Out of the Shadows (Akira and Deane Thriller Series Book 1) (32 page)

Jozef doubted
that belief. ‘I will go and sit with him. Tomorrow,
Zoltan?’

‘Tomorrow,
Jozef.’ Ferec clasped his friend’s hand and slowly began to walk
down the corridor.

Jozef
approached the side room and looked through the window before
walking in. He forced himself to enter and sat down next to his
brother. His eyes studied the machines surrounding him and the
several tubes that kept his only family alive. ‘Stay with me,
Gyorgy; you must stay with me.’ Jozef dropped his head on to his
brother’s lap and prayed.

The lights of briefing room
three felt warmer than the beating sun of the Middle East as Jordan
continued to move around in his seat. The sweat was now dripping
off him.

Drake sat motionless in his
chair. ‘Let’s move on to when your teams entered the house which
was supposedly being used by the Kiprich brothers.’

‘Well, we
searched every part of that place but found no trace of them.
However, we did find five locals tied up in the back room. They
appeared to be Polish.’

‘What were they doing
there?’

‘I don’t know,
sir. At that point, a gas canister smashed through the front window
of the house. I issued an order to my team to put on their gas
masks but unfortunately, two of my men weren’t quick enough.’
Jordan looked down at the desk as his voice went quiet. ‘They
didn’t make it, sir.’

A pause came and then another
question. ‘I’m sorry, I know what it feels like to lose men under
your command.’

Jordan looked away to what
seemed like another place only he could see but then came back to
the present.

‘Then what happened?’ Asked the
male committee member.

‘Well, myself
and the other two agents came under attack from the woods ahead. We
continued to return fire for some time whilst I tried to contact
Team B to request support. I don’t know what the problem was but I
never could get them on the radio. They were jamming us for
sure.’

‘You have proof
of that, Jordan?’ Asked Drake.

‘Yes; nobody
answered!’

‘Continue.’

Jordan gritted his teeth,
knowing how bad things were starting to look for him. ‘I thought
about the situation and ordered my last two agents to leave the
house via the back door. I stayed at the living room window to draw
their fire. My deputy then returned on his own advising me we had
lost another colleague as hostiles had come in through the back
door. I could hear the gunfire so we had no choice but to leave the
house and try to return to the armoured van where the rest of
S.U.C.O. was.’

Drake’s eyebrows shot up with
his next question. ‘You left the house?’

Jordan stayed
calm. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘What of the
hostages? You left them, too?’

‘In the heat of
the moment, sir. I did try to save them but-’

The Chief of
MI6 frowned, as he had to repeat a comment from another testimony.
‘A yes or no will suffice for the record, please.’

‘It's not as simple as a yes
or-’

‘Answer the question!’

Jordan snapped
and shouted at the committee. ‘Yes! I left them! If we stayed we
wouldn't be here now, you got it? What do you want me to say? I
didn't know they were going to kill them! I think about them all
the time!’

Drake picked up
a report from his desk and donned his black-rimmed glasses. The
florescent lights reflected off them, showing the thickness of the
lenses. 'According to the Police report, the bodies of the Polish
locals were riddled with bullets from a Colt M16A2 rifle. That is
the rifle that all team members were issued with,
correct?’

Jordan's mouth opened wide in
astonishment. 'Excuse me sir, is the committee accusing me of
murdering those hostages?'

'We're not accusing anyone of
anything. We are merely attempting to learn the truth. Answer the
question please.'

Jordan got up
from his chair and placed both hands on the desk as he looked
straight at the inquiry committee. His voice was stern and
controlled. 'No, sir. Kiprich and his men killed them. Not
us.'

Drake looked at the agent ahead
of him. 'You have proof of this? You see Agent Jordan, all I have
here is proof that their bodies were riddled with bullets from the
weapons you and team S.U.C.O. were issued with.'

'Will that be
all, sir? I've worked for this service for just over 20 years. I'm
not a murderer. I don’t care for these accusations.' Jordan’s voice
was dripping with hatred.

The Chief of MI6 looked at the
large clock at the far end of the room and exchanged glances with
the other members of the committee. ‘I think that’s enough for
today. This inquiry is adjourned, until tomorrow.’

Several floors
below, Ramsey stood tall in the records department after finding
what he had been looking for. He had spent the last hour searching
through every record that had been stored for Operation Reprisal.
After his chat with Drake and watching scenes from the inquiry, he
had decided to check out every record on the operation, just to be
sure. Ramsey continued to work the computer as several displays
flashed by on the screen. The profile of POL1: Agent Bedford,
appeared with a red display, indicating the file had been locked.
Seven options were displayed in the corner of the
screen:

HIGHLY CLASSIFIED

Agent Name: Martin Bedford
(DECEASED)

Clearance-Code: POL – 126 – 722 –
3411

Please select an option from the
following:

1) Past operations, reports and
classified data

2) History of experience

3) Skill set

4) Education and training
background

5) Personal

6) Aliases

7) Pathologists Report (LOCKED –
SECURITY CODE CLEARANCE REQUIRED)

HIGHLY CLASSIFIED

Ramsey tried
again to access the seventh option but was denied.
Why would Drake lock that file and nothing
else?
He looked around the office, noted it
was empty and dialled a number in the Security department on his
mobile. ‘Liam? It’s Kevin. I need a favour, a real big one. I need
access to one file. Trouble is, it’s been locked by Drake
himself.’

Chapter 21

Friday, March 16
^th
18:00,

Moscow, Russia.

Akira crouched low into an attacking
stance and slipped into San Shou, a deadly Chinese style of
hand-to-hand combat. Decades before, he had mastered this rare form
from one of its founders and with the passing of time he had
mastered it to perfection. In the confrontation ahead, he was
convinced that with its radically different style it would give him
the upper hand. He made a mental effort to ignore the blood soaked
shirt and weakened look of his opponent, making a deal with himself
not to relax until it was over and the threat had passed.

A cold wind circled around him,
as Akira moved in for the kill. He pulled out the same blade he had
used just hours before and swung violently as he edged ever
closer.

Marraud winced
for a moment but still felt he had something in reserve. The first
attack came and he moved his head to one side with considerable
ease, sidestepping away. Another swish of the knife came perilously
close to his chest but Marraud jerked his body to avoid it and
rolled onto the floor. With each second the stinging pain from his
stomach threatened to take over but somehow, he defied the
odds.

Akira saw his
opponent on the floor and seized his chance. He leaped into the air
and plunged the knife downwards. Like a flash, Marraud’s right leg
came up and smashed into his chest. Akira flew backwards, lost the
grip on his knife and knocked into the stack of air conditioning
units that serviced the flats below. Getting to his feet quickly,
he saw the Frenchman rushing towards him but Akira clenched his
fists and felt the hatred flow through him. With all his formidable
power, he lashed out repeatedly at Marraud, who only managed to
deflect one or two blows. Time after time he smashed his palms into
his enemy’s face before targeting the serious stomach
injury.

Marraud felt the first attack
on his stomach and almost collapsed there and then. His strength
evaporated in seconds and he cried out in raw pain as one attack
after another plunged into his stomach. The last one caused his
vision to spin out of control as he shuddered and dropped to his
knees.

Beneath the
black mask, Akira smiled in victory as he clutched his wrists
together and smashed his open hands against Marraud who flipped
backwards and ended in a heap at the side of the roof. Akira stood
up straight and confidently walked over to his fallen opponent who
was making a vain attempt to get to his feet. A well-placed upper
cut caused him to topple over the roof. Akira reached out and
caught him by the jacket collar.

Marraud’s
vision was failing, his body was giving out. He felt for the memory
stick in his jacket pocket and the last remnants of hope faded away
as he realised that too had been broken and was in pieces. His
lifeless blue eyes just managed to glance up to the masked man
above. His beloved Martine filled his thoughts and Marraud took
comfort in the fact that he would soon see her again. At the same
time, all the other agents who would perish because he had failed
to send crucial information back to Europe made him feel so guilty.
Despite all his achievements, his last operation would prove to be
a failure. Marraud would have no pity and started to break the grip
himself. He would rather die with dignity than be beaten by the
animal above him. ‘You’ll never know just what you are…’

Akira forced
himself to remember his dream and relinquished his grip
immediately. Seconds passed and with each one he was expecting to
feel something. Anything. But there was nothing, nothing at
all.

His mind was
overflowing with Madeline’s voice, which grew louder and louder all
the time. He stepped onto the adjacent edge, jumped onto the roof
of the next building and merged into the early morning light. The
dream was still intact.

Ramsey could
barely control himself. Just minutes earlier, he had gained access
to the Pathologist report on Bedford’s file and the discovery had
shocked him. The facts were bad enough but there could be no doubt
that Drake knew and was doing nothing about it. Ramsey was certain
of one thing; the man had to go, although it seemed like the Chief
of MI6 had everyone in power behind him, including the Prime
Minister. He padded his jacket pocket and felt an important
document inside, one that had been signed by several senior
officials at MI6, in protest at Drake’s appointment and recent
decisions. Ramsey prayed it would pave the way for a new dawn at
his beloved agency. He got into the nearest lift and heard the
floors chime by as it took him to Drake’s office. His mind turned
to Richard Elliott and wondered how things had gotten so bad in
such a short space of time.

Drake heard the buzzer of his
intercom and sighed, as he was disturbed from his reading. He
wasn’t expecting anyone. ‘Yes? I ordered no interruptions.’

The quiet voice
of the assistant came over the intercom. ‘I know, I’m sorry sir.
Only, Mr. Ramsey is here, he says it’s urgent.’

The balding Chief of MI6 ground
his teeth together, wondering what was so important this time.
‘Fine. Send him in.’

Ramsey gave the
steel-plated door a firm push and confidently walked into the
office, stopping only a foot away from the large mahogany desk.
Sunlight broke through the early morning shadows and streamed
across the room, making his entrance seem even more impressive.
Ramsey didn’t speak, just locked his eyes onto the man in front of
him.

Drake’s tone was icy cold as he
tried to maintain control. ‘Whatever this is, it can wait.’

Ramsey lingered
for a second and then spoke with real passion. His findings from
the Pathologists report had made his stomach turn. ‘I can’t do it.
I won’t just stand by and have the best team we’ve ever had be
crucified in that circus you call an inquiry. Whatever you have
planned for today, Peter, you can change it.’

Drake got up
from his chair, outraged. ‘Who the hell do you think y-’

Ramsey’s voice went deadly
calm. ‘You’re the only one who could seal that file.’ He chose not
to be specific, betting his superior would know what he was talking
about.

Drake replied
straight away. ‘I see you’ve been looking in areas that don’t
concern you, Kevin.’

Ramsey
struggled to control himself. ‘I won’t play these games. You’re
going to stop this inquiry, right now.’

‘I’m working
under the orders of the Prime Minister and he-’

Ramsey cut his right hand
through the air as he stepped closer still. ‘If he knew what was
happening here he wouldn’t agree!’

Drake craned his neck upwards
to maintain eye level with his deputy, looking increasingly
flustered. ‘He trusts me and would stand-’

‘This isn’t a question of
trust! It’s a question of evidence.’ Ramsey tossed a screwed up
piece of paper onto the desk. ‘That’s just one copy. I have several
more.’

Drake paled as
he studied his colleague and tried to work out if he was bluffing.
He slowly opened the piece of paper and noted, to his horror, it
was a copy of the Pathologist’s report on Bedford. ‘Where did you
get this? I locked the file myself!’