Deception Game (50 page)

Curious but wary, the young woman reached out and took it. The handle was made of a single piece of carved wood, so darkened by age and years of handling that it was impossible to tell what kind of tree it originated from. Grasping it, she pulled the weapon free of its sheath to inspect it.

The blade itself was slightly curved and shorter than her own knife, perhaps five inches in length, and narrowed considerably from having its edge repeatedly sharpened. Plain and unadorned with decoration, and clearly fashioned by hand, the weapon had a rough-and-ready feel about it that appealed to her. It wasn’t some ornate piece of ceremonial garb, but a hunter’s knife designed to do one thing only – kill.

‘Why would you give me this?’ she asked, failing to understand why he would favour her factory-assembled knife over this. It was old but certainly still serviceable, and she presumed it had been inherited from a family member or friend. Did it mean nothing to him?

‘Knife bring me trouble,’ he explained, reaching up and tracing the scar along the side of his face. ‘Bad memory. Better it move on.’

‘Great. So I get the cursed blade, huh?’ she remarked sarcastically. ‘You gonna give me Sauron’s ring next?’

If he understood the reference, he gave no hint of it.

‘Luck change for you, maybe,’ he suggested. ‘And it make us even. No debt. No fight.’

Frost said nothing to this, strangely moved by the gesture but unwilling to show it. Instead she sheathed the blade once more and made to fasten the leather scabbard around her waist, only to find that the strap wasn’t long enough to encircle her.

Frowning, she remarked, ‘Either I’m putting on weight, or this strap’s broken.’

‘Not waist,’ he corrected. ‘Arm.’

Taking the knife from her, he fixed the leather straps around her left forearm, with the haft of the knife terminating at her wrist. Worn in such a fashion, it could be concealed easily beneath a long shirt or robe.

‘Better,’ he decided, his hand resting for a moment on her arm.

‘Thanks,’ Frost said, glancing away uncomfortably.

Sensing he’d done what he set out to do, Iskaw lingered a moment longer, then rose to his feet and returned to the other side of the cave.

‘Got an admirer there, I think,’ Mason whispered, grinning in amusement.

‘Fuck off,’ Frost replied, though she didn’t look up for fear of revealing the blush that had risen to her face.

Not everyone desired such banter and camaraderie at that moment however. Drake had retreated to the cave entrance where he now sat perched on a boulder, staring out across the vast mountainous desert. It would be sunrise in a few hours, but for now the landscape was still cloaked in near-total darkness.

And with no lights obscuring his vision, he was able to look up to a breathtakingly clear night sky, countless thousands of tiny stars glimmering hard and remote in the vast inky darkness. Even the great galactic sweep of the Milky Way was easily distinguished, stunning in its raw celestial beauty.

But the view was lost on him in that moment. His thoughts were turned inward, to the woman who had given her life to save his. Even now he could scarcely process the reality that Samantha was gone.

Over and over he replayed the same image of her at the edge of that cliff, teetering for a moment on the brink before disappearing into the abyss beyond. What had she thought about in those final moments before impact? What had motivated her to make such a sacrifice, to lay down her own life to save his?

And she had saved it. Deep down he knew he would have stayed with her until she had eventually succumbed to dehydration, and by then it would have been too late. He never would have made that last desperate slog to reunite with the rest of the group. And the laptop he’d carried, that so many others had died for, would have disappeared with him, its secrets forever lost amongst the drifting sands of the Sahara.

Perhaps now they had a chance to put right some of the wrongs done by men like Faulkner. Perhaps they could make him answer for his crimes.

But Samantha would still be dead.

Was it worth it? That was what she’d asked him the night he’d committed to this insane venture, the last chance he might have had to back out. Drake, full of self-confidence and driven by an overwhelming desire for revenge, had answered without hesitation.

Now he knew better. Nothing was worth losing her for.

Nothing.

‘Thought I’d find you out here, mate.’

Drake glanced around as Cunningham eased himself down onto a rock nearby. For a moment or two he just sat there in silence, staring up at the stars stretching from horizon to horizon.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ he said, his voice hushed, as if this were a place of reverence where talking was frowned upon. ‘Almost enough to make you forget everything that’s happening.’

‘Almost,’ Drake agreed sadly.

‘You know, when I was a kid and I was pissed off or worried about something, or I just wanted to be alone, I used to go outside on nights like this and just...look up at it all. Forget everything else. Always made it easier to think and make sense of things somehow, because I felt like I could leave it all behind. For a while.’ He looked at Drake then, taking in his wistful, pensive expression. ‘You’re thinking about her, aye?’

Drake nodded, saying nothing.

‘Aye, we’ve both lost people under our command. Never gets any easier, does it?’

‘It’s not the same.’

‘How’s that?’

Drake let out his breath slowly. ‘This wasn’t some mission that was handed to us. This was my idea. I made all of this happen. Her death’s on my conscience – no one else’s.’

‘And did you force her to come along?’ Cunningham asked. ‘Did you order her?’

Again Drake said nothing. There was no need.

‘Then stop sitting on all the guilt,’ the older man advised him. ‘McKnight was a big girl; she knew what she was getting into. She came anyway, and she didn’t make it back. That’s a shitty fact, but it’s the way these things play out sometimes. It’s what happens next that’s important now. You can either sit here and feel sorry for yourself, or you can make sure she didn’t die for nothing.’ He shrugged. ‘Your choice.’

Drake snorted with grim humour. ‘Life advice from a man who lives in a cave in the desert. Brilliant.’

Cunningham flashed a wry smile. The kind Drake hadn’t seen for a very long time. ‘Aye, but it’s a nice cave.’

Before Drake could reply to this, however, the moment was interrupted by Frost, who had come running out from the cave entrance. Her face was flushed, her breathing coming in gasps that had little to do with the short run outside.

‘Ryan, you’d better get in here,’ she advised. ‘You’ll want to hear this.’

Returning to the rocky bubble inside the mountainside, Drake found the rest of the group clustered around the improvised comms station that had been set up against the far wall. Amaha, the older of the two Tuareg hunters, was manning, listening intently to his radio headset.

‘What the hell is all this?’ Drake asked.

‘A radio scanner,’ Cunningham explained quickly. ‘Made from stolen comms gear, plus a little magic I cooked up myself. It lets us listen in on Libyan military transmissions, until they change their encryption codes at least. How do you think I was able to keep track of your little adventures here?’

Moving forward, he spoke in hushed Arabic to Amaha, no doubt requesting a report on what he was hearing. Drake couldn’t make out what the young man said in response, but it was enough to prompt Cunningham to take over with the headphones.

Curious at what had provoked such an urgent request for their presence, Drake watched his former friend’s expression carefully. His brows were knitted together in a frown as he worked hard to listen in on the rapid stream of Arabic, but slowly the look in his eyes changed from intense concentration to one of confusion, shock, and finally growing awareness.

‘I don’t believe it,’ he gasped.

‘What, man?’ Mason demanded, eager for news.

Reaching up, Cunningham removed his headset and looked at Drake. ‘She’s alive,’ he said quietly. ‘McKnight’s alive.’

Mukhabarat headquarters, Tripoli

‘What do you mean you’ve lost contact with them?’ Kubar demanded, crushing his empty paper coffee cup in his meaty hand and tossing it aside. ‘What’s the problem?’

The communications specialist seemed to wilt beneath the fire of his wrath. ‘The patrol that was transporting the prisoner never made it to their forward operating base. The army have tried raising them over the radio, but there’s been no reply.’

Kubar closed his eyes, clenching his fists so hard that it hurt. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening now.

‘How long ago was this?’

‘About an hour, sir. It took time for it to filter through to us.’

The army doing its usual sterling job of keeping them in the loop, he thought. Now they were an intelligence agency without intelligence. When this was over, he intended to have a little chat with some of the military officers involved in this affair.

‘So what are they doing about it?’

The young man swallowed. ‘They have vectored in a pair of helicopters to search along the known transit route. Based on the last time they checked in, they’re hoping...’ He trailed off, head cocked to the side as he listened to an incoming report over his headset.

Kubar waited, holding in check his rising impatience. ‘Well? What is it?’

The technician had paled visibly by now. Glancing up his superior, he spoke in a quiet, hesitant voice. ‘They found the jeep, sir. All three members of the patrol are dead. There’s no sign of the prisoner.’

Such was his utter shock at the news, Drake actually took a step backward as if Cunningham’s words had landed like a physical blow. At the same moment, his mind was a whirl of impossible questions.

Alive. That single word was enough to shatter his world.

How could it be true? He’d seen her fall. He’d looked down at her lifeless body. How could she have survived that? Even if the fall hadn’t killed her, the desert must have claimed her. How could she be alive now?

‘What can you tell me?’ he asked, somehow managing to keep his voice calm and steady.

‘A Libyan army patrol picked her up,’ Cunningham said. ‘Near death from dehydration, but alive.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Mason gasped.

Drake practically fell to the floor, his head in his hands. He felt like the world was swirling and spinning around him.

‘They were bringing her in for questioning, only they never made it back. When a search team found the patrol, they were all dead and she was gone. Looks like they’d been hit hard and fast by someone who knew what they were looking for.’

Frost, putting the pieces together, spat out a single word. ‘Faulkner.’

Faulkner. The man must have been listening in on Libyan communications, just like them. He’d known where to find the patrol, who they were transporting, how to catch them off guard. How to take what he needed.

‘But what does he want with Sam?’ Mason asked.

‘Us,’ Drake said without looking up. ‘He wants us.’

Guessing what he was thinking, Frost knelt down beside him and laid a tentative hand on his shoulder. ‘Ryan, there was no way you could have known...’

Shrugging out of her attempt to console him, Drake fixed Cunningham with a hard look. ‘Do you have a phone I could use?’

Cunningham frowned. ‘Excuse me?’

‘A mobile phone,’ Drake explained quickly. ‘I know you’ve got one hidden away here. You need it for talking to your employers. Well, I need to use it. Now.’

‘Ryan, that’s not—’

Reaching behind his back, Drake drew his automatic and levelled it at the man’s chest. In response, both Tuaregs jumped back, reaching for their own weapons, only for Cunningham to stop them with a raised hand.

‘It’s all right, boys,’ he said, eyeing Drake hard. ‘Ryan here’s not going to do anything stupid. Are you, Ryan?’

‘Give me the phone, Matt,’ Drake commanded, flicking the safety off. ‘I won’t ask again.’

For a moment or two, Cunningham said and did nothing. Then, reaching slowly into his robes, he removed the distinctive bulky frame of a satellite phone and held it out to Drake.

‘Think carefully before you use that, mate,’ he advised. ‘Faulkner believes you’re dead. Maybe you should let him.’

Saying nothing, Drake snatched the phone from his grasp, turned away and punched in a number. A number he’d memorized ever since the man had handed Drake his business card. A number he never imagined he’d be calling again.

He hesitated only a moment before hitting the call button.

As he’d expected, it didn’t ring for long.

‘Yes?’ Faulkner began, smooth and efficient as always.

‘It’s me.’

‘Ah, Ryan. Good of you to call. I was expecting to hear from you sooner or later.’ His voice carried the faint excitement of a man making contact with an old friend. ‘You and I need to have a little chat, I think.’

‘Let me speak to her,’ Drake demanded.

‘Straight to business, as always. You really should work on your social skills, you know. I always find it helps grease the wheels in situations like this. Still, never mind. You deserve a little reassurance, I suppose.’

The line went quiet for a moment or two, and he heard muffled voices in the background, at least one of which was Faulkner’s.

Then, suddenly, a new voice came on the line.

‘Ryan?’

The sound of Samantha’s voice was like a knife driven into his heart, all of his hopes and fears made real at the same instant. There could be no denying it now. She was alive.

And he had abandoned her.

‘Sam...’ He trailed off, not knowing what to say, what he could possibly offer that would undo the damage he’d caused.

‘Ryan, I’m sorry,’ she called out, raising her voice to be heard as the phone was withdrawn. ‘Don’t come for—’

Her voice was abruptly silenced, replaced a moment later by Faulkner’s. ‘I think you can see where this is leading, Ryan,’ he went on. ‘I have something you want, you have something I want.’

‘If you hurt her—’

‘I’m a reasonable man,’ Faulkner interrupted. ‘I don’t see why we can’t deal with each other in a reasonable manner. Give me what I want, and I’ll give you Samantha, alive and unharmed. Doesn’t that sound reasonable to you?’

‘How do I know you’ll keep your word?’

At this, his adversary chuckled in amusement. ‘You don’t, just like I don’t know if you’ll keep yours. That’s why these little games are so endlessly fascinating. Like poker, don’t you think? It all comes down to the players involved.’

Drake let out a breath. ‘When and where do you want to do this?’

‘That’s more like it, old chap,’ Faulkner taunted. ‘Dehiba, just over the Tunisian border at noon. The ruins overlooking the central square. Think you can make it there?’

‘I’ll find it,’ Drake assured him.

‘I’m sure you will. And I’m sure I don’t need to warn you against bringing anything except the laptop.’

Indeed he didn’t. ‘I’ll come alone.’

‘Good man. In the meantime, get yourself some rest. It’s going to be a long day.’

With that, he hung up.

Lowering the phone, Drake closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting out a breath that he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

‘Matt, can we make it to Dehiba by noon tomorrow?’ he asked, his eyes still closed.

‘Aye.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ Mason said, breaking the tense silence that had descended on the room. ‘He’ll kill you
and
Sam the second he gets what he wants.’

‘He’s got one of our own,’ Frost challenged him. ‘What do you suggest?’

‘Take him on,’ was Mason’s gruff answer. ‘Find the son of a bitch and kill him, like we should have done all along.’

‘Yeah, and how do you plan to do that? We don’t even know where he is,’ the young woman pointed out. ‘He’s been ahead of us every step of the way. If he’s as smart as everyone thinks he is, he’d have all the bases covered.’

‘But he doesn’t know where we are right now, either.’ Mason looked Drake in the eye. ‘Maybe we should use that.’

‘You’re suggesting we walk away from this one?’ Frost prompted.

‘You want a war you can’t win? Fine, good luck to you. I say we get the fuck out of the country and regroup before we take him on again. At least that way we get to fight him on our own terms.’

‘And let that slimy son of a bitch get away? Who’s to say he doesn’t have connections in the Agency?’ Frost hit back. ‘And what about Sam? You planning to write her off too? Well, screw that, because I’m getting her back. We don’t leave our people behind.’

It was at this moment that Drake, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke up.

‘Nobody’s leaving her behind, but we’re not going to lose any more people. You two are going to get out of the country as quickly as you can,’ he said, his tone hard and final. ‘I started this thing, and I’m going to finish it. Alone.’

It didn’t take Frost long to make her thoughts on the matter plain. ‘Well, I can’t live with that.’

‘Neither can I,’ Mason agreed. ‘This is no time for going it alone.’

‘I didn’t ask you if you could live with it,’ Drake reminded her. ‘Too many people have died already because of what I did.’ He shook his head. ‘I won’t lose any more.’

‘Then don’t!’ she implored him. ‘Think, for Christ’s sake. You can beat this guy, Ryan. You’re better than him. He’s been ahead of you this whole time because he knows you, he knows how you think, so change that. Do something he
doesn
’
t
expect.’

Drake turned away, leaning his hands against the wall of the cave.

Something Faulkner didn’t expect. How was he supposed to change his entire way of thinking, undo an entire lifetime of lessons and decisions and experience? What was he missing?

It was at that moment that a McKnight’s words drifted back into his mind. Their argument at the RAF base back in England, where she had admonished him for trying to take all the risks himself.

‘
But you went ahead and did it anyway. Alone, like always. Your own way, like always. Same shit, different country.
’

Drake could practically feel
his hackles
rising.
‘
Your point being?
’

‘
When are you going to drop the lone
-
wolf routine and start trusting the rest of us? We
’
re here to help you, but you won
’
t let us in. Sooner or later that
’
s going to ruin you.
’

That was when it came to him. She’d been right, he realized now.

She’d seen that failing in his character, even if he couldn’t. He might have cooperated with his teammates, directed their actions, but he’d never truly let them in.

Until now.

‘I know what I have to do,’ he said, looking up.