Endgame (Agent 21) (25 page)

‘If you keep lying to me, this will become very difficult,’ Cruz said. He turned towards Calaca, who was still standing by the sledge, clutching his MP5. ‘Calaca,’ he called. ‘Fire a few bursts all around us. Maybe that will flush our hidden companion out.’

An unpleasant smile crossed Calaca’s face. He stepped forward, raised his MP5 and pointed it into the darkness to Zak’s three o’clock – a full ninety degrees from where he expected Ricky to be lying. Calaca squeezed the trigger. Two seconds of deafening automatic fire burst from the sub-machine gun. The huskies grew agitated. One of them barked. Calaca turned forty-five degrees clockwise and fired another burst. This time, Zak heard rounds ricocheting off the ice. A couple of them sparked. The huskies barked some more.

Calaca turned again. He was facing almost exactly in Ricky’s direction.

He raised his weapon.

‘Stop,’ Zak said tersely.

Cruz raised one hand, indicating to Calaca that he should hold his fire. ‘Well?’ he breathed.

Zak turned round. ‘Show yourself,’ he called. ‘We don’t have a choice.’

The dark figure that was Ricky slowly rose from the ice.

‘Join us!’ Cruz shouted. He sounded delighted, as if an old friend had turned up at a party. ‘Who is this, Harry? Another agent? You will introduce us, won’t you?’

Zak’s mind was turning cartwheels. Their strategy was in bits, and they had no plan B. A particularly brutal gust of wind sapped all the remaining warmth and hope from him as Ricky paced over to them.

‘Welcome,’ Cruz said as Ricky drew near, holding the GPS unit. ‘My Russian friends will be very pleased to see you. Two for the price of one.’

‘Why do they want us?’ Zak asked. His voice was cold and monotone.

‘Isn’t it obvious? A British programme to train up teenage spies. They want to get their hands on you. To learn how it was done. To ascertain what skills you have learned. It’s no secret, of course, that the Russians have spies in the UK, and the British have spies on Russian territory. It’s no secret that members of the security services die in the line of duty. Both governments accept this – but only when it comes to adults. Even the Russians wouldn’t dare to abduct a kid from British soil. Imagine the diplomatic mess that could cause. No, to get their hands on you, they needed to be very careful. And when I realized this, I knew I could make sure that
you
came to
them
, Harry. It was something I could so easily help them with.’

‘In return for what?’ Zak demanded.

Cruz shook his head. ‘For a clever guy, you can be very stupid sometimes. Isn’t it obvious that for someone in my profession, the ability to move merchandise through Russian waters without anyone asking any questions is a real benefit?’

‘By merchandise, you mean drugs?’ Zak said.

Cruz shrugged. ‘One word is as good as another, Harry.’

‘Is there anything you won’t do for money, Cruz?’

‘What else is there? I think it would be best if you handed me your weapon.’

As they were speaking, Calaca had approached, still brandishing his MP5. The skin over his missing eye was red with cold. His weapon was pointing firmly at Zak and Ricky. Zak had no choice. He passed his weapon to Cruz.

‘Get onto the sledge,’ Cruz said. ‘The Russians are waiting.’

Calaca jerked his MP5 to indicate they should do as Cruz had ordered. Zak caught a glance from Ricky. He looked scared. Zak didn’t blame him. ‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘We don’t have a choice.’

The sledge was ten metres away. They had covered half that distance when Zak murmured, ‘As long as Cruz is alive, we’ve got a chance of rescuing Raf and Gabs. Try and sit behind them in the sledge. Maybe we can overpower—’

Zak never finished his sentence. It was cut short by gunshot – a loud retort, echoing across the frozen wasteland. Instinctively, Zak hit the ground, momentarily wondering if he’d been shot. He couldn’t feel anything.

Ricky hit the ground too – maybe it was him who had taken a bullet? But his eyes were open and he was breathing heavily.

Cruz was still on his feet. He was looking around, clearly in a state of great confusion.

Calaca, however, was on his back. Zak could see a pool of blood spreading out around his head. His lower jaw had been shot away. Across the ice, Zak could see the remains of his teeth, uniquely gruesome against his blood-spattered, one-eyed face . . .

And beyond him, half illuminated by the spotlight on the sledge, was a figure. Cruz raised the gun Zak had handed to him in the direction of the newcomer.

Zak’s movements were like lightning. He sprinted across the ice towards Cruz. Two metres away, he dived and tackled him to the ground. The gun went off as they tumbled, but the rounds blasted harmlessly into the air. Cruz himself was struggling violently, his arms flailing, his eyes wild with a sudden, brutal anger.

He still had the gun in his hand. The barrel was pressing against Zak’s cheek.

All of a sudden, Ricky was there. With one good solid swipe, he kicked Cruz’s wrist. The weapon slid, spinning fast, across the ice.

Zak had pinned Cruz down. No one was moving. There was a moment of silence . . .

Zak looked up to see the figure moving slowly towards them out of the darkness. Who was it? Who had just killed Calaca?
Who could it be?

Zak’s lungs filled with ice as he recognized the gait. Slow. Awkward. A broken arm hanging limply by his side.

‘
Malcolm?
’ he whispered.

Malcolm was ten metres away. Zak’s eyes focused in on the weapon in his hand. It was red in colour – as red as the blood that was pooling around Calaca’s body. Zak instantly recognized it as the gun Tyler had accused him of stealing. He suddenly understood that it had been Malcolm – quiet, unobtrusive Malcolm – who had really stolen it.

And that meant he must have had a plan after all. A plan to kill Cruz, as soon as they caught up with him.

‘Malcolm,’ Zak breathed in a low, dangerous voice. ‘Mate, put the gun down.’

‘He killed my cousin,’ said Malcolm. ‘I watched him do it.’

‘We need him alive,’ Zak said. ‘Trust me, Malcolm, you
have
to put the gun down.’

But Malcolm didn’t. He kept the gun pointing directly at Cruz, and continued to walk forward. His thin face was racked with cold and pain, yet the hate in his eyes burned through it. ‘He killed her,’ Malcolm hissed.

Zak stood up. Cruz rolled over and scrambled quickly to his feet. He staggered several metres, but didn’t turn his back on Malcolm, who was still aiming at him.

Silence.

Nobody moved.

From the corner of his eye, Zak saw Cruz sneer. ‘He’ll never do it,’ he whispered. ‘Look at him. He’s pathetic. Look how weak he—’

The shot from Malcolm’s gun cut him short.

Zak started.

Cruz Martinez clutched his chest.

He stared down at the blood seeping from behind his hands, then back up again at Malcolm, whose own hand was shaking violently.

Then he collapsed.

The huskies started barking and howling. It was a sound of fear and panic. Zak ran to Cruz’s side, his heart pumping violently. He forced Cruz onto his back, and was about to lean over to give him rescue breaths when a fountain of blood overflowed from the young man’s throat. Zak grabbed his face, and turned it so that Cruz was looking at him. ‘Where are they?’ he demanded. ‘
Where are Raf and Gabs? WHERE ARE THEY?
’

Cruz’s eyes rolled. More blood spewed from his mouth. The huskies were still howling. He wished they would just shut up . . .

‘
Don’t die!
’ Zak shouted harshly. ‘
For God’s sake, don’t die!
’

But that was obviously impossible. There was blood everywhere now. It was seeping copiously from Cruz’s chest, and Zak had it all over his hands and clothes. Cruz Martinez made a horrific, terminal gurgling sound as his last-ever breath escaped his lungs.

And then, from behind him, Zak heard Ricky shouting.

‘
NO! ZAK! LOOK OUT!
’

Still kneeling at Cruz’s side, Zak spun round. His eyes fell immediately on Calaca. He had been lying in a pool of blood perhaps seven or eight metres away. And he was still there. The blood was still there. But there was movement. Calaca was not dead yet. He had lifted his head slightly. With his jaw blasted away and his one-eyed face blood-spattered, he looked like a corpse risen from the dead.

He was weakly lifting his right hand – the hand that carried the MP5 . . .

Aiming it at Malcolm . . .

Ricky was sprinting towards him . . .

Zak hurled himself across the ice towards the dying man . . .

But too late.

The MP5 thundered noisily. A flurry of bullets rained hard into Malcolm’s abdomen. His whole body shook with the impact. He seemed to fly backwards, blood spurting from his thin body as he sailed through the air. He hit the ground with a horrific thump, just as Calaca’s gun arm went as limp as the rest of his body.

Everything was a blur. Zak kicked the MP5 out of Calaca’s dead hand as he sprinted towards Malcolm, shouting his friend’s name, praying that he hadn’t just seen what he knew he had.

Of all of them, Malcolm had been the least suited to this mission. And in Zak’s eyes, that meant he least deserved to die.

But he had died. A single glance at his corpse told Zak that. The bullets had ripped a seam up his abdomen. Blood was flowing, and his eyes, still open, had rolled up into his head.

Hot fury surged through Zak’s body. He felt like screaming out to the unfeeling sky. It all seemed so unreal. Like a horrible dream. He felt himself going through the motions of checking Malcolm’s pulse. There was nothing.

He crouched in the snow, head in his hands. It was as if the world had stopped. He was burning up. He realized he was pounding his fist on the ice, and when he finally looked up again, he saw the frozen scenery through a veil of tears. He jumped to his feet, and ran back to where Cruz was lying. He bent down and grabbed the front of his clothes, pulling his heavy, limp body off the ice. Cruz’s head lolled grotesquely. ‘
It didn’t have to be like this!
’ Zak shouted. ‘You
didn’t have to be like this! We could have been
friends
!
’

But Cruz’s dead body didn’t answer. Zak let it fall heavily to the ground, before running back to Malcolm, throwing only a cursory, hate-filled glance at Calaca as he went.

Maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe Malcolm wasn’t dead. Maybe it felt like a dream because it
was
a dream. He knelt down by his friend again. Felt his pulse once more.

Nothing.

He drew a deep breath, then put one hand on Malcolm’s friend’s thin, bony shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, buddy,’ he whispered. ‘I’m so,
so
sorry. You shouldn’t have been here in the first place. This wasn’t for you.’

He looked over at Cruz’s body. Then he turned to Ricky, who was wild-eyed, clearly shocked, but also obviously just as full of fury and helplessness as Zak himself.

Zak stood up and strode purposefully towards the huskies, whose howling and barking was now off the scale.

‘Nobody else dies,’ he shouted fiercely at his one remaining companion. ‘Get in the sledge. We’re going to the military base.
And nobody else dies!
’

Ricky was numb with shock. He could scarcely take in what he’d just seen. It felt wrong, leaving Malcolm there on the ice. Surely they should do something for him.
He’s dead
, the voice in Ricky’s head snapped.
You can’t do anything about it.

– But shouldn’t we take his body? Bury him?

– Go ahead. Drag your heels – if you want to end up the same way as him . . .

It was that thought which stunned him into action. Zak was bending over Calaca’s body and unfastening his MP5. ‘Get the other weapons!’ he shouted at Ricky. Ricky quickly gathered up Tyler’s two handguns – the old one he’d given them and the red one Malcolm had stolen. By this time, Zak was already sprinting to the sledge, clutching the sub-machine gun.

Ricky gave Malcolm’s body one last look. He tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t. And the voice in his head was right. Time was running out. He raced after Zak. By the time he had hurled himself into the sledge, Zak already had the reins in his hands. He shook them sharply. The huskies were still very agitated, but this seemed to calm them down a little.

‘We’ll be back for him,’ Zak said through gritted teeth.

‘That’s what we told him back on the island.’

‘
We’ll be back for him
,’ Zak repeated aggressively.

Ricky didn’t push it. ‘What do we do?’ he asked breathlessly.

Zak suddenly hushed him. ‘Listen,’ he whispered.

Ricky fell quiet. ‘What?’ he said after a few seconds. And then . . . ‘Oh . . .’

There was a tinny, buzzing sound. It came from above them. Ricky looked up. He was half blinded by the swirling snow, but could just make out a pale red dot glowing in the sky.

What was it Cruz had said?
My Russian friends have a small drone above us with a thermal imaging camera.

Almost on instinct, Ricky raised the red gun. Zak, next to him, did the same with his MP5.

‘On three,’ Zak said. ‘One . . . two . . . three . . .’

They fired in unison – a burst from the MP5, a single round from the handgun. Their aim was good. A split second later, a hunk of metal dropped from the sky and shattered on the ice.

Zak examined the MP5. ‘Out of ammo,’ he hissed, and he tossed the gun onto the ice, where it clattered noisily. He turned to Ricky, his face a picture of fierce concentration. ‘What did they say?’ he muttered.

‘Who? When?’

‘On the last video. Raf and Gabs.
What did they say?
’

Ricky clicked his fingers, desperately trying to recall the footage they’d watched in Anchorage airport. ‘
Remember the first thing I ever taught you – that your first duty is to stay alive
,’ he recited.

But Zak shook his head. ‘That
wasn’t
the first thing he ever taught me.’ He was frowning hard, as though he was desperately trying to remember something. ‘It was my first night on St Peter’s Crag,’ he muttered, more to himself than to Ricky. ‘I was in a really bad mood. Raf took me out onto the island. He showed me how to . . .’ Zak looked up again. ‘How to navigate by the stars.’