Nathan crouched beside him, a toolbox at his feet while Leavey lay prone beside the front wheels, pointing a torch at whatever Decker was trying to fix.
‘How’s it going?’ she said.
‘Nearly got it.’ A clang sounded from underneath the Land Rover. ‘Fuck. Maybe not.’
Eva pursed her lips, tucking her phone back into her pocket and resisting the urge to check her watch.
They had left Tangiers as soon as the ferry had docked, the journey from Spain leaving her frustrated and on edge. She had taken turns with the others to keep watch while they each snatched a few precious hours of rest, but the lack of information from London about the shipment of replacement missiles created an underlying sense of urgency that she couldn’t shake.
She exhaled and turned away, scanning the horizon for signs of approaching traffic.
Eight hours on decrepit roads like these in a vehicle that had been used for little more than a run-around during Leavey’s time in Portugal was bound to have its difficulties, but they could’ve done without the sudden grinding noise that made Decker stomp on the brakes and haul the Land Rover over to the side of the narrow track.
They had to get Patrick over the border and into Algeria – it was the only way they could make Knox’s plan work.
If a drone strike took place on Moroccan soil, they would never hear the end of it.
She pivoted, turning her attention to the snaking path of the road as it twisted and curved across the rock-strewn hillsides bare except for scrubby grass-like shrubs clinging to the base of rocks and boulders.
Another clang resonated off the front axle of the Land Rover behind her.
‘Got it.’
Eva wandered back as Decker wiggled out from underneath the four-by-four, his face covered with oil spatter, grease and dirt.
He grinned as Nathan handed him a bottle of water and a T-shirt, drank some before tipping the rest over his head, then wiped his face. ‘It’s going to get bumpy the rest of the way, but we’ll get there.’
‘What was it?’ said Eva as Leavey reached out and helped him to his feet.
‘Front radius arm and Panhard rod.’ Decker dusted himself off as Nathan picked up the rudimentary tools and began throwing them in the back of the vehicle. ‘Hopefully the tyres will hold up, but it’ll sound worse than it is.’
Leavey rubbed his chest, sweat patches under his arms as he squinted into the distance. ‘If we’re going to get to that rendezvous before afternoon, we should get going. I’ve topped up the fuel tank, so we won’t need to stop again for a few hundred miles.’ He reached into the vehicle and extracted another water bottle before taking a mouthful, running the back of his hand across his mouth afterwards. ‘I can take the first driving shift, if you like.’
‘I’ll drive,’ said Eva. ‘You all need to rest, given the past few hours. You look worn out.’
He flashed her a smile. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Then let’s go,’ said Eva, and climbed into the driver’s seat. She swore as the hot leather burned through her jeans, turned the key in the ignition and waited until the other three had settled in for the ride.
If they could circumvent the border at Oujda and get to Saïda tonight, then they would be able to set out early to make the final journey to the location Nathan had identified with his sister’s help out in the Algerian desert.
Somewhere isolated.
Somewhere far away from prying eyes.
Somewhere no-one would hear the noise from a MQ-9 Reaper as its weapons found their target.
Chapter Forty-Seven
London
* * *
Miles rolled up his shirtsleeves as he paced the windowless operations room, cricked his neck and stared up at the large screens taking up the length of the wall.
Greg and Emily had split the display so that one half gave them a satellite view of Eva’s progress, and the other a live camera feed from a Section team on the ground in Malta.
Miles kept his attention on the view from the team leader’s vest-mounted camera.
Olly Maxwell had been recruited from the British Army three days before accepting an offered role with the SAS six years ago, and was the only man Knox would entrust the mission.
Capable, dependable, with the ability to strategise with split-second decisiveness, he was a natural choice.
Behind Maxwell, visible from a satellite feed hovering over the harbour, were three men in identical tactical clothing. One British and two Maltese hurriedly recruited from the island’s police firearms unit once the necessary agreements had been made with the government there.
Maxwell had handpicked them as soon as he’d read their service records.
Beyond the harbour, two vessels owned by the Maltese authorities were maintaining watch on the ensuing operation from the water.
If Maxwell’s team failed to take control of the Hellfire missiles, all shipping would be prevented from leaving Marsaxlokk in an attempt to stop Elliott’s smuggling operation from entering international waters.
‘Do you think the captain of that ship knows the cargo’s a target?’ said Emily, passing him a copy of the latest report.
Miles took one last look at the screen, then flipped open the manila folder. ‘It depends whether he’s part of the smuggling operation. If someone diverted his attention away from the ship while the container was breached last time, then no – but we’ll be sure to ask him.’
The young analyst smiled. ‘I wouldn’t mind listening to that conversation.’
‘Careful what you wish for,’ he said, then frowned as he sifted through the contents of the folder. ‘Is this what I think it is?’
Emily tapped her finger on the satellite photo in his hand. ‘That’s Elliott’s drone. We traced it from Bulgaria over the border into Turkey about half an hour ago.’
‘So the missiles are definitely heading there.’
‘That’s my thinking, which is why this ship has to be the one the missiles have been smuggled onto. When it leaves Malta, it ends up in Ízmir in three days’ time before turning for home.’
‘And from Ízmir, Elliott and his client will be able to transport them by road to the waiting drone.’ Miles slapped the folder shut and handed it back to her. ‘This is good work.’
‘As long as we stop the missiles from being stolen this time.’
He saw her brow furrow as she turned back to the screens, and exhaled. ‘It’s good intelligence work, Emily.’
‘Hope so.’ She flashed him a small smile before returning to her computer.
‘Me too,’ he muttered, then: ‘Greg – open a line through to Maxwell for me.’
Within seconds, the team leader’s voice came through speakers set into the ceiling of the operations room.
‘Newcombe?’
‘Time to go, Maxwell. Everything all right there?’
‘We’ve got movement on the front deck. There are a couple of locals on the quay, but the ship’s been moored at the far end so it’s quieter. She’s not due to be unloaded for another half an hour.’
‘Tell your men to keep their distance,’ said Miles. ‘We can’t afford to alert Wilder or his people to their presence until we know he’s used the last remaining Hellfire. We have to make sure he targets Leavey, otherwise God knows what else he might do with it.’
‘Understood,’ said Maxwell. ‘Standing by.’
Miles turned to Emily. ‘Where’s our drone?’
‘The pilots confirm they’re prepared for take-off,’ the analyst replied. ‘Once they’re in the air and out of Swiss airspace, they’ll head south towards the Mediterranean, at which point we’ll bring Marie online to take control of the weapons guidance system from here.’
Miles signalled to Greg to cut the connection.
From now on, they would only hear the sparse chatter between the four men on the ground once they moved from their position ready to begin the targeted assault and search.
Maxwell was now in command of that part of t
he operation, with no further input from the Section’s London headquarters.
‘Are the Maltese officials ready as well?’ said Miles. ‘They need to get their story straight – Elliott must be led to believe that the missiles are in the hands of his people. He’ll be waiting for their signal.’
‘Yes, they’re listening in as well,’ said Emily.
‘Okay.’ Miles crossed his arms over his chest and battened down the adrenalin, his heart racing.
Everything hinged on the next step – persuading Elliott Wilder to use his last remaining missile so that the drone would be useless without its reinforcements.
Greg looked up from his computer screen, his finger hovering over the mouse button. ‘Ready when you are.’
Miles turned his attention to the satellite images displayed on the wall, his gaze roaming the desert beyond the Algerian coastline, and then exhaled.
‘Send the message.’
Chapter Forty-Eight
Algeria
* * *
‘He’s dead.’
Eva snuffled, then sat up in her seat, rubbing sleep from her eyes. ‘What? Who?’
Decker was outside the vehicle, his arms resting on the open driver’s window as he peered in. ‘Leavey. He’s dead.’
She was awake then, heart pounding as her brain tried to catch up with what she was hearing. ‘When? How?’
Stumbling from the passenger seat, she half-fell out the door and then stared at the back seats.
Empty.
‘Decker? What did you do?’
She stormed round to the other side, her fists clenched while she tried to work out how the hell she was going to inform London that they had lost their element of surprise, that two men had argued and that now, one of them was dead.
Decker held up his hands as she advanced on him, and took a step back. ‘I didn’t do anything, I swear. He said he needed to get some air, so I pulled over. He wandered off – I thought he was stopping to take a piss. Then he keeled over.’
Eva blinked, confusion turning to panic. ‘Where is he?’
‘Over there.’ He jerked his chin towards a crumpled form by the side of the jagged rock face.
‘Bloody hell.’
The assassin had parked the Land Rover beside a rocky outcrop, its crags and ridges creating a natural overhang providing some shelter from the morning sun.
She marched over to where Leavey lay a few metres away from the four-by-four, his face turned to one side and his hands outstretched as if he’d tried to break his fall.
A small scratch marked his cheek, but his features were peaceful, his eyes closed as if he were asleep.
Turning to face the road that stretched in both directions, then sweeping her gaze over the rocky terrain, she could see no evidence of anyone else passing in the hours she’d been asleep.
Besides, the others would have woken her if they were about to have company.
The whole landscape was deserted, save for them.
In the shade of the overhang, Eva swatted flies away from her face, the temperature already reaching thirty Celsius, despite it only being eight o’clock in the morning.
‘Heart attack?’ she said to Decker as he joined her.
‘Probably the most excitement he’s had in years,’ said Decker.
Eva peered down at the old MI6 agent’s stricken form once more. ‘He never said anything about health problems, did he?’
‘We didn’t ask.’
She turned at the sound of Nathan’s voice to see him walking over from the Land Rover, an old blanket folded over his arm.
‘I found this in the back,’ he said, wrinkling his nose. ‘It smells a bit, but––’
‘It’ll have to do,’ she said.
‘Now what?’ said Decker, and kicked at a loose stone, sending it shooting across the road and into a natural dry culvert on the other side. ‘We can’t bury him out here, can we? This surface is rock-solid – it was bad enough having to dig a trench yesterday to fix the––’
‘Do you think that’s maybe what killed him?’ said Nathan. ‘After all, he insisted on working as hard as us.’
Decker shrugged in response.
‘Well, we can’t leave him here, can we?’ said Eva. ‘As soon as the next vehicle drives past, he’ll be discovered. A white bloke in his sixties will raise all sorts of questions – and if it hits the news, we risk Elliott Wilder finding out.’
‘So shall we take him with us, then? Bury him as soon as we get a chance?’
Eva glared at him, then began shaking out the blanket and draped it over Leavey’s prone body. ‘We have a bigger problem at the moment. How the hell are we going to convince Wilder to use that last missile if our target is dead?’
‘Maybe…’ Nathan shook his head. ‘No, doesn’t matter.’
‘Spit it out,’ said Decker. ‘Now.’
‘Well, it’s just a thought, but you don’t need Leavey alive to make the plan work, do you?’ he said. ‘I mean, we can’t phone Knox and tell him he’s dead. They’ve already sent the message to Wilder through the dark web. All we need to do is make sure Elliott can see Patrick in the vehicle from the drone cameras, don’t we? He could be asleep as far as Wilder is concerned.’
Eva searched his face for a moment before a smile twitched her lips. ‘Jesus – you’re a dark horse, aren’t you?’
His eyes widened as he held up his hands. ‘Forget I said anything.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I think it’ll work.’ She turned her attention back to the horizon as a heatwave shimmered across the road in the distance, their destination within a few more hours.
‘That doesn’t make me feel any better.’
‘What do you think, Decker?’
‘It’s worth a shot.’
‘Do we tell Miles and Knox?’
‘Hell, no,’ said Decker. He bent over and picked up Leavey by the ankles. ‘Come on – grab his arms. We’ll prop him up on the back seat. Eva, put your baseball cap on him – like Nathan said, anyone driving past will just think he’s asleep, and if Elliott does manage to trace us before we’re in place, that’s what he’ll see as well.’
Nathan stared at the dead man beside him. ‘I feel really bad about doing this to him.’
‘What? He looks comfortable.’
‘No, I mean using him for target practice. At least when he was alive, he knew he had a chance of escaping the drone strike.’
‘Don’t worry about it – he’d have done the same to you,’ said Decker, and clapped his hand on his shoulder.
‘Oh, thanks.’
Chapter Forty-Nine
Near Vakif, Turkey
* * *
Elliott Wilder took a delicate sip of apple tea and savoured the sweet flavours while the hot glass burned his fingertips and gazed out across a barren landscape towards the sweeping waters of the Aegean Sea.
‘You’re sure it’s him?’
He turned at the sound of his client’s voice, placed the tea glass on the fold-out table beside him and smiled.
‘If you’d like to view the camera angles from our drone, General Yilmaz? We should be on target within the next fifteen minutes.’
The General was burly and dressed in a Turkish army uniform, his medals clanging against his chest as he moved around the table and positioned himself beside one of the operators, thick eyebrows knitting together as he peered at the screens.
Elliott pursed his lips, then joined him.
He clenched his fists as he stood behind the General and watched as the Turkish pilot brought the Reaper out of its cruising altitude and began its final approach.
Yilmaz was unpredictable, egotistical – and ambitious.
When he had first approached him at the arms fair in Paris, Elliott had been given the impression that the General was negotiating on behalf of the Turkish government.
That soon changed once their conversations continued in private, away from prying eyes and ears.
Upon hearing the man’s pl
ans to wrest control of his country, oust the incumbent he reported to and seek to address the power balance within the Middle East, Elliott had bit back his excitement and listened.
A new war always brought new opportunities, as did any eventual peace-keeping missions, and he had seized the chance to provide the General with whatever he required.
He always knew he’d find a use for the retrofitted Reaper one day.
It had all been going smoothly until Jeffrey Dukes had been seen at the quayside in Ízmir – a face that Elliott thought had been consigned to his past, and all the secrets that went with it.
The General’s insistence that all potential threats to their ordnance deal be taken care of had been frustrating but necessary, especially as the results had served to demonstrate the aircraft’s power and precision.
Yilmaz had been delighted with the results so far, but everything hinged on this last mission.
To destroy the last man who knew about Elliott’s past – and who could destroy his future, along with Yilmaz’s coup d’état.
Elliott glanced over his shoulder to where another man sat in front of a laptop computer, his face illuminated by the screen’s glow.
‘Have we got satellite confirmation yet?’
‘Affirmative, Mr Wilder.’
‘Show me.’ He moved away from the command desk as the man spun the laptop around to face him, pointing at a lone vehicle parked a few hundred metres away from a low-lying home, the rust-coloured corrugated iron roof almost blending into the soil and dust surrounding it. He grunted with satisfaction. ‘Can you get any closer?’
‘No, sorry, Mr Wilder. I’ve checked the licence plate though, and it’s the same that’s registered to Mr Leavey.’
‘What’s Leavey doing in Algeria, anyway?’ Yilmaz squinted at the screen, his brow furrowed.
‘We believe he thought he would intercept the missiles in Algiers,’ said Elliott. ‘That is what my contact in London believes based on information to hand. Of course, he is too late but we will use his mistake to our advantage. We can eliminate the last threat to your plans.’
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