Something to Die For Page 11

  ‘Nice try,’ Blake scoffed, amused by her attempted deception. ‘But we both know the grenade isn’t live.’

  Ignoring his mocking tone, Anya tensed up, readying herself for what was coming.

  There was a loud pop like a firecracker followed by an eruption of dense white smoke as the grenade burst apart, engulfing the courtyard in a blinding chemical haze.

  ‘Shit, we’re blind!’ a voice cried out.

  ‘Fire! Fire!’ another yelled, accompanied by the dull, heavy thud of a suppressed weapon as he emptied rounds into the smoke, aiming at Anya’s last known location.

  But she was no longer there, having leapt aside and rolled into a crouch. The world seemed to go into slow motion as she reached down, yanked her silenced Colt 1911 handgun from inside her jacket and darted towards the source of the first shout.

  A shadowy figure emerged from the gloom. She thought it might be the Hispanic man, judging by the general height and build.

  She took aim at his head and squeezed the trigger. Her weapon spat out two shots, the suppressor thudding with each one. The first missed as he saw her coming and tried to duck aside, but the second caught him just behind the ear, blowing away the rear portion of his skull.

  No need to follow that one up. He’d be dead before he hit the ground.

  One down.

  The black man must have heard the sounds of suppressed gunfire, because she heard the sudden pop as a compressed gas canister was expended and was aware of something whizzing over her head. The twin prongs of a taser, the conducting wires trailing back towards its source.

  It couldn’t have been easier. Using the wires as a guide, she put two rounds straight into his face, crumpling the front of his head into a wet pulpy mass of shattered bone and bloody flesh. She heard a muffled, gurgling cry as he staggered backwards, clawing at what was left of his face.

  Two down.

  But the smoke was beginning to clear now as the cloud dispersed.

  ‘Contact!’ came a shout from her left.

  Closing the last few steps between her and the man she’d shot in the face, she grabbed him by the jacket and shoved him in front of her just as a trio of suppressed shots rang out. She could feel his muscular body jerking and shuddering as the rounds tore into his torso, but it didn’t matter now. He’d served his purpose.

  Even as her human shield fell, Anya raised her weapon, sighted the muzzle flash and opened fire, putting two rounds into her next target’s centre mass, one of which passed straight through his forearm before shattering his ribcage. A third shot to the forehead dropped him.

  Three down.

  Hearing the faint click of a weapon being raised behind, Anya reacted instinctively, spinning around and allowing herself to drop like a stone as she brought her gun around to face Blake. He had dropped into a crouch to avoid the stray rounds flying in all directions. In the instant before she squeezed the trigger, she saw his rugged, handsome face twisted in anger.

  Both combatants fired at the same instant, their silenced weapons thumping as they discharged. Anya felt a sting at her shoulder as she landed hard on the dusty ground, while Blake was kicked suddenly backwards, a cloud of red mist exiting from his back.

  Reaching up, Anya felt warm, wet blood on her hand. She moved her arm and flexed the fingers experimentally, checking for tendon or nerve damage. Everything seemed to work. It was a flesh wound only.

  The pain hadn’t quite reached her yet, but she knew it would come.

  Her weapon was dry. Picking herself up, she ejected the spent mag from the M1911, fished a fresh one from her jacket and pressed it home; an action she’d repeated so many times that it was almost as natural as breathing.

  Blake was lying sprawled on his back, writhing and twisting to little effect, frothy foam leaking from the hole in his chest. Kicking his gun away, Anya looked down at him with something akin to pity.

  ‘I told you to walk away,’ she said, angry with him for what she’d been forced to do.

  Blake tried to say something in his response, but all that came forth was a gasping, rattling wheeze. The sound of a dying man.

  She saw that knowledge, the fear in his eyes.

  ‘Speaking of stories,’ she said as she raised her weapon. ‘This is where yours ends.’

  Two more rounds to the chest ended his struggle.

  Four down.

  Chapter 14

  London, UK

  One thing that never ceased to amaze Drake about the nation’s capital was the frantic pace of expansion and development. London had effectively become the world’s largest building site in the past twenty years. Everywhere he looked, cranes, gantries and the steel skeletons of new office blocks and high-rise skyscrapers soared into the evening sky.

  It was a city of jarring contrasts. Rows of ornate Victorian and Edwardian town houses and public buildings stood next to brutalist concrete monoliths thrown up in the Sixties and Seventies, which were in turn being supplanted by a new generation of ultramodern steel and glass towers.

  People, cultures and religions from all corners of the globe crammed together into one space. A place where past, present and future collided in a vibrant mess that was as fascinating and unique as it was overwhelming.

  Today, however, Drake’s mind was less on his surroundings, and more on the meeting that lay ahead. After calling Fitzgibbons’ office and requesting a meeting, his secretary had agreed that he would see them at five p.m.

  Which was just as well, because by that point Drake had already boarded a train from Liverpool to London Euston station with Jessica in tow. Trying to drive in central London was, as he knew from experience, an exercise in futility. It would also mean passing innumerable traffic cameras that he was keen to avoid.

  The train was the most direct option, though it too was not without risks. He had been careful to choose a seat that wasn’t directly covered by the train’s internal cameras, keeping his head down as he moved around.

  Now that they were approaching the station, Drake glanced at his sister seated opposite, concerned both for her state of mind and the risk she posed. Jessica had grown quiet once the rolling fields and small villages of the English countryside gave way to the grey high-rises of the London cityscape, dotted with the orange glow of lights against a heavy overcast sky.

  She was staring forlornly out the rain-spattered window at the shops, bars, restaurants and pedestrians sliding by as the train reduced speed, but she wasn’t really seeing any of it. Drake could guess what was on her mind.

  ‘Been a while, hasn’t it?’ he said quietly.

  She sat up straighter, stirred from her reverie. ‘Since the divorce, you mean?’ she replied with a bleak half-smile. ‘Yeah, it’s been a while.’

  Her experiences several years ago had wrought a profound change on Jessica’s life. Once happily married, lively and sociable, she had become angry, troubled and withdrawn. The impact on her marriage was as inevitable as it was painful.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jess,’ he said, well aware of how inadequate those words must have sounded. Whether intended or not, the war he’d become embroiled in hadn’t just impacted his own life. Too many innocent people had been caught in the crossfire.

  Jessica didn’t respond, staring out the window in contemplative silence.

  The train’s intercom pinged and the tinny, automated voice announced they were approaching their final destination.

  ‘This is it,’ Drake said, glad of the reprieve. ‘Remember what I told you. Head down, no sudden moves.’

  They disembarked, merging with the thousands of other commuters streaming towards the doors at the south end of the terminus, and out into the noise and bustle of central London.

  Traffic surged along the main drag opposite, cars jostling for position as double decker busses lumbered by, while bikes, mopeds and cyclists zipped in between. Several buildings in the vicinity were festooned with scaffolding, the rumble of machinery and the rattle of jackhammers emanating from within. Rain was al
ready pattering down from the leaden sky.

  Still, the inclement weather worked to their advantage. ‘Hoods up,’ Drake instructed.

  London was notorious for its high-density CCTV coverage. If MI5 became aware of their presence here, it would only be a matter of minutes before the sighting was forwarded to the CIA. Then the game would be up.

  Getting his bearings, Drake pointed west. ‘This way. Let’s go.’

  Fitzgibbons’ office was barely half a mile from Euston station. An easy ten-minute walk under normal circumstances.

  They set off together, moving through the throngs of pedestrians, Drake with his hands in his pockets and his head down. Just another anonymous commuter on his way home.

  Drake was accustomed to operating in urban environments like this, appearing relaxed and disinterested while maintaining tight situational awareness. Jessica, however, was a different prospect. She looked tense and distracted.

  This was bad news. People have an innate ability to sense fear and discomfort in others, born from the base, primal instincts that had kept their prehistoric ancestors alive. Just like gazelle on the African plains, if one of the herd tenses up, the others will become wary too.

  ‘Take it easy,’ he advised, his voice low. ‘Slow it down.’

  ‘Worry about yourself, Ryan,’ she snapped back.

  Nonetheless, she seemed to compose herself as Drake turned south at a big intersection just east of Regent’s Park. Despite his sister’s unease, they were making good progress. That is, until they heard the wail of a police siren heading in their direction.

  Drake saw Jessica stiffen up. He could imagine the questions and fears tumbling through her head at that moment. Had they been discovered? Could they escape? Which way should they run? Would they have to fight their way out?

  Drake could see the blue flashing glow approaching fast, yet he felt little immediate concern. If they had indeed been spotted, it wouldn’t be a local police unit that was dispatched to take them down.

  ‘Relax. It’s not for us,’ he assured her over the growing clamour.

  Sure enough, a police van sped past and roared through the next intersection, traffic awkwardly parting to make way for it. Drake let out a relieved breath and turned his attention back to his sister.

  She too had turned away from the road, rattled by the close call and eager to move away from the scene. Unfortunately, her haste to get going carried her straight into the path of a plump, middle-aged woman who was walking fast in the opposite direction, head down and eyes glued to her phone.

  The collision happened before Drake could intervene, the woman losing her grip on the phone, which clattered to the ground. At the same time, Jessica drew away suddenly, her hood falling back and her hand going instinctively to her back pocket.

  ‘Oh, shit!’ she snapped, glaring at Jessica with obvious irritation. People nearby had slowed down, watching the encounter with mild interest.

  ‘I… I’m sorry. I didn’t see you,’ Jessica stammered, recovering herself and bending down to retrieve the device.

  ‘It’s fine! Just leave it.’ Before she could act, the woman had swooped down and snatched it up, wiping spots of water from the casing and quickly inspecting the screen for damage.

  ‘I can pay if it’s damaged—’ Jessica offered.

  ‘I said it’s fine,’ the woman repeated irritably. She paused before adding, ‘Try looking where you’re going in future.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Drake said, quickly inserting himself between them and steering Jessica away from the scene. ‘It was an accident, that’s all. No harm done.’

  Casting a final look of annoyance at them, the woman continued on her way. The other bystanders who had slowed to watch were likewise dispersing. Little accidents and misunderstandings like this were common in a crowded city, and most of them would have forgotten about it in a matter of minutes.

  Drake, however, had seen something in the seconds after the collision; something that had gone unnoticed by everyone else. He knew what Jessica had been reaching for.

  ‘Put your hood back up,’ he said quietly, his voice carrying a harder undertone of command.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Jessica protested as he led her forcefully into the narrow side alley used for deliveries. ‘I said I’m fine!’

  Saying nothing, Drake reached behind her and snatched out the item hidden in her back pocket. ‘Hey! What are you doing?’

  ‘You tell me,’ Drake replied, holding up the dark metal switchblade she’d been carrying. ‘What the hell is this, Jess?’

  ‘Protection. What do you think?’

  ‘Use your head, for Christ’s sake. You get caught with a knife here, you’re fucked.’

  With firearms being difficult to procure in the UK, knife crime had become an epidemic in big cities. As a result, the police didn’t mess around when it came to illegal carrying. Anyone caught would be arrested and charged on the spot.

  Jessica eyed him shrewdly. ‘And you expect me to believe for one second that you’re unarmed?’

  Of course he wasn’t. Drake rarely went anywhere without a weapon now.

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘This is what I do. It’s my world.’ He shook his head. ‘Not yours.’

  ‘Oh, spare me the protective big brother routine,’ she scoffed. ‘You weren’t there when they took me four years ago, and you weren’t there when they came for me yesterday.’

  Drake felt like he’d been punched in the guts. The anger and betrayal in her voice was obvious, and worse, entirely justified.

  ‘I’m here now, Jess. I’m not going anywhere,’ he said, speaking more softly now.

  ‘It’s not enough, Ryan. Not anymore.’

  She held out her hand, waiting for him to return the weapon.

  He didn’t. Instead he slipped it into his own pocket.

  ‘Let’s be clear about one thing,’ he said. ‘We do things my way. You follow my lead, do what I say, and you stay alive. That’s how this has to play out.’ Turning away, he headed back towards the main drag nearby. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘What if you’re not enough?’ Jessica called after him.

  Drake halted briefly but didn’t turn around.

  ‘I will be.’

  He heard Jessica swear under her breath, then the sound of her footsteps splashing through the puddles towards him.

  Caught up as they were in their fraught exchange, neither of them had noticed the overhead security camera covering the entrance to the street.

  Chapter 15

  GCHQ, Cheltenham

  Senior intel analyst Wilson Hager yawned and stretched at his terminal – one of many in the operations centre of the Doughnut, GCHQ’s famous headquarters building – then opened the next batch of referrals from the automated facial recognition system. It had been a busy shift, with no sign of slowing down.

  He was contemplating going to fetch a coffee when his terminal pinged with a new request. This one was red-flagged as high priority.

  Quickly setting aside his other workload, he opened it up and scanned the contents.

  Subject – Jessica Drake

  Sex – Female

  Age – 35

  Ethnicity – Caucasian

  Status – Known associate of Tier 1 Wanted Subject

  Hager felt a little jolt of adrenaline at this news. Tier 1 was the highest level of interest, reserved for international criminals, terrorists and known foreign intelligence operatives.

  When Jessica Drake had thrown back her hood on that rain-soaked street in central London, her face had automatically been captured by the CCTV camera overlooking the street and downloaded to the GCHQ servers. The service’s powerful artificial intelligence, churning through terabytes of data every second, had identified her particular arrangement of facial features and triggered a database match in just 113.56 seconds.

  Opening the image of Jessica, Hager first ran it through a diagnostic tool designed to be more thorough than t
he standard AI sweep.

  It delivered a 98.2 per cent match.

  Next, Hager set the most recent file photo of the subject alongside the CCTV image and compared them himself, noting similarities in bone structure, skin tone, and facial composition. He marked the tag as Verified.

  This done, he opened a link to the original video file so he could review it in context. The jerky footage showed the subject walking against the flow of pedestrian traffic, distracted by a passing police van and colliding with a passing civilian. Advancing the video through the encounter, he watched as she left the scene with a second individual.

  A man.

  A man who steered her into a nearby service alley, presumably to speak in private. But his actions allowed Hager to snap a partial image of his face and run it through facial recognition. The system came back with a 77.4 per cent probability match.

  Tier 1 Suspect Match: Identity Classified – Contact your administrator immediately

  No sooner had he scanned this result than his desk phone started ringing. It was coming from his immediate superior, Oliver Pendleton.

  Hager snatched up the unit. ‘Hager.’

  ‘Wilson, it’s Oliver. I’ve just had a Tier One alert flagged from your terminal,’ he began, his voice sharp and clinical. ‘How long ago was the image captured?’

  ‘Erm…’ Hager checked the time stamps. ‘About five minutes ago in central London.’

  ‘Get a track on the suspect’s current location. We need to know exactly where he is.’

  ‘Sir, it would help if I had an ID—’

  ‘Just get on it, Hager,’ Pendleton snapped.

  London, UK

  Eager to reach their destination without further mishap, Drake forged ahead, scanning the street signs overhead until at last he spotted the one he was looking for and turned into it: Middleton Place.

  Too narrow to accommodate cars, it looked more like a pedestrian crosswalk between the busy roads at either end. The result was a tight and rather gloomy street about 50 yards long, mostly cramped flats, with a few small businesses peppered about.