Redemption (38 page)

The laughter and roars of approval were fading now, replaced by the pounding of her heartbeat, strong and vibrant
.

Ludmilla stared at her, her expression a mixture of shock, disbelief and growing anger. The other girls weren’t cheering for her now. Many of them were glancing at each other, exchanging nervous looks. Some were even looking at Anya with grudging respect
.

Ludmilla’s scarred, ugly face twisted in rage as she rushed at her
.

And then something happened. Anya saw the tightening in her right shoulder, the muscles bunching and contracting, signalling that she was about to swing another wild hook. She couldn’t explain it, but instinctively she understood. It was as clear to her as if the young woman had told her what she intended to do
.

She will swing now. Now!

This time the crushing blow hit nothing but air. Ducking aside, Anya lashed out with her right hand
.

The blow caught her opponent on the bridge of her nose. She felt a crunch, and when she saw the first spray of blood, she knew she’d broken it
.

A startled gasp rose from the crowd as the bigger girl staggered back, clutching at her face, blood flowing down her shirt. Nobody had ever stood up to her like this. Nobody had hurt her like this
.

For the first time in her young life, Anya felt an odd thrill,
a
sense of mastery, of dominance that she’d never experienced before. She had stood her ground when others might have wavered, and she had won
.

She had won!

The others sensed it too, and suddenly she realised they were shouting and cheering again. Only this time, it was for her
.

There was no holding it back. Letting out a raw, almost primal scream of triumph, she turned to look at them. Battered, bloodied, bruised, but unbowed, she had stood when others would have fallen. She had not hesitated, she had not shown weakness or fear. And she had won
.

Her first impression was of being struck in the back with something, like another punch, but different. An instant of coldness was followed by a spreading sticky warmth. Her own blood
.

‘I told you to stay down, you fucking bitch,’ Ludmilla hissed in her ear, yanking the sharpened piece of wood out of her back. A shiv
.

Her new-found strength vanished, her legs gave way beneath her and she fell to the ground. Blood pooled around her
.

She was in her own world now. She felt no pain, only cold slowly creeping into her limbs. Her heart still beat in her ears, but slower now, laboured, trying to pump blood that was no longer there
.

Vaguely she was aware of Ludmilla screaming and cursing, then there was more shouting from other places – male voices, rough and angry. The wardens had at last intervened
.

Then her consciousness faded and the world went dark
.

‘I finally stayed down, just like she said,’ Anya finished, looking down at her hands. She still bore the scars of that fight, and the many that came afterwards. ‘Only when they saw the knife and the blood did the guards step in. They took me to the infirmary. I suppose they saved my life, though at the time I wished they hadn’t.’

She slowly tensed her hands into fists. ‘I was tired, Drake. So tired. I just wanted it to be over.’ The muscles in her throat tightened as she swallowed. ‘I prayed for death that night in the hospital bed. I even thought to tear the stitches open and let the wound bleed out. But I didn’t do it. I kept remembering the fight, the moment I broke her nose. I saw the looks in the eyes of all those girls. Someone had done what they never could, someone had upset their world. And for a moment, they believed in me. I was more than just another prisoner.’

He saw a faint smile then, and a flash of old pride in her eyes. ‘If I could do all that with one clumsy punch, imagine what I could do with an entire lifetime.’

Kaunas had been the most brutal but effective learning experience of her life, until that point at least. She had learned to stand up for herself, defend herself, take back the life that had been stolen from her. It was an outlet, a means of reasserting control.

She learned to work within the system while simultaneously planning to escape from it. Whenever she was called up for hearings or behavioural reviews, her conduct was exemplary, her manners impeccable. She was respectful and cooperative to the people whom the State entrusted to make decisions for her.

But for any girl who tried to hurt or intimidate her, she showed no mercy. She had learned to leave such emotions behind, knowing they were weaknesses she could ill afford in Kaunas.

Life in a State-run prison, even for minors, was a brutal struggle for survival. Only the strong prevailed, and she was determined to prevail.

It wasn’t just her outlook that changed. Gradually her soft and weak body was transformed, developing hard, firm musculature that she learned to use to great effect.
Always
fast and agile, she now commanded real physical strength. She developed a tolerance for pain that she never would have thought possible, easily able to shrug off the cuts and bruises that inevitably came from fighting. She cut her hair short so her opponents couldn’t grab at it; another luxury she could no longer afford in that place.

She began to apply herself intellectually as well, knowing she would need every skill and scrap of knowledge at her disposal when she was released. Naturally bright and intelligent at school, she had fallen far behind during her time at the orphanage as she lapsed into depression and indolence. But at Kaunas she threw herself back into learning. She spent long hours in the seldom-used library, absorbing everything from history to geography, mathematics, physics and philosophy.

She became enamoured with Sun Tzu’s
The Art of War
, eagerly devouring the volume again and again, memorising those lessons she considered most useful to her. And from this, she began to develop her own philosophy on how to live her life; a life free of compromise, free of weakness and doubt. Life for her became a series of absolutes.

‘My time there changed me. It made me fight back, made me take control again.’ She nodded slowly, as if to herself. ‘It wasn’t until I had given up all hope that I found a reason to live. By the time I was released, I was … different. I think I had learned to leave my old life behind.’

Drake had long since stopped what he was doing, listening spellbound to every word she said.

She managed a faint smile. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’ he asked, confused.

‘For listening.’

Drake glanced away, saying nothing. He looked down at the wrench again, and the wheel that had thus far defeated him. Kneeling down beside it, he picked up the tool once more, fitted it onto the bolt and, with every ounce of strength he could command, strained against it until his muscles trembled.

There was an aching groan of protesting metal, and suddenly the bolt turned, released from its grip at last.

It took another five minutes to lever the damaged wheel free, manoeuvre the spare into place and bolt it on. Sweating, breathing hard and shaking from his efforts, Drake almost collapsed into the passenger’s seat as Anya gunned the engine and threw it into gear.

They were on their way again.

Chapter 53

Mabahith Headquarters, Riyadh

‘AS I SAID
before, we have good reason to believe that two wanted terrorists are operating in your country,’ Dietrich said, explaining their mission for the third time with mounting impatience. ‘We were sent in to find and arrest them. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you any more beyond that.’

They had been ferried from the airport to the Mabahith’s headquarters building – a big square structure that reminded him more of a fortress or prison than an administrative centre – and escorted to Tariq’s personal office to brief him on the situation.

Tariq for his part did not look impressed with Dietrich’s explanation. Seated behind his desk with a cup of strong black tea – he hadn’t offered them any – in front of him, he seemed quite content to keep them here all day.

Behind him was a younger man in an olive green uniform, standing ramrod straight and with his hands clasped behind his back. He hadn’t introduced himself, but Dietrich presumed he was some kind of aide or subordinate.

‘Mr Dietrich, you will understand that the internal security of Saudi Arabia is the responsibility of
my
agency. If there is a threat, I need to know the exact
nature
of it. Otherwise you may as well board the next flight home.’

They were wasting time here. They should have tried to slip into the country covertly, just like he’d suggested. At least then they wouldn’t have to deal with assholes like this.

Clenching his fists, Dietrich struggled to hold in check his growing anger. ‘We were promised cooperation from your government.’

Tariq spread his arms to encompass his office, and the distant skyscrapers of Riyadh visible from his window. ‘You are here, are you not?’

‘Indeed we are. And if we stay here in your office much longer, two high-value suspects will escape.’ He fixed Tariq with what he hoped was a piercing gaze. At least, it was the best he could manage after fifteen hours in the air. ‘And when I report back to Langley, I’ll be sure to mention your name.’

Tariq’s expression didn’t change, but Dietrich thought he saw the man pale just a little.

Sensing a confrontation brewing, the young man leaned forward and spoke quietly in Arabic so the three operatives couldn’t understand. Tariq immediately cut in with a burst of angry words, silencing him. The younger man waited until he had finished before speaking again.

At last, whatever argument he was making seemed to cut through the older man’s anger, and he nodded reluctantly, turning his attention back to Dietrich and the others.

‘We will allow you to conduct your investigation,’ he decided, as if the entire thing had been his idea. He gestured to the young officer behind him. ‘My aide, Lieutenant al Ameen, will be your liaison. He will take responsibility for you.’

Dietrich got the message. Tariq was pawning them off onto a subordinate. If they caused trouble, the blame would fall on the younger man. If they were successful, Tariq would be sure to take all the credit.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘This operation is still under Saudi jurisdiction,’ Tariq was quick to remind him. ‘All intelligence gathered will be shared with us. Do we understand each other?’

Go fuck yourself, Dietrich thought. ‘We do.’

Al Majma’ah, Ar Riyad Province

It was almost dark by the time they pulled into the outskirts of the small desert town, with the sun just touching the horizon and long shadows stretching across the dusty ground.

They had covered a good 100 miles or so since leaving Riyadh, putting them within range of the Iraqi border if they left early tomorrow.

Tired, sweaty and with dust stinging his eyes, Drake stepped out and looked around.

There wasn’t much to see. The houses around them were two-storey affairs, mostly weathered sandstone but with a few bare brick dwellings scattered around. There were few people out and about at that time of day; almost everyone was attending Maghrib, the Islamic prayer offered at sunset. A scooter chugged past at the far end of the road, exhaust billowing grey smoke. The place was a stark contrast to the frantic activity of Riyadh.

Drake watched a pack of mangy-looking dogs nosing at an upturned bin nearby, searching for food amongst the garbage.

‘What exactly are we supposed to find here?’

‘Help,’ was Anya’s simple answer as she slammed her door shut. ‘We’ll need it to get across the border tomorrow. Stay with me and don’t cause trouble.’

‘That’s
my
line,’ he remarked as they approached a nearby house, slightly larger and more elaborate than the others.

Enclosed by a high sandstone wall, and with a single wrought-iron gate leading to a small courtyard beyond, it had obviously been an impressive property once. Now, however, the gate was rusting, the small fountain in the centre had long since dried up, and straggling weeds grew between the flagstones. The windows on the ground floor were shuttered, the heavy wooden front door locked. Its paint was peeling, its boards worn, but it still looked solid.

‘It’s quiet,’ Drake remarked as they approached the front door.

‘He’s here,’ Anya assured him. ‘And he knows we are too.’

She pounded on the door.

Nothing happened.

The seconds stretched out, a dog barked in the distance, the desert wind stirred up sand and dust around their feet, and the door did not move.

Drake was starting to wonder if she’d made a mistake. Anya had been away for four years, after all. There was a good chance that whatever contact she’d once had here had since moved on.

‘Maybe we should—’

He was cut short by the rasp of a bolt being withdrawn, and the click of a lock disengaging. A moment later, the door swung open.

Oh, shit.

The giant standing before them filled almost the entire
doorway
, easily weighing 300 pounds and standing a good 6 inches taller than Drake. The impression of sheer mass was enhanced by his ankle-length shirt of spun wool, which seemed to flow down from his broad shoulders like a tent.

In that moment, Drake became acutely conscious of their lack of weaponry. They had been forced to leave the Glock behind in Miami, and there hadn’t been time to find another weapon after their arrival in Riyadh.

If this guy turned out to be hostile, they were in trouble. Even Anya would have her hands full trying to subdue a man twice her size.

His dark gaze took in both visitors, giving the woman a particularly hostile look. She wasn’t wearing the traditional
abaya
required of women in public. He mumbled something in Arabic, concentrating his attention on Drake.

Fortunately Anya was able to step in, speaking quickly and, it seemed, fluently, in the man’s own language. Much to Drake’s surprise, her attitude had changed in an instant, becoming almost deferential and submissive. Her head was lowered demurely, her eyes cast downward.