Redemption (24 page)

For a second or two, Frankin said and did nothing. He couldn’t believe the nightmare unfolding before his eyes. They had just lost the prisoner they had risked everything to secure, and one of their own men was responsible.

But not just any man. Ryan Drake – the man Franklin had personally vouched for, recommended, stuck his neck out for.

In some part of his mind, he knew that much of the blame for this debacle would fall on him unless he did something right now. Friend or not, Drake had to answer for his actions.

His grip on the phone tightened. ‘Okay, Jonas. We’re scrambling our field teams now. I’ll have one of them pick you up.’

‘Me?’

‘We need every operative we can get our hands on right now. And the three of you know Drake as well as anyone. If this is a hostage situation, you might be able to talk him down.’

‘Dan, I don’t—’

‘No arguments!’ Franklin snapped. ‘Just get it done.’

Closing down his phone, he raised his voice to address the other agents on the flight. ‘All right everyone, listen up.’

Silence descended on the cabin.

‘For reasons unknown, one of our operatives has hijacked the convoy and taken our prisoner hostage,’ he began, his face grim as he relayed what he knew so far.
‘Recovering
them both is our highest priority. Notify Washington PD and scramble all available tactical teams. I want the prisoner’s tracking module locked in. As soon as we nail her location, the assault teams move in. Remember, non-lethal force. I want both of them secured and brought in alive, and I want it done right the fuck now. We’ve got billions of dollars’ worth of technology at our disposal, gentlemen. Use it.’

Chapter 33

THE DIMLY LIT
underground car park was quiet as they pulled in, with most of the car owners already at work in the office block above. Drake’s headlights illuminated rows of parked Chryslers, Fords, GMs and BMWs, all gleaming and showroom clean.

‘Second row in, then five spaces down,’ Munro instructed. ‘Look for a silver Ford Taurus.’

It wasn’t hard to find. Pulling up next to it, Drake killed the engine.

‘The keys are under the driver’s side front wheel arch,’ Munro went on. ‘They’ll be scrambling their field teams, so I suggest you hurry. Leave your cellphone behind. There’s another one in the car. I’ll call you soon.’

Killing the phone, he turned to Anya, still sitting in the back seat. She had unlocked her cuffs, but had made no effort to escape or attack him. God knew why. If she’d been looking to make a run for it, she couldn’t have had a more perfect opportunity.

‘We’re switching cars. Get out when I tell you.’

She nodded, intelligent enough to know that now was not the time to be asking questions.

Throwing open his own door and shoving the Glock down the front of his jeans, he hurried over to the parked Taurus, knelt down and felt beneath the wheel arch while trying to be unobtrusive about it. He couldn’t see anyone
else
around, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t being watched.

He felt his fingers close around something taped to the inside of the arch, and pulled it off to reveal a key fob.

‘Telford, do we have a location yet?’ Franklin demanded, angrily pacing up and down the cabin while their plane passed through some low-altitude turbulence. His back was a mass of knotted muscle, waves of pain coursing through him.

‘Working on it, sir,’ the technician replied, looking as tense as he felt.

Franklin rounded on him. ‘What’s taking so goddamn long?’

‘I’m trying, but we’re getting a lot of interference, sir.’

‘From what?’

The younger man gave him an apologetic look. ‘Heavy concrete structures can muffle the signal. They could be underground.’

Franklin rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘Don’t give me excuses, give me a location. Get on it.’

Wasting no time, Drake opened the back door, turned towards the Grand Cherokee and beckoned to Anya. The woman didn’t need to be told twice, quickly crossing the gap and jumping into the back seat.

Drake sat down behind the wheel and glanced at the items laid out on the passenger seat beside him. There was a small first-aid kit – the kind carried by paramedics – and more ominously, a surgical scalpel sitting atop it.

A moment later, he heard the chime of a cellphone in the glove compartment, and opened it up to find a brand new BlackBerry inside, its screen illuminated by an incoming call.

He hit the receive button. ‘What now?’

‘They implanted Anya with a tracking device,’ Munro informed him. ‘Give her the scalpel and first-aid kit. She’ll know what to do.’

Drake paled at the thought. ‘You’re fucking kidding me …’

‘Time’s running out, Ryan. I’d say you have three or four minutes before CIA tactical teams seal off the building. You want to wait it out?’

‘Shit,’ Drake said under his breath, grabbing the first-aid kit and the scalpel. He twisted around in his seat and held them out to the woman. ‘We need to get that tracker out of you.’

Far from looking appalled or even apprehensive at what he was suggesting, she merely offered him a grim smile. ‘I expected as much.’

Moving with the calm deliberation of a surgeon about to go into theatre, she unzipped her orange jump suit and pulled it off, leaving only her white T-shirt beneath.

Stretching out her left arm, palm facing upward, she gripped the scalpel and made an inch-long incision on the site of the hypodermic injection. There was an initial moment of taut resistance as her skin tried to stretch with the pressure being applied, then the razor-sharp blade sliced in. Straight away, blood began to well up. She made no sound as the blade bit into her flesh, but he could see the muscles in her jaw tightening as she went about her grim task.

With the incision made, she set the scalpel aside. Next she opened the first-aid kit with her free hand, unrolled a dressing that she was sure to need in a few moments, and selected a pair of surgical pliers.

Drake watched in morbid fascination as she pressed the pliers into the cut, pulling apart the skin to expose
the
muscle and tendons beneath. Breathing through gritted teeth, she moved the pliers a little deeper and changed the angle, then gripped something. She had it. She began to pull back, but lost her grip, forcing her to push the pliers back in again.

This time she got a better hold, and with a faint groan of pain yanked the tracking module out of her arm. Gripped between her pliers was a bloodied metallic device no bigger than a capsule of aspirin. Her hand was shaking just a little.

It took a moment or two for her to calm down and suppress the pain that was doubtless screaming through her brain. Winding down her window, she dropped the tracker outside and set about bandaging the wound.

‘Jesus, don’t you hurt?’ Drake couldn’t help asking.

She didn’t look up, but he saw a blonde eyebrow raised. ‘Unfortunately I do.’

‘I’ve got her,’ Telford exclaimed. ‘She’s in a parking lot on Canal Street, central DC. Part of a larger office complex. Must be an underground facility.’

Relief surged through him. ‘Vector in all available tactical units, and have local PD standing by to support. Remember, non-lethal force.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Where’s Dietrich and his team?’

‘En route now, sir. Tac team Bravo picked them up on the way.’

‘Good. Get me aerial coverage of that building – choppers, satellite recon … whatever. I want eyes in the sky. And contact the building manager, have him close off all entrances and exits! Nobody gets out of that fucking place until our tac teams get there.’

As the younger man went to work, Franklin fished
out
his cellphone and dialled Drake’s number. He wasn’t holding out much hope, but there was still a chance he could talk his friend down, convince him to see sense before he got himself killed.

There was no response. The phone just rang out, unanswered.

‘Jesus, Ryan. What the fuck are you doing?’

‘All right, it’s gone,’ Drake said, glancing at Anya in his rear-view mirror. She hadn’t uttered a word as she quickly bound the wound with the ease born from long experience, applying pressure to slow the bleeding.

‘Good. Now, get the fuck out of DC and head south-west into Virginia,’ Munro replied. ‘There are clothes on the back seat and money in the glove box. I’ve done what I can, the rest is up to you. Go now.’

Starting the car up, Drake threw it into gear and drove off, leaving the stolen Grand Cherokee and the tracking module behind. Ascending the ramp to street level, he turned right and gave it some gas, merging with the busy traffic. Within moments, they were just another anonymous car amongst thousands.

Chapter 34

THE CIA TACTICAL
team arrived on site with a screech of brakes and the smell of burned rubber, black-clad figures in body armour piling out of the two vans that had brought them there at top speed. In under a minute they had blockaded all entrances and exits, shut down the building’s elevators and posted armed operatives on all stairwells.

The parking lot was locked down. Nobody could get in or out.

Clad in heavy body armour, armed with assault rifles and sub-machine guns, and with their faces obscured by balaclavas and combat glasses, they were a fearsome sight. Following in the wake of the armoured advance were Dietrich, Frost and Keegan, also sporting body armour over their civilian clothes.

‘All units, move up,’ Ramirez, the team leader, hissed into his radio. ‘Go! Go! Watch the left flank. Get a man over by that annexe.’

‘Perimeter secure.’

Franklin was watching the whole drama unfold via secure satellite link. His attention was focused on the direct feed from Ramirez’s helmet-mounted camera as the team rushed past the ranks of parked vehicles, converging on the homing signal being emitted by Anya’s tracking unit. Already he could see the distinctive
bulky
frame of the Grand Cherokee, gleaming black and menacing under the electric arc lights.

‘Walker, cover left. Sorrentino, right,’ Ramirez said, his voice tight with anticipation. ‘You still got good track on the target?’

‘Affirmative,’ another voice replied over the Net. ‘She hasn’t moved.’

‘DaForte, on me. Ready?’

‘Roger.’

Franklin leaned a little closer to the screen. This was it.

Ramirez halted for a moment beside a parked Nissan Skyline, weapon at the ready. ‘Go! Go! Go!’

In a blur of movement, the team surged forward. Suddenly there were dark figures everywhere, all yelling at the same time.

‘Hands up!’

‘Freeze!’

But there was no sight of either Drake or Anya. All Franklin could see was the parked government vehicle, the back door still hanging open.

‘Clear!’

‘Clear!’

‘I got nothing!’

Franklin’s forehead knotted with concern. ‘What’s happening? Someone talk to me.’

‘There’s no sign of them, sir,’ Ramirez replied.

‘They have to be close. Her tracker hasn’t moved.’

‘Dan, you’d better take a look at this.’ It was Keegan.

Franklin watched as Ramirez strode over. The old sniper was kneeling beside a patch of dark blood on the bare concrete floor.

‘What you got?’ Ramirez demanded.

Pulling on a rubber glove, Keegan reached down and
fished
something up off the ground. Franklin felt his stomach knot as the object swam into focus. It was the tracking module.

‘Shit.’

Chapter 35

THE CLOSEST HIGHWAY
was the 395, heading south-west. Fighting his way through heavy traffic to reach the on-ramp, Drake at last found an opening and stamped on the accelerator. A few minutes later, they were on the interstate and cruising along at a steady 65 miles per hour, leaving DC behind.

He had calmed down a little now that they were out of immediate danger, able to think more logically about their situation.

As soon as they found the tracker, the Agency would expand their search grid. His best hope was to put as much distance as possible between themselves and DC before that happened. After that, he had no idea.

Opening the glovebox again, he found a paper envelope stuffed with used bills of various denominations, perhaps 400 or 500 dollars’ worth.

In the back seat, Anya had removed her orange coveralls and was busy pulling on a pair of jeans. It was no easy task in such cramped confines, but she worked quickly, lifting her midsection to pull them up over her hips. This done, she shrugged her arms into the leather jacket provided by Munro.

She caught his eye on her in the mirror.

‘You knew this was going to happen,’ he began.

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Don’t play fucking games with me. You didn’t do a thing when I pulled that gun. You didn’t even look surprised.’

‘I knew you were going to take the weapon,’ she admitted. ‘I saw it in your eyes, but I didn’t know why you were doing it.’

‘Why didn’t you warn anyone?’

She looked at him honestly. ‘Because I don’t trust the Agency. I would rather take my chances with you. For now, at least.’

Running her fingers through her hair, she looked down at her left hand, tensing and relaxing the fingers as if to check that everything still worked. It did.

‘Are you planning to kill me?’ she asked, matter-of-factly, as if it were just a casual enquiry about his plans for the day.

‘No.’

She didn’t look as relieved as she should have. Then again, he suspected that killing her would be no easy task. He still had the Glock he’d taken from Watts, but she had the scalpel on the back seat – a fact he was now uncomfortably aware of.

‘Who are you working for? Munro?’

‘I’m not
working
for anyone,’ he bit back. ‘I was forced to do this.’

‘By Munro.’

‘Yes, by fucking Munro!’

She had enough sense not to push further. ‘Where are we heading?’

‘South.’ He could say nothing beyond that, because he didn’t know. His immediate priority was to put as much distance between them and DC as possible.

After that, it was up to Munro.