‘What are you saying?’
Wallace’s face was growing redder. ‘I’m saying you’re too close to this whole goddamn mess, Marcus. Bombings in Islamabad, terrorist attacks in Berlin, and you at the centre of it. I don’t know what you’re involved in, but I can’t have you in this agency any longer. I want your resignation letter on my desk by the end of the week.’
‘And what if I refuse?’ Cain asked.
‘Come on, Marcus. You really want a war you can’t win?’ Wallace asked. His blood pressure was high; Cain could see the man straining to keep his cool. ‘You’re finished. At least go with some dignity.’
Dignity. Did the man really think that mattered now?
Cain sighed, then laid a hand on Wallace’s shoulder. ‘You could be right, Robert,’ he conceded. ‘I’ve been in this game a long time. Maybe too long, and maybe I’ve fought too many wars. But you know something I learned along the way?’
Wallace frowned, looking uncomfortable.
‘Every war demands sacrifices.’
Grabbing Wallace by his shirt, Cain shoved him onto the damp, rocky ground. The director cried out in shock, but Cain’s hand was over his mouth before he could make another sound.
Sitting astride him, Cain kept both hands over Wallace’s face, preventing him from drawing breath. And as he held Wallace, watching the life slowly drain out of him, images of Anya, of Drake, of his daughter lying dead on a table, flashed through his mind. Cain’s tears flowed as Wallace’s frantic struggles eased, then stopped altogether.
His work finally done, Cain stood up, breathing hard, heart pounding, adrenaline surging. He took several deep breaths, felt his pulse begin to slow, then reached into his jacket and dialled a number from memory.
As always, it was answered promptly. A good soldier, eager to serve.
‘Hawkins.’
‘I need a clean-up crew. Reliable men,’ Cain said, then gave his address and directions to the isolated cabin. ‘And they have to move fast. The subject is time-sensitive.’
He believed what Wallace had said about having coming out here alone, but he was still the director of the CIA. His movements would be monitored, and any absence noted. Wallace’s car and body had to be found far from here.
‘I know someone, but men like that don’t come cheap,’ Hawkins cautioned. ‘Neither does their silence.’
‘I leave that in your hands. Just get them here,’ Cain ordered. As if money was of any concern now. ‘It has to look like an accident.’
That wouldn’t be difficult. A highly stressed man in questionable health, driving a suburban car down muddy, winding forest roads at an unsafe speed… Cain could almost picture him suffering chest pains at the wheel, losing control on a tight bend and plunging down a steep hillside to his death.
There would certainly be questions to answer, and Cain didn’t doubt that the spotlight would fall on him as the last man to encounter Wallace alive. But he knew such enquiries would ultimately lead nowhere. A good clean-up crew would erase all evidence of foul play, and when it came to answering questions he was well versed in the art of deception.
He had made a career out of distorting the truth.
‘Copy that. I’m on it.’
Replacing the phone in his jacket, Cain walked slowly back to his spot by the river, and resumed his silent vigil while waiting for the cleaners to arrive. He paid Wallace’s prone body not the slightest bit of attention, his thoughts having already turned inwards.
He had lost everything. All that remained was the war – and it was nearing its end.
One way or another, Cain would be the one to finish it.
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First published in the United Kingdom in 2017 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
57 Shepherds Lane
Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © Will Jordan, 2017
The moral right of Will Jordan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781910859728
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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