Out of the Shadows (Akira and Deane Thriller Series Book 1) (25 page)

A street away,
the only active member of the once legendary Black Knights, the
FSB’s (formerly KGB) premier strike team, crept low in the bushes
and watched Marraud through his own pair of night vision
binoculars. Denyer had been following the man for the last few
hours and was taking in as many details as he possibly could;
dressed all in black, his grey hair covered by a black hood and his
light green eyes never straying from the images he saw.

Moments passed,
then he moved his young, agile frame and trudged back to his parked
car. Within minutes, he was on the phone to his source at the FSB
to match a name to the face and then he would double back and tell
Akira…

Elliott looked to have aged a
decade as he watched in horror at several screens that displayed
the details of Operation Reprisal’s failure. Another showed the
casualty list of agents from the operation. The Chief of MI6 looked
away from the displays and tried to clear his mind from the mess of
thoughts that were focussing on S.U.C.O.’s first failed operation
in a very long time.

Throughout both
his reigns, the service had maintained a high level of performance
and kept attention to a minimum. Two years ago, a new Prime
Minister had been elected and had shown, on more than one occasion,
disapproval of how Elliott was choosing to run MI6. From what he
could tell, the PM simply wanted to remove him because of old age
and stubbornness. Since then, he had been extra prudent in his
decision making and operation authorising. A statistics screen took
hold of his attention and his mind concentrated on what the
reaction would be from Prime Minister Jacobs this time around.
Elliott looked again at the nearby monitor.

The survivors
were on their way back to the UK and scheduled to arrive within the
hour. Elliott read the casualty list for the third time, finding
once again that three agents from Team A were missing, presumed
dead and several agents from Team B were injured. Ramsey, his
number two, appeared beside him. ‘I have several urgent tasks for
you, Kevin.’

Ramsey raised
his eyebrows as he studied the tired expression on his superior’s
face. ‘How much time do I have, sir?’

‘Send a signal
to POL1 and have him check the Kiprich house for survivors,
liaising with the Polish police. Any word from his superior in
Warsaw?’

Ramsey looked
worried. ‘Uh…no. We lost contact with HQPOL around the time
S.U.C.O. was arriving in Poland. All attempts to raise our man have
failed. I think we may have to assume the worst, sir.’ He shifted
his weight as he thought over how to phrase his next comment. ‘Do
you think it’s wise to keep POL1 in Kraków? This group seem to be
covering all our people. Shouldn’t we move him out straight
away?’

Elliott
remembered the rising number of dead agents, not wanting to add
another to the list but with little option. ‘A worthwhile risk and
one I will support; when done, get him out of the country and back
in the UK as fast as you can.’ So far, he had not received any
communication from Downing Street but was certain it would come in
the next few hours. Elliott had assured the Prime Minister and the
Defence Minister that the operation would run smoothly with his
best team involved. At no point had he suspected the operation to
take the turn it had. He struggled to maintain his focus, knowing
all too well he would be lucky to still have his job by the end of
the day. Over by the double doors at the entrance to Operations
Command, Burton caught his eye, looking far worse than he had done
since he had last seen him. Workers moved out of his way as he
approached the S.U.C.O. team commander.

‘Where the hell
have you been?’ Elliott snapped. He had not been impressed with the
agent’s performance, his late arrival only adding to that
opinion.

Burton had
large dark rings under his eyes. His glazed pupils studied his
boss. ‘Sorry sir. I was just getting all the operation details and
profiles together. I would have been here sooner, otherwise. I take
it things aren’t looking too good?’

Elliott
controlled his temper, together with the urge to fire Burton on the
spot. ‘Absolutely not. S.U.C.O. has been hit, with three dead. The
operation was a failure. We’ve lost contact with our man in Warsaw
and as far as we know, the Kiprich brothers are in perfect health.
Need I go on?’

‘Only if you
want to, sir.’ Burton replied, with a disinterested shrug of his
shoulders.

Elliott opened his mouth to
reply but was handed a message by one of the nearby operations
workers. He gave a curt nod in reply.

Burton watched
his superior physically deflate as his shoulders sank and a look of
dread spread over his features. ‘Bad news, sir?’ He asked, knowing
all too well it was most likely a summons to Downing
Street.

‘My presence
has been requested by the PM and the Defence Minister. Get yourself
together; you will accompany me.’ Elliott noted the look of shock
on his agent’s face and turned around to signal to his aide as they
both made their way to the exit. Ramsey was informed to take over
at Operations Command at the door.

Denyer, dressed
in a casual jacket and trousers with his premature grey hair waving
in the wind, parked his car near the bungalow on Zemsky per Street
and walked towards the house ahead of him. He was sure French
Special agent Marraud was nearby and noting his own appearance. Not
that it mattered now. A wave of confidence flashed through his
system. His source at the FSB had matched the photos and details he
had provided and had sent him the file of the legendary French
agent. What a history this man had; a career littered with
achievements and accolades. He was a living legend. For a moment,
Denyer almost wanted to rush into the surrounding gardens and seek
him out himself but instead he casually approached the front door
and went inside.

The house had a
musty smell about it and the sound of Russian music came from the
living room. Passing the dark red striped wallpaper on the walls,
he knocked on the door and entered. ‘Excuse me. I need to speak
with you.’ Denyer focussed his gaze on Akira, who sat alone in the
corner of the room observing Salenko attempting to convince his
fellow politician on his policies.

‘Carry on.’
Akira mumbled as he made his way to the door, replacing his hood
over his head. By doing so, the shadows fell across his face and
made him even more intimidating. ‘Well?’

Denyer didn’t
flinch or move away but his usual aggressive manner was slightly
diminished. ‘You were right. Someone is here and he’s been
following you both. I have all his details here.’

‘Good. Whoever it is will need
to be dealt with quickly. Nothing can come between Salenko and the
Presidency.’

‘Yes, sir.’
Denyer opened the file to remove some paperwork but a photograph
slipped out and spun to the floor. Angry with himself, he knelt
down immediately but a foot moved close to him and he
froze.

‘This is he?’
Asked Akira, in a far quieter speaking voice.

‘Yes, sir.’
Denyer tried to see the reaction through the shadows but could make
out nothing for sure. He waited for more but nothing came. Instead,
his leader merely stood there, motionless. He continued anyway.
‘His name is Patrice Marraud, aged 41. He came into the country
some time ago. I have several historic files, all of which detail
his career with the French Secret Service.’

Akira had only
heard two words. In fact, the photo had been quite enough to stir a
reaction within him. The name had knocked him, it was definitely
familiar but the memories were still resisting him and had yet to
come. There could be no doubt about it, he remembered Patrice
Marraud but from where? Denyer’s voice clawed him back to the
present.

‘I’ll search
the surrounding area.’ The young man was saying
confidently.

Akira took a
step forward and felt his charge flinch with fear. ‘No. I will deal
with him myself when I am ready. For now, go and wait in the
car.’

Denyer was stunned at this
response. Something had definitely changed since he had disclosed
his findings. Was Akira afraid of this Frenchman? Or displeased
with his work? Whatever the problem was, it was apparently none of
his business. He bowed his head and made his way back to the
car.

Akira watched
the door close and remained in the hallway. Salenko’s voice and the
faint Russian music came from the adjoining room but he ignored it
and tried to call on Madeline. His thoughts were racing and he
couldn’t focus, even though he could hear her faint voice in the
background of his mind. The memories he so desperately wanted
wouldn’t come to him either. All he knew was that Marraud was a
threat; a powerful one at that.

Olsen slowly
walked through the airport arrivals area and noticed the MI6
security team waiting ahead. Jordan and several others were
alongside him, apart from Carter, who had sustained a minor bullet
wound and was being treated at the local hospital. Olsen’s mind had
been a flurry of activity throughout the flight, wondering just how
they had been ambushed. An aching pain refused to budge from his
chest. Three agents had been killed and his first operation as
S.U.C.O. team leader had been a miserable failure. He caught up
with Jordan, who walked alone some distance ahead.

‘Give me a
break, ok? I don’t need a lecture from the likes of you.’ Jordan
snapped.

‘All I want to
know is what happened at that house. You lost three of my agents,
remember?’ Olsen stood in front of Jordan and demanded an
answer.

‘My agents,
Sam! It was my team and apart from Gibbs and me, they all died, so
don’t give me that crap! It was a set up; there was nothing I could
do. I knew them a lot longer than you did!’ Jordan pushed past in
frustration and got into the nearby vehicle that would take him
back to headquarters.

Olsen looked at
Agent Gibbs, not convinced he was being told the full
story
. I’d give anything to know what
those guys are hiding.
He caught the
attention of a waiting agent who was part of the security team.
Nothing was said of the failed operation. As one of his bags was
thrown into the boot, Olsen noticed someone laying out the day’s
newspapers on the nearby stands to his left. The sight of the main
headline on one of the papers made him stop in his
tracks.

‘BUNGLED UK ATTACK ON HUNGARIAN
TERRORISTS BY MI6! POLAND OUTRAGED. EXCLUSIVE DETAILS INSIDE!’

Olsen started
to move towards the stand with the intention of buying a copy but
several members of the security team stepped in front of him and
urged him to get into the car. Reluctantly, he complied, took his
seat and wondered just how the media had gotten hold of the
information. Olsen knew every operation was always treated with
Level 1 security. Only the Prime Minister, Defence Minister, team
members, Burton, Elliott, Ramsey and on this occasion POL1 knew
about the op. The scenery flew by as Olsen gazed out of the window
and prepared himself for the tough questions that would undoubtedly
be coming his way.

Elliott was led
into the conference room at 10 Downing Street, with his aide and
Burton behind him. The room was dimly lit, with a long, wide, brown
oak conference table in the middle, a large display screen on one
wall and priceless looking artwork on the other. Elliott noticed
the look of distain etched on the Prime Minister’s face. The
slender individual was seated at the head of the table with the
Defence Minister and to Elliott’s surprise, Peter Drake; his
predecessor at MI6 and a long time favourite of the PM.

‘What went
wrong, Richard? I recall you telling me that this operation would
pose no problem for your elite squad.’ Prime Minister Jacobs’ tone
was one of disgust. Dressed in a smart black suit, white shirt and
burgundy tie, he sat up straight in his chair and looked stressed.
His thinning black hair looked dishevelled and his normally fresh
looking face had turned a worried shade of red.

Jacobs had
sanctioned the operation but he had been wary of repercussions. His
mind recalled several conversations with the Defence Minister that
had convinced him to approve. He threw the early editions of the
morning’s papers on the table. They all carried a headline relating
to the events in Kraków.

Elliott peered
at the papers on the large table. It was the first time he had seen
any of the headlines and could not hide his shock at the
realisation that all of them were related to the failed
operation.

The Prime
Minister was perceptive and noticed the look of shock straight
away. ‘You didn’t even know of this? My god, Richard what sort of
circus are you running over there? My Polish equivalent has been on
the phone to me for the last hour, reading the riot act. I don’t
blame him either. The operation was a shambles. Am I to understand
that a third of the team is dead and the targets are nowhere to be
found? To make matters worse, the media have now gotten hold of
it.’ The agent to Elliott’s right caught hold of his attention.
‘You must be agent Burton, head of team S.U.C.O.’ He spat the last
words out with contempt. ‘What is your take on this?’

‘Well sir, it
seems clear to me that someone had inside information on the
operation.’ His voice grew quieter as he finished his comment, the
whole room falling silent as he spoke.