Assassins Rogue

by Rachel Amphlett

  ‘We’d have to make enquiries with the Defence Secretary,’ said Miles.

  Eva could almost hear him squirm. ‘Is that going to be a problem?’

  Knox grimaced. ‘Jonathan Amberley isn’t exactly a fan of the Section at present. Probably doesn’t like the fact that as Section chief, I get to report directly to the PM. In the meantime, what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to see if I can get Decker to help us.’ She ignored the bitter laugh that followed her words. ‘We’ll be in touch as soon as we’ve got some more news.’

  ‘Try not to leave it so long next time,’ Knox retorted before the screen went blank.

  ‘Does the phrase “a can of worms” spring to mind?’ said Nathan, closing the encryption programme and returning the screen display to the series of security cameras.

  ‘All the time. I’m going to check on Kelly.’

  Nathan followed her down the narrow staircase after securing the door to the flat, and she swept her gaze over the empty bookshop.

  It was habit, that was all, ingrained from years of specialist training and then years out in the field having to survive undetected – both as hunter and hunted.

  She would leave nothing to chance.

  But nothing moved.

  No-one sprang from behind a bookshelf to place a gun against her head.

  Situation normal.

  Except for a broken woman who lay dying on the premises.

  Eva swept back the curtain and peered into the office.

  The pilot sat slumped in the armchair, a red stain blotting the fresh dressing Novotný had placed against her abdomen to stem the worst of the bleeding.

  Crossing the room, Eva reached out and placed her fingers against Kelly’s neck.

  Her pulse was weak, faint.

  ‘Eva?’

  She straightened at Nathan’s voice, and wandered back out to the counter.

  His face troubled, he leaned against the till. ‘I don’t know if I want to do this again.’

  ‘I don’t think we have a choice.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t think we’ve ever had a choice.’

  They turned at the sound of a frantic banging on the frame of the front door.

  Nathan’s eyes widened. ‘Do you think they followed her after all?’

  Eva retrieved her gun from her waistband, released the safety, and took a deep breath.

  ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

  Chapter Ten

  Eva motioned to Nathan to move behind the curtain, and hoped he was carrying the gun she’d given him.

  Despite his background as an intelligence officer for the Section and never experiencing in-field action – until he’d met her – he had received training in small firearms when he first joined and she had ensured that his skills remained up to date.

  Adequate, at least.

  Although he wasn’t a natural killer, she knew she would be able to rely on him if it came to that.

  She wove between the bookshelves, peering between them as she passed in order to assess the threat.

  Beyond the glass panel insert in the front door, between the crack of light showing between the blind that Nathan had pulled down and the frame, she could make out the figure of a slight woman with short brown hair wearing green military overalls.

  The woman peered over her shoulder, then turned back to the door and raised her fist once more, her face distraught.

  ‘Shit.’

  Eva dashed across the parquet flooring, pulled the key from her pocket and unlocked it, wrenching it open.

  ‘Get in – now. You stand out like a sore thumb dressed like that.’

  She pulled the woman over the threshold before slamming the door shut and locking it once more.

  Keeping the gun trained on her, she half-dragged the woman towards the rear of the shop, spinning her around beside the counter.

  ‘Name.’

  ‘Marie Weston.’

  ‘Marie?’

  Before Eva could stop him, Nathan emerged from behind the curtain, his gun held loosely in shaking hands.

  ‘Marie!’

  He placed the gun on the counter and brushed past Eva, enveloping the newcomer in a bear hug.

  ‘Thank God, you’re safe,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve been worried sick.’

  Eva flicked the safety on her own weapon, tucked it into her jeans and sighed. ‘I take it this is your sister?’

  Nathan shot her a warning glance. ‘Marie, this is Eva Delacourt.’

  ‘You’re here,’ the woman said, between staccato breaths. ‘You’re actually here. I wasn’t sure if it was just a rumour I’d heard. Where’s Kelly? Did she make it here?’

  Eva pursed her lips and gestured to the back office. ‘You’d best come through.’

  Fear passed across Marie’s face before she squared her shoulders and followed Nathan. She emitted a short, shocked gasp at the sight of Kelly, then dropped to her knees and reached out for her hand.

  ‘She was like this when she got here,’ Nathan explained. ‘She told us what happened to you. She was shot this morning – she says she was in a market in Havelská when it happened.’

  A tear slid down Marie’s cheek, and she wiped it away. ‘Those bastards. She’s dying, isn’t she?’

  ‘We had a doctor come to see her – a friend. He couldn’t save her, but he did give her some morphine to help with the pain,’ said Nathan. ‘I’m sorry. It’s all he could do.’

  Eva leaned against the door frame and let the woman have a few more moments before stepping forward.

  ‘Kelly managed to get a change of clothes.’

  Nathan’s sister glanced over her shoulder, a sad smile flickering on her lips. ‘She always was more resourceful.’

  ‘It paid off,’ said Eva, keeping her tone even. ‘No-one followed her to our bookshop, yet they managed to track her to Prague from Belarus.’

  Marie’s shoulders slumped as the realisation hit. ‘Shit. They’ll be looking for me too, won’t they?’

  ‘Probably.’

  Her bottom lip trembled. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. I just wanted to get here––’

  Eva shook her head, trying to batten down her fury at the woman’s naïveté. It wasn’t her fault, she reminded herself. She was just like Nathan was when they first met – too used to sitting in front of a computer screen, instead of fighting her battles on the ground.

  ‘First things first – Marie, this is going to sound harsh but you need to say your goodbyes to Kelly. You look about the same build as me, so you can change into something less conspicuous upstairs. Then we’ll have to consider our options.’

  ‘While you’re doing that, I’ll let Knox and Miles know that you’ve made it here in one piece,’ said Nathan. He crossed to the counter and retrieved his gun. ‘With any luck, we can keep it that way.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Miles raised his gaze from the tablet screen as the government-registered car slowed, and peered through the tinted glass to his left.

  Two razor wire fences separated the road from the military installation, one beside the verge and the other ten metres beyond it in a sea of yellow-green grass bearing signs of purposeful neglect.

  In the distance, he spotted a figure with a large dog prowling the inner fence line, their pace unhurried. Beyond the patrolling guard were low-slung buildings hunkering in front of two large olive-green hangars, both of which had the doors closed to prevent prying eyes from seeing inside.

  The whole landscape emitted a no-nonsense, military atmosphere while a grey sky hung overhead, an almost malevolent tinge to the colours in the clouds.

  He shivered at the sense of foreboding creeping across his shoulders, and then glanced down at the screen.

  His instructions from Knox were clear, and Miles had no doubt that time was not on their side, evidenced by the way Knox’s driver, Harris, had completed the anticipated three-hour journey north in a little over two and a half.

  The fence line stopped suddenly, she
ared away and broken by an entrance with heavy barriers across it.

  Harris eased to a standstill beside a guardhouse and wound down his window before murmuring their names to the man who peered past him and towards his passenger.

  Miles reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and extracted his wallet, his thumb brushing against a photograph of a twin boy and girl. He smiled before a pang of guilt seized him.

  He hadn’t spoken to them for a long time now. The notion of adopting them had been taken out of his hands and passed to a discreet group of people within social services who, having taken one look at what he did for a living, decided that perhaps he and his wife wouldn’t be suitable foster parents for the children, and swept them away.

  ‘Sir?’

  Glancing up, he saw Harris peering at him in the rear-view mirror, a quizzical expression on his face.

  ‘Sorry. Here you go.’

  He handed over his identification and watched as the guard moved back to his brick and bulletproof glass hut, closing the door behind him.

  The barriers remained lowered.

  Miles peered through the window while the guard spoke into a phone, his eyes never leaving the car while he listened to the response from the other end.

  Eventually the man nodded, apparently satisfied they were who they said they were, and that they were expected.

  As the door to the guardhouse opened, Harris extended his hand for the IDs and listened while the guard gave instructions about where to go once the barriers were raised, and which areas to avoid.

  Miles took a moment to rest his head against the back of the black leather seat and closed his eyes as the electric whirr of the window rising reached him and the car eased forward.

  The last few nights had been sleepless, worrying about the breached arms shipment, managing the vast swathes of information his group of intelligence analysts had been required to sift through – and now, this.

  ‘We’re here,’ said Harris as the car braked to a standstill moments later.

  Miles opened his eyes and blinked.

  The car had stopped outside one of the low cinderblock buildings that looked as if it had been built back in the 1950s.

  As he pushed open the door, a chill wind buffeted against him and he squinted across the wide concrete expanse to a cluster of other buildings, and wondered how it was that with a contingent of several thousand personnel on site he could only spot half a dozen.

  Even those seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere.

  Despite this, beyond his position he could see a cluster of accommodation blocks, social and sports clubs – all the trappings of a major RAF centre of operations. It was hard to counter the view with the knowledge that the base was the home of the UK’s Intelligence, Surveillance, Target Acquisition and Reconnaissance group.

  If he ignored the hangars casting shadows over his shoulder and the razor wire fence still visible from where he stood, he could almost imagine this place to be a normal mid-sized town, such was its size.

  He turned at the sound of a creaking door to see a man in his twenties wearing a navy V-neck jumper over uniform trousers beckoning to him.

  ‘Miles Newcombe?’

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘This way please, sir. Wing Commander Pine is expecting you.’

  After signing in without reading the small print on the form that surely threatened a dark cell should he ever speak of what he heard or saw while on site, Miles followed the man along a short corridor and through a door to his left.

  A man stood facing the window, RAF uniform crease-free and his light brown hair cut short.

  ‘Miles Newcombe, sir,’ said the younger man, standing to attention.

  The man at the window turned, keen blue eyes assessing Miles for a moment before extending his hand. ‘Wing Commander Simon Pine.’

  ‘Thanks for seeing me at such short notice,’ said Miles, returning the firm handshake.

  Pine nodded. ‘That’ll be all, Smith.’

  ‘Sir.’

  The door closed, and Pine gestured to one of the worn vinyl-covered chairs in front of his desk. ‘Please, take a seat, Mr Newcombe. What can I help you with? The woman who called was cagey about the subject matter, but said it was a matter of national security.’

  The Wing Commander’s brusque tone gave way to one of intrigue as Miles took out his tablet computer and scrolled through the file attachments Nathan had sent to him after their conversation.

  ‘We have a situation that’s come to light in the past few hours,’ he began, ‘and we have reason to believe that one of your Reaper crews has been kidnapped and then systematically hunted down after completing a rogue mission over the Middle East.’

  Pine’s jaw dropped, before he recovered and held out his hand for the tablet. ‘I find that incredibly hard to believe, Mr Newcombe. If a crew had been kidnapped, we’d have known about it straight away. We have our own police squadron based here, after all. What evidence do you have?’

  ‘A first-hand witness account from this woman, Flight Lieutenant Kelly O’Hara. Do you recognise this photograph?’

  Nathan had taken her photo as she’d drifted into a morphine-fuelled deadly slumber and sent it across while Harris had negotiated the M1 motorway via the overtaking lane, Cambridge flashing past the window in mere moments.

  The Wing Commander grimaced as he took in the pale features of the Reaper pilot. ‘I don’t recognise her, but we have nearly 3,500 personnel on base here.’

  ‘We can also confirm that Kelly has informed us that her sensor operator Josh Connor was shot and killed once their rogue mission was complete.’

  Pine’s expression changed from shock to horror as Miles described what had taken place two days ago, his hand trembling as he handed back the tablet. He placed his palms on the desk as if to take a moment to calm himself before speaking.

  ‘As I said, if a crew had been forcibly removed, we’d have known about it,’ he said.

  ‘What about if that crew wasn’t on base at the time, but at a restaurant in Lincoln?’ said Miles. ‘Does 5 Squadron police the city and all the places around here that off-duty personnel might frequent?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then, please – have your people check the records of anyone on leave this week who hasn’t reported in, or who hasn’t been seen since leaving base.’ Miles leaned back in his seat. ‘I’ll wait here.’

  Pine pushed back his chair, rapped the knuckles of his left hand on the desk, then nodded. ‘All right, I will. Can I have someone bring you a coffee or anything?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  The door closed behind the Wing Commander, and Miles exhaled.

  He was pacing the carpet fifteen minutes later when Pine returned, his expression perplexed.

  ‘That didn’t take long.’

  The Wing Commander said nothing, closed the door and leaned against it, his brow furrowed as he tapped a manila folder against his thigh. ‘I had one of the administrative staff run their names through our personnel records,’ he said. ‘None of their names appeared in the search.’

  ‘System error?’

  ‘We discounted that after extending the search to account for all UK bases and those overseas.’ Pine blinked. ‘No-one by the name of Kelly O’Hara, Josh Connor or Marie Weston turned up.’

  Miles frowned. ‘You mean it was a covert operation? That you weren’t told what they were doing?’

  ‘No.’ Pine strode past him and threw the manila folder on the desk. ‘I mean they were never here. Those three crew members were never in the Royal Air Force.’

  Chapter Twelve

  When Marie walked into the living area of the flat towelling her wet hair, Nathan could see by the slight spring in her step how much more resilient his sister had become.

  Some of the exhaustion had evidently ebbed away under the hot jets of the shower, and her appearance was refreshed with a change of clothing – a spare pair of jeans and a sweatshirt of Eva’s ins
tead of the green outfit she’d arrived in.

  The afternoon had passed quickly while he and Eva pored over satellite images and maps of the area where Marie had said the drone attack happened, while the intelligence coordinator slept on in Nathan’s room, oblivious to the hive of activity in the rest of the flat.

  He peered at her over the top of his laptop, then pushed it away and crossed the room, pulling her into a hug. ‘I’m so glad you’re safe.’

  ‘I’m glad I managed to find you,’ she said, her voice unsteady. ‘I wasn’t sure if it was just one of those rumours that goes around, or whether you were really here.’

  ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t save Kelly.’

  ‘The only ones to blame for her death are the bastards who shot her. Did she say whether she recognised any of them from the airfield in Belarus?’

  Nathan moved to the kitchen worktop, flipping the switch on a kettle and pulling mugs from a cupboard. ‘She didn’t, no. I think we were lucky to glean as much information as we did from her before…’ He blinked. ‘Anyway, we’re going to have to start going through personnel records so you can see if you spot anyone you know.’

  ‘Okay.’ Marie draped the damp towel over the back of a chair. ‘Where’s Eva?’

  ‘Out the back. On the phone to Knox or Miles, I expect.’ He handed his sister one of the steaming mugs of coffee. ‘I’d imagine that headquarters is involved we’ll have a lot more information coming our way now so we can find out what’s going on.’

  ‘What will happen to Kelly?’

  ‘The doctor who treated her knows someone who can…’ He sighed. ‘God, sorry this sounds awful – remove her body.’

  ‘Will she be sent back home?’ Marie hugged her arms around her stomach. ‘I mean, her family will want to know what happened to her, won’t they?’

  ‘Novotný has some contacts. They’ll look after her until all this is over, and then I expect she can be repatriated.’ He placed his mug on the counter and leaned forward to rub her arm. ‘Her parents will be able to say goodbye to her properly, don’t worry.’

  He turned at movement and saw Eva standing outside her old bedroom, her body rigid and silhouetted against the streetlight shining through a small window at the far end of the hallway.