‘You were right,’ Cain said as she kicked frantically at the table, gaining a few meagre inches. Straining towards the weapon. ‘In the end, it did come to the two of us.’
He raised the gun, taking aim with deliberate precision. Anya’s eyes turned on him, knowing she had lost. The eyes of a cornered animal, hunted down and awaiting its fate.
‘It was always between us,’ Cain said, staring down the sights. ‘The things we could have done together,’ he whispered.
Cain held her gaze, the automatic pointed right at her, his finger resting against the trigger. Then he did something even Anya had never expected. He lowered his gun and tossed it aside, as if it were a toy that no longer held his interest.
Anya let out a shocked gasp. Finally heaving the ruined table aside, she scrambled for the submachine gun, tugging it from the canvas bag and turning it on her enemy.
‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, pressing the safety catch off.
‘You came here to kill me,’ Cain said, taking a step towards her, all anger and animosity gone. ‘Well, here I am. Take your shot. Finish your mission.’
Anya watched in disbelief, her heart pounding, the air searing her throat.
‘Why, Marcus?’
It would have been easy to kill him if he’d been a threat. She could justify that. But why had he thrown his weapon away?
He took another step towards her across the rubble-strewn floor. ‘Because I’m through fighting you. I’m through hunting you.’ He opened his hands, giving her a clear shot. ‘You asked me to prove what kind of man I am. This is who I am. The question is, who are you?’
‘Stay back!’ Anya shouted.
‘What are you afraid of? Afraid you don’t have what it takes to pull that trigger?’
She knew she should do it. She knew she had to do it, not just to avenge the countless innocent lives Cain had sacrificed, but also to protect those he might yet claim. She knew this, yet she couldn’t pull the trigger.
The gun began to shake in her hand.
Standing so close the barrel of the weapon was almost touching his chest, Cain looked sadly at the woman he’d once been willing to give his life for.
‘There are still things we could do together, Anya,’ he said. She saw hope rise within him as he whispered, ‘It’s not too late.’
She could feel it then. The person she’d once been: the idealistic, impulsive, vibrant and passionate young woman who had died in Afghanistan. Anya felt her stirring once more, felt the same longing, the same desire to be part of something larger than herself.
To share that future with someone who truly understood her.
Anya lowered the weapon slowly, and for an instant she saw Cain relax, knowing what it meant.
Just for an instant.
Sweeping the weapon around, she struck a glancing blow to the side of Cain’s head, sending him off balance.
She retreated to the doorway leading to the kitchen, and halted there just as he looked up, his face just discernible amidst the swirling smoke and the glow of flames.
‘Don’t come looking for me, Marcus,’ she said. ‘Let this go. Please.’
She slammed the door shut behind her, reached for the nearest shelf laden with food and equipment, and toppled it over, blocking the entrance. It wouldn’t hold for long, but it might give her enough time to escape.
* * *
Riley darted along the sidewalk, bloodied and furious, shoving angrily past anyone barring her way. Unarmed, there was little she could do but withdraw, much as she would have liked to go back and settle the score.
In any case, she had bigger issues to attend to now. She could make out a pillar of smoke several blocks away. The situation was spiralling out of control, and she was too far away to influence it.
Spotting a young man trying to record the aftermath of the bomb blast on his cell phone, she changed direction and took the phone from his hand.
‘Hey! Was ist das?’ he demanded, even as she sprinted away.
‘Fuck you!’ she snarled at him, struggling to hold the device in her injured hand while jabbing in a number with the other.
It was answered before the second ring.
‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘They found us. My team’s down, and Drake’s on the move. I repeat, he’s coming for you!’
* * *
Several blocks away, Hawkins ignored the groans of injured operatives around him, listening intently as Riley’s report was relayed to him over the secure radio net.
‘Copy that,’ he said, relieved at least that Riley had escaped the ambush. He’d protect her from any recriminations. ‘All units, be advised that Drake is no longer secure. Repeat, he’s loose and he’s inbound. If you value your lives, watch your backs.’
Hawkins returned to the battered shell of their SUV and seized the M4 assault rifle hidden in the passenger footwell.
He would have loved to find and kill those responsible for Drake’s escape, but that would have to wait. Let Drake come, he thought.
‘Christ, the boss is gone,’ he heard someone say over the radio. ‘She killed herself to take him out.’
The smoke was starting to clear, revealing the shattered building.
‘Hold up,’ Hawkins said, stopping in his tracks. ‘All units, be advised target is still active.’
‘Say again? She was wearing a suicide vest.’
‘The blast damage is on the outside of the building,’ he said, staring at the blast holes. ‘She set the explosive charges there to make it look like a suicide. It was a distraction to keep us occupied while Drake escaped.’
He began to run, his weapon up and ready. ‘All units, converge on the building now! Spotters, you got anything?’
‘Nothing from up here. Too much fucking smoke.’
‘Switch to thermal imaging, concentrate on the rear exit. She’ll try to break that way.’
‘Copy that. What are our rules of engagement?’
He leapt through the shattered shell of a window. ‘I want her alive. She’s mine.’
Chapter 65
Stumbling through the storeroom at the rear of the building, Anya pushed her way into a corridor, heading for the rear delivery door. Beyond it lay a service alley that, with luck, would be lightly guarded after her apparent death.
She was hurting as her various injuries took their toll, but she forced herself on with the iron will that had carried her through so many battles before.
Kicking open the door, she drew out a flashbang grenade from inside her jacket and tossed it into the alleyway, ducking behind the wall and covering her ears as it detonated. She followed this with a smoke grenade, hoping it might help obscure her escape.
As the grenade began to spew clouds of chemical haze into the narrow alleyway, Anya raised the UMP-45 to her shoulder and advanced, sweeping the weapon left to right in search of targets.
No hostiles. Move!
She’d covered about 10 yards before something slammed into her right side, followed almost immediately by a second impact. It felt like a pair of iron fists had just pounded into her body.
Straightaway she knew they were rubber bullets. Non-lethal, intended to subdue her. She’d been ambushed!
Gritting her teeth, she swung her weapon around and sighted the first target advancing on her with a shotgun up and ready. She saw his arm move as he worked the pump action, chambering the next round.
Anya opened fire, barely taking the time to aim. The powerful .45 calibre submachine gun chattered in her hand, the recoil jarring her arm as he went down, blood flying from several critical wounds.
She was about to rise again when something stung her upper arm. An instant later the electrodes discharged, paralysing nerve endings and robbing her of muscular control.
Anya fought desperately to swipe the twin prongs away and end the torment. Her finger tightened involuntarily on the trigger, sending a long burst of automatic fire thumping into the walls and ground around her as she went down.
�
�Tango down! We’ve got her!’ she heard a voice call out. ‘Keep hitting the bitch. Don’t take any chances.’
She saw dark-clad soldiers coming from both sides, at least five or six of them, and knew then that there was nothing more she could do. Cain’s men must have anticipated her move, must have realized how she planned to escape.
She had failed in her final effort.
Gloved hands hauled her up, dragging her towards the far end of the alley. Anya tried to resist, but could manage nothing more than feeble flailing as her body refused to obey her instructions.
That was when she heard it. The thump of silenced automatic gunfire, followed by the soft, wet crunch of bullets impacting flesh. The man carrying her suddenly cried out and stumbled backwards, blood pumping from half a dozen gunshot wounds.
Chaos erupted then. Anya’s captors shouted in urgent, panicked voices, punctuated by bursts of gunfire and chilling screams.
Through blurred vision, Anya saw a man she recognized, who had thrown himself right into the midst of her captors, taking advantage of the smoke and confusion by getting in close so that their superior firepower meant nothing.
Even after witnessing acts both heroic and terrible on countless battlefields over two decades, Anya had never before seen such a spectacle. He was everywhere and nowhere at once, a whirl of knife strikes and gunshots that no weapon seemed to touch and no man could stand against. The one-sided struggle lasted only seconds, but it was perhaps the most gruesome and frenzied assault she had ever witnessed.
Only when the last operative fell to the ground, his neck sliced open by a distinctive curved knife, did her saviour finally relent.
In shock, Anya stared at Drake, breathing hard, splattered with both his own and others’ blood, seemingly unconcerned by his injuries. He was surveying the dead men lying at his feet, as if viewing the grisly results of his work through the eyes of another.
Only when his attention rested on the woman lying in their midst did he snap out of it.
‘Anya,’ he said, rushing forward to help her.
Anya threw her arms around Drake and pulled him tight, so tight that her ribs burned with pain, but she didn’t care. Drake was alive. And he was with her.
‘What… why are you… here?’ she managed to say, still recovering from the taser burst. Why had he come? And what dark part of his psyche had awoken to inflict such carnage?
‘Cain,’ Drake demanded, pulling her to her feet. ‘Where is he?’
‘He’s gone,’ Anya said evasively.
Drake gripped her arm. Hard enough to hurt.
‘We’re not leaving until he’s dead. Where is he?’
Anya twisted out of his grip. ‘It’s over. The police are on their way,’ she said, the wail of distant sirens already reaching them. ‘We have to leave now, Ryan! Please! This is not worth dying for.’
He tossed aside the blood-covered knife, the reality of their precarious situation breaking through the red haze of his fury at last.
‘Stay close to me,’ he urged, leading the way.
Chapter 66
Yasin was sprinting down the sidewalk, dodging between civilians trying to flee the scene and a few foolhardy souls trying to press forward for a better view of the deadly spectacle. He ignored all of them, intent on reaching the rendezvous point, where Alex would be waiting for him.
And perhaps, just perhaps, Anya.
He had no idea whether she’d been captured or killed in the blast, but he hoped she’d made it out. She was tough – tougher than any woman he’d ever encountered – and resourceful enough to evade her enemies. He refused to believe she’d been killed.
A hand grabbed him violently by his shoulder and spun him around. He twisted out of his opponent’s grip, crouching low and preparing to lash out with fists and feet if he had to. Had one of Cain’s men spotted him? Was some police officer who had connected him with the explosion trying to arrest him?
‘Yasin! It’s me!’ Lauren cried out, holding up a hand.
‘What are you doing here? You are supposed to be safe!’
‘I heard the blast. I had to see it. My father… he was in the café.’
‘Your father was not killed by the bomb. It must have been a fake, to cover Anya’s escape.’
Lauren stared back at him. ‘She’s alive too?’
‘Yasin, what the hell’s going on?’ Alex’s voice crackled in his radio earpiece. ‘Who are you talking to?’
Yasin ignored him.
‘As far as I know she still lives,’ he said stoutly. ‘But I must leave this place.’
It took Lauren all of two seconds to make up her mind. ‘I’m coming with you.’
‘But—’
‘No arguments,’ she said firmly. ‘Those men were going to kill all of you. If I’m with you, maybe it’ll stop them.’
Yasin didn’t like it, but he knew Lauren could likely keep pace with him even if he tried to escape. And he had to admit there was merit to her suggestion. If her presence afforded some form of protection, then it might be worth the risk.
‘All right,’ he decided at last. ‘But do not slow me down.’
‘Yasin, will you tell me what the bloody hell is happening?’ Alex demanded again, his voice loud and urgent in Yasin’s ear.
‘Stop shouting at me! I have Lauren here with me,’ Yasin replied.
‘Lauren? What the hell is she—’
‘Be quiet and listen,’ the boy snapped. ‘She wants to come with us. She thinks it will protect us.’ He dropped his voice before adding, ‘She will not be turned away, Alex.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ Alex breathed, clearly stunned. ‘Okay, get to the rendezvous point now. Don’t let anything happen to her, Yasin.’
Yasin concentrated on getting out of the area as fast as possible, but the sirens were getting louder and louder.
* * *
Hawkins surveyed the carnage littering the alley. Spotting something lying amongst the dead, he reached down and picked up a bloody knife. The gelding knife he had given to Riley.
‘Son of a bitch,’ Hawkins said. This was the kind of gruesome handiwork that had once been Drake’s hallmark. His grip tightened on the weapon as his rage slowly rose.
Turning to the far end of the alley, he hesitated as he spotted movement on the far side of the street. It took him a second or so to process what he saw. Lauren Cain, barging and slipping through the confused mass of pedestrians, accompanied by a young boy.
The same boy he’d seen earlier, outside the café.
‘Hawkins, what’s your sitrep?’ Cain demanded over the radio. ‘Have you found Anya?’
Cain had sustained only minor injuries in the blast. His men had already shepherded the deputy director into an undamaged vehicle, to evacuate him before the police arrived, but he still had operational command.
‘Hawkins, acknowledge!’ Cain snapped impatiently.
Hawkins calmly pulled his radio earpiece out and stamped on it with his boot. He didn’t want Cain or anyone else witnessing what came next.
* * *
‘Goddamn it!’ Dietrich swore as he forced their van between two cars, accelerating through a red light and ignoring the angry horn blasts.
‘Can’t this fucking thing go any faster?’ Frost demanded from the passenger seat, burning with impatience. ‘Why the hell didn’t you bring a proper car?’
Dietrich shot her an angry look. ‘Show me a Porsche that six people can fit into, and I’ll start giving a shit what you think.’
Frost ground her teeth. ‘Just get us there, Jonas!’
Chapter 67
Alex was sweating and short of breath as he turned off Anhalter Strasse, several blocks west of the café, staggering into a small courtyard behind a hotel. Most of the parking spaces were taken, but there was no activity as everyone crowded around windows, anxious to learn more about the explosion just a few blocks away.
This was their rendezvous point. Close enough to the café that each team member could make it
there on foot, but far enough to avoid the quickly descending police cordon.
His heart pounding, Alex glanced around the courtyard, anxiously waiting for the others to arrive. There was no sign of Anya or Yasin – or Lauren.
He couldn’t believe the young woman had opted to join them, turning against her own father, trusting them over the man who had raised her. What had swayed her? Why had she risked everything to join them?
‘Yasin, come in,’ he said, hearing only the wail of sirens. ‘Yasin, are you there?’
‘He’s here, and so is his friend,’ a voice replied, but it wasn’t Yasin’s. The voice that spoke was American, heavy with derision and malice.
Alex’s head snapped around, and he stared in horror as Yasin and Lauren emerged from an archway. They had their hands up, their faces etched with fear as they edged forward, prodded by the armed man using them as human shields.
He was big; tall and broad-shouldered, his considerable mass bulked out further by a Kevlar vest. He was crouched slightly behind his prisoners to better protect himself, but Alex could see enough to recognize him.
It was the same man he’d encountered in Istanbul last year. The man who had tried to kill Anya, and come perilously close to succeeding.
‘Alex Yates,’ Hawkins said. ‘Goddamn if you aren’t the world’s most persistent cockroach. First London, then Istanbul, now Berlin. You just can’t get enough of this shit, can you?’
‘Neither can you, it seems,’ Alex said, trying not to show how frightened he was – not just for himself, but for his companions.
Hawkins smiled. ‘It’s my job. Not that I don’t enjoy it at times,’ he added. ‘But you – you really are an enigma to me, Alex. At first I took you for some gutless keyboard warrior living in his mom’s basement, then I figured you were just out to save your own ass. But I was wrong – I think there’s something more to you. Be a shame to kill a man like you.’
Alex’s mind had gone into overdrive even as Hawkins gloated. He still had the semi-automatic Anya had given him, but it was tucked down the back of his trousers. Hawkins was a trained killer, armed with a far more powerful weapon.
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