Redemption (10 page)

Frost eyed the drink with a raised eyebrow.

‘I’m off the clock,’ Drake reminded her irritably. ‘Talk or walk.’

‘Suit yourself,’ she said, shrugging. ‘If I’ve got my facts straight, Maras refers to a legend from Baltic paganism. It was all the rage a thousand years ago, but it’s almost an extinct religion now. Anyway, according to them, Maras is a goddess of war.’

Drake frowned, feeling all the more uneasy about what they were about to do. And more important, about the woman they had been sent to rescue.

A goddess of war.

‘Heavy shit, huh?’ Frost prompted. ‘I’m not sure what I should be more worried about – the prison, the parachute jump, or her.’

‘I’d go for all three.’ He flashed a weak smile. ‘Good work, Keira. Thanks for doing this.’

‘No problem.’

‘Now go home and get yourself some rest,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a long day ahead of us.’

Again that curious half-smile. ‘Every day with Dietrich is a long day.’ Her eyes rested on the glass again, and the smile faded. ‘Are you going to be all right?’

‘Same as always,’ he evaded.

‘That bad, huh?’

The look in his eyes told her he wasn’t amused.

‘All right, all right! I’m going.’ She hesitated a moment, eyeing the pizza. ‘Mind if I take a snack?’

‘Go, Keira. Before I get my gun,’ he warned.

Helping herself to another slice, she grinned at him. ‘You were never that good, Ryan.’

‘You’re right. I was better.’

He watched her go, but his smile soon faded when he heard the door close and the roar of her motorbike fade into the distance.

Instead, his gaze shifted left, drawn inexorably towards the bottle of whisky. For a long moment he just sat there staring at it, as if he could will it out of existence, silence the urge to pour another glass.

He couldn’t.

Chapter 13

East Siberian Sea, twenty-four hours later

THE WEATHER WAS
lousy as the MC-130 ploughed its way through strong winds and snow clouds. Chunks of dry frozen hail hammered off the fuselage like shotgun pellets, while the deck lurched and swayed like a ship in a storm. The external windows had been sealed over with metal covers to prevent any light escaping from within, and the aircraft was running without recognition lights. It was a useful precaution, but it only served to enhance the feeling of claustrophobia for the small group of passengers imprisoned within the massive airframe.

Drake grimaced as another jolt slammed his head against the fuselage. Such abuse wasn’t doing his headache any favours. It had been with him since the moment he awoke this morning in DC, dry mouthed and bleary eyed, courtesy of half a dozen glasses of Talisker.

He took another gulp of strong, black, bitter coffee. It was dangerous to drink too much – the last thing he wanted was to be nervous and jittery when they got on site – but he needed it to stay alert. His mind felt fogged and slow, two factors that could easily get him killed tonight.

What the hell were you thinking? he thought, angry with himself for being so self-indulgent last night. He
should
have been getting as much rest as possible before the operation began. But he knew he couldn’t have slept without it.

Get a fucking grip and pull yourself together. This is the most important night of your life. You’re not going to make a mistake. You’re not going to fail. You’re not going to hesitate. You’re not going to let your team down.

Taking another sip of coffee, he glanced at his comrades.

Keegan, relaxed and laconic as always, was occupied with checking the action and optics on his sniper rifle. He’d been issued with a Dragunov for this operation, a big heavy Russian weapon that fired a high-velocity 7.62 mm projectile. The veteran sniper wasn’t thrilled by the choice of rifle, preferring lighter weapons that were easier to handle, but circumstances dictated otherwise. Anything American made was out of the question. All of the team’s weapons and equipment had had the serial numbers removed, making them impossible to trace.

Drake almost smiled when he saw the necklace dangling from Keegan’s neck. A simple black leather thong, it held a silver crucifix, a dice and a wedding ring, symbolising his three loves in life – religion, gambling and women.

He’d been married a bunch of times, but for some reason it never seemed to take. Three messy divorces hadn’t diminished his enthusiasm, though. God only knew how he afforded the lawyer’s fees.

Maybe that explained his second love in life.

Keegan was more superstitious than a gypsy, and wore the necklace on every operation he took part in, either around his neck or tucked into a pouch in his webbing. Nothing on earth would persuade him to leave it behind.

Frost on the other hand looked nervous and agitated, and Drake didn’t blame her. Her experience of parachuting was, as they had discovered during the planning session
yesterday
, almost non-existent, forcing her to tandem jump with Mason. It was far from an ideal solution, and it would leave them vulnerable until the two were able to disengage from their harness, but it was the only way to get her on site.

She was sorting through her electrical kit for the tenth time. Weight restrictions meant she was very limited in what she could take, forcing her to make some difficult choices. The situation was further complicated by the fact that they knew little about the security system employed at Khatyrgan. Dietrich had provided a few educated guesses based on similar facilities he’d visited during his days with West German intelligence, but Drake was inclined to take what he said with a grain of salt.

The man himself was sitting away from the others, saying and doing nothing. If possible, he looked even worse than Drake felt. He was pale and haggard, as if he hadn’t slept a wink. Was he sick? Drake had no idea, but it left him uneasy.

‘I just spoke to the pilot,’ Mason said, taking a seat next to Drake. ‘He says we’ve got a storm front coming in from the north-west tonight. We should touch down before it hits, but it might make extraction difficult.’

Drake raised an eyebrow. Just what he needed – another problem to worry about. His gaze remained on Dietrich.

‘We’re gonna have trouble with that one,’ Mason remarked in a low tone, following his line of sight.

Avoiding his friend’s questioning gaze, Drake took another sip of coffee. ‘I can handle him.’

‘Yeah? But can you handle him and Maras at the same time?’

Drake said nothing for a few seconds. ‘What do you suggest?’

‘We don’t need any loose cannons tonight. Not on a job like this.’ Mason’s expression was the kind one might wear in casual conversation, but his words were deadly serious. ‘Wouldn’t be unknown for him to have problems with his breathing gear, or maybe a badly packed chute that stops him from jumping …’

Drake looked at him. He understood what Mason was trying to do, but he wasn’t prepared to cut Dietrich loose.

He shook his head. ‘We need him. He’s an arsehole, but we need him on this one.’

The older man shrugged. ‘Fair enough. I’m glad he won’t be watching
my
back, though.’ He looked a little closer at Drake, noting the man’s glazed eyes and drawn appearance. ‘You all right, man? You look worse than him.’

Drake could feel himself tensing up. Was it that obvious?

Suddenly the aircraft’s intercom buzzed, and the pilot’s tinny voice echoed around the cabin. ‘Attention, crew. We’re at thirty minutes to drop zone. Thirty minutes.’

Downing the last of his coffee, Drake turned to his friend. ‘Still in the fight, mate.’

Rising to his feet unsteadily on the pitching deck, he raised his voice to address the rest of the team. ‘All right, final weapon and equipment checks! Gear up!’

Chapter 14

She lay on her back amongst the long grass, staring up into the endless blue sky overhead. No clouds marred its perfection or measured its vastness. It was a warm, still summer’s evening, with just the faintest breeze rippling through the yellow stalks around her. The kind of evening that made her grateful simply to be alive
.

Then, high above, she spotted the contrail of some aircraft tracing a line from north to south, straight as an arrow. It was hard and definite near the tip, seeming almost solid, but breaking up and dissipating as her eyes followed it northward
.

Where was it going? She didn’t know. But as she lay there staring upward, the sky seemed to carry on for ever. She felt so small she could almost lose herself in it
.

She inhaled, tasting the scent of pine needles, grass, wild flowers, rich loamy earth and other growing things. She loved to lie out here on evenings like this, feeling a part of the world around her, having nowhere to go and nothing to do. She was at peace
.

Her thoughts were disturbed by the rumble of a car engine crunching up the rocky road to the house
.

PRISONER 62 BLINKED
, opening her eyes a crack as a cell door slammed shut further down the block. Was it day or night? She didn’t know. She never knew. Day and
night
had no meaning in a world where the sun was a half-forgotten memory.

She was cold. Her feet were blocks of ice. The blanket she’d been given wasn’t long enough to cover her fully unless she drew her knees up to her stomach. She must have moved in her sleep.

She’d been dreaming again. It was a dream that came to her from time to time. A memory, an old memory of the distant, barely remembered time Before. Before she was alone. Before she had to fight just to live. Before the long list of bad things that had brought her here.

Dreams of Before always made her angry. Once they had left her with an aching, crushing feeling of loss and despair, but she had long since burned emotions like that away, cut them from her psyche as one might remove a gangrenous limb. It was a sacrifice necessary to keep the remainder of herself vital, to survive. Now the dreams just made her angry, because they reminded her of things she would never have again.

Family, love, protection, safety, compassion and tenderness … Those were luxuries she could never enjoy.

The cold persisted. Pushing herself up from the bed, she lay down on the floor and started a set of press-ups, ignoring the pain of her aching muscles. She had to get the blood and warmth flowing through her limbs again.

Sadness, regret, grief, fear … All of those things were weaknesses that she could no longer afford. If she was to survive in Khatyrgan, if she was to keep some part of herself whole and untouched, she had to remain strong.

Her life Before was gone now. Survival was all that
mattered
. It was her goal, her objective, her one hope. It was no longer a means, but an end in itself.

Every day she survived was a victory. It was all she had now.

She endured.

She stood.

And she was utterly, agonisingly alone.

Chapter 15

‘THREE MINUTES TO
deployment! Three minutes!’

Drake felt his heartbeat quicken. This was it. Equipment and weapons had been given their final checks, all preparations had been made. The vast logistical effort that had started yesterday morning at Langley was now about to come to fruition halfway around the world, less than forty-eight hours later.

Drake was at the rear of the group. As the most experienced at airborne operations, he was serving as the group’s jump master. His job was to observe each team member as they exited the aircraft and, if necessary, to assist them. The nightmare scenario would be if someone’s harness became snagged on something.

If so, their only chance at survival would be for someone to cut them free. To this end, Drake was wearing a long-bladed combat knife strapped across his chest, its edge wickedly sharp.

It was a relic from his days with the SAS; a memento of his time there. The blade was a distinctive shape, thinner than the average knife, and longer. A deep groove had been cut into the hand guard. In close combat, that groove was designed to snag an opponent’s blade and disarm them.

He hoped he wouldn’t need it, either for combat or for assisting a comrade in trouble.

Keegan was in front of him, with Dietrich next and
Mason
crouched down at the very edge of the exit ramp. He would be jumping tandem with Frost, so he was to be the first out.

He exhaled, hot and uncomfortable. The pressurised jumpsuit was heavy and cumbersome, weighing him down with thermal insulation, oxygen canisters, pressure gauges, altimeters, GPS navigation systems and primary and secondary parachutes. Combined with his personal weapon, spare ammunition, body armour and combat fatigues, he was carrying close to 80 pounds of excess weight. It was starting to tell.

He glanced down at the GPS unit, checking to make sure it was still tracking his position. Khatyrgan’s latitude and longitude had been programmed in, leaving him with a series of waypoints leading all the way to his target. As long as he kept to them, they would reach the prison without difficulty.

He blinked as the aircraft’s interior lights went out, replaced by dull red units that bathed the world around him in an unnerving crimson glow.

‘Hook up,’ he said, speaking into his suit-mounted intercom.

Reaching over, he attached his line to the anchor line cable running along the side of the compartment and gave it a couple of hard tugs to make sure it was solid. This was a fixed-line jump, meaning the parachutes would automatically deploy once they exited the aircraft. As long as they were hooked on properly, technology would do the rest.

Inspecting Keegan’s line in front of him, he gave the man a slap on the shoulder to indicate he was good to go. Keegan repeated the process with Dietrich, who in turn checked Mason’s line. It was a simple thing, but an important one.

With their final preparations made, Drake turned his eye to the indicator panel above the exit ramp. There were three lights – red, amber and green. The red one was already on, warning that deployment was imminent.

A moment later, the yellow light started blinking.