendezvous point. I’ll meet you there.’
‘Hold on one goddamned second,’ Frost protested. ‘If you think I’m letting you do this alone—’
‘I have to finish it. Now get the hell out of here!’ he ordered her.
‘Just kill that bastard, Ryan,’ Frost pleaded. ‘End this.’
Chapter 62
Three of Hawkins’ operatives closed in on the van, still parked at the edge of a grassy play area where Anya had left it. The few civilians in the area quickly scattered at the sight of the guns.
&nbs
p; Checking the driver’s cab and finding it empty, they closed in on the rear doors. With one hanging back to provide cover, the other two moved quickly, knowing they could be spotted by the occupant at any moment.
Utterly focussed on the confrontation in the café, Alex didn’t even see them coming. Not until a soldier gripped the handle, paused to glance at his comrade, then yanked the door open.
The two men stopped in their tracks, staring at the webcam in the middle of the van’s cargo area, pointing straight at them.
On a rooftop a hundred yards away, Alex was alerted by a bleep from his laptop, and a new window opened on his desktop. He was almost amused by the confusion and disbelief on their faces.
Cain’s men weren’t the only ones capable of hacking Berlin’s security camera network – Alex had just got there first, looping the footage from the camera covering his van. His exit from the vehicle had passed unnoticed by Javadi, who believed he’d found his man. It was soon to prove a fatal mistake.
‘Sorry, lads,’ he said, reaching for the remote detonator Anya had given him. ‘Missed me.’
Anya had taken two of the Russian anti-personnel mines with her, but the third was sitting in the back of the van, pointed towards the doors.
A flick of the switch resulted in a brilliant flash, followed by a thunderous boom and a pall of white smoke that enveloped the entire vehicle. The men closest to the blast were killed instantly, their bodies shredded by hundreds of steel ball bearings, while the third died moments later as the vehicle’s fuel tank ignited, further adding to the destruction.
The assault team was gone.
* * *
Cain tensed, startled by the explosive boom that rattled the café’s windows. It had come from no more than a couple of hundred yards away, the noise of the blast echoing and reverberating off nearby buildings.
He looked at Anya, caught off balance. Something had changed. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t planned for it. Her body language told him that whatever moment she’d been waiting for had finally arrived.
‘Remember what I told you once, Marcus?’ she said. ‘I’d rather die for something than live for nothing.’
With that, she held up the detonator.
‘No!’ Cain shouted as she released the trigger.
* * *
Hawkins was thrown to the ground as the front of the café disintegrated in a maelstrom of smoke and dust and flying debris. The men around him dived for cover behind parked cars and kiosks, some struck down before they could get to safety.
The roar of the explosion was loud enough to trigger car alarms and shatter windows a hundred yards in every direction, raining broken glass down on the assault team. Seconds later, the cloud from the destroyed café engulfed everything.
Coughing the smoke and dust from his lungs, Hawkins strained to see through the murk, knowing as he did so that it was a futile effort. Anya had triggered her suicide vest.
She was dead, and she’d almost certainly taken Cain with her, sacrificing her life in a final, bitter act of vengeance.
* * *
‘Oh, God,’ Alex gasped, staring at the expanding cloud of smoke that had engulfed the street below, accompanied by frightened screams and the blare of car alarms. Most civilians had been clear of the blast radius, but there was no telling who might have been hit by falling glass and other debris.
He shook his head, his ears ringing.
‘Anya, come in,’ he said into his radio.
Nothing but static.
‘Anya, do you hear me?’ he repeated, slamming his laptop closed and hastily packing away his gear.
There was no response.
‘Yasin, can you see anything?’
‘Nothing,’ the boy replied, coughing as the dust cloud reached him. ‘The café is gone. What do we do now?’
Anya’s instructions had been clear, as much as he hated to obey them. ‘We stick to the plan,’ Alex said. ‘Get to the rendezvous point. Go now!’
Chapter 63
‘Come on, princess,’ Dietrich said, shoving Riley roughly ahead of him as the group rushed to the ground floor of the building, where a van was waiting for them. ‘Don’t give me an excuse to hurt you.’
Riley winced as her injured arm took most of the impact, her hands now cuffed behind her back. ‘You know you’re wasting your time, right?’ she hit back at him. ‘Drake’s probably been killed already, and the three of you won’t be far behind. They’ll find you. They always do.’
‘No, we found you,’ Schaeffer corrected her. ‘And you’re going to tell us everything you know about your asshole employers.’
‘I’m not giving you jack shit. Might as well kill me now and save us all some time.’
‘You’re not afraid?’ Schaeffer asked. ‘You should be. The little one looks like she has all kinds of hurt in mind for you.’
Riley raised her chin defiantly and pulled hard against the handcuffs. Her hands were narrow and slender, but the cuffs had been ratcheted up tight. Getting out was going to mean dislocating her thumb and causing a fair bit of damage to the skin and muscle around it. These things could be put right later, but that wouldn’t make the experience any more pleasurable.
‘After the shit I’ve seen and done?’ she said truthfully, managing not to cry out as she felt the joint finally yield to the relentless pressure and pop out, the cuffs slipping free. ‘You people are pussies by comparison.’
The group halted as a distant, thunderous explosion echoed across the city.
Frost glanced at Dietrich. The blast had come from where Ryan was headed.
The distraction was just what Riley had been waiting for. She lunged towards Schaeffer, her hands now free, even as Frost cried out a warning and turned her gun towards the prisoner.
Schaeffer brought his weapon up to defend himself, but he was too late. Riley’s hand shot out, with the steel cuffs wrapped around it, landing a blow to his windpipe that immediately collapsed his trachea. He opened his mouth wide to scream, but no sound emerged.
Even as the German began to fall, Riley yanked something from his Kevlar vest and tossed it to the ground.
‘Grenade!’ Dietrich shouted, throwing himself clear of the weapon’s blast radius.
Frost twisted aside and closed her eyes just as the flashbang detonated, the concussive boom echoing around the enclosed space like the pealing of thunder.
When she opened her eyes, spots of light pulsed across her vision. Her ears were ringing, leaving her temporarily deafened and disoriented.
She glanced down at Schaeffer, saw him lying unmoving on the ground and knew he was dead. She had to find Riley and kill her before she escaped.
Raising the weapon, she stumbled past Dietrich, who was only now starting to recover from the grenade blast. She didn’t bother speaking, since neither was capable of hearing the other.
Instead, she made for the far end of the room, where scaffolding and plastic masked the empty windows. Silhouetted against the bright daylight filtering through the plastic sheeting was the blurred outline of a figure sprinting away.
Raising her weapon, Frost paused briefly to take aim and fired. She barely heard the bark of the weapon in her hands, but she certainly felt the recoil that jarred up her arm. Adjusting her aim slightly, she fired again, and again.
Her target fell forward and disappeared from view.
Frost ran towards the window ready to empty the remainder of the Glock’s magazine into her target. But she found only a gaping hole ripped in the protective sheeting.
And 10 feet below the billowing strips of torn plastic lay a Berlin street.
‘Goddamn it,’ she whispered.
Chapter 64
Opening her eyes slowly, Anya coughed and shook the dust and glass out of her hair, taking a look at her surroundings. The world was one of smoke and fire and dust, the café devastated by the blast.
Yet she lived, and her survival was no miracle.
The two anti-personnel mines strapped to her chest
were nothing more than empty casings, intended to create the impression of a suicide vest. She had removed the plastic explosive the night before, fixing it to key points on the café’s outer walls so the majority of the explosive force was directed outwards.
To an observer, it would appear she had annihilated herself and the building, while in reality she had emerged almost unscathed. She’d been thrown to the ground by the force of the explosion, hit and cut by flying debris, and her injured ribs blazed with renewed pain. But she was alive.
She had bought a few precious seconds to escape. Now was the time to use them.
The heavy wooden table had protected her from the worst of the flying shrapnel, but it had been upended by the force of the detonation and its collapsed remains were now blocking her exit. Anya reached up to push it away, straining to shift the considerable weight.
Even as Anya fought to free herself from the wreckage, something emerged from the smoke and flying sparks, like a demon come to claim her. His clothes were torn and darkened with soot, his face bloodied.
‘You planned all of this,’ Cain said. ‘Everything you did, every person you killed, all of it brought you to this moment.’
Anya turned away, looking desperately around for her carry bag, seeking the compact UMP-45 submachine gun.
There!
The bag had shifted in the blast, but lay just feet away now, partly ripped open to reveal the weapon’s stock. She stretched out towards the weapon.
Cain watched her as he approached, knowing he had the advantage now. Knowing he could take his time.
‘You said you would rather die for something than live for nothing,’ he said, drawing an automatic from inside his jacket. ‘Is this what you’re ready to die for, Anya?’
She was almost there. Her fingers brushed against the canvas bag; she could almost pull it towards her, so close but infuriatingly far.
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