Redemption (52 page)

In a heartbeat Rahul found himself face to face with a man: big and tall and powerful. Two eyes stared back at him, one glassy and unfocused, the other filled with rage and murder.

Rahul saw something glinting in the sun as the man brought his arm back, and realised an instant too late that it was an aluminium reinforcing strut from one of the broken airframes, one end bent and jagged.

Without remorse or hesitation, Munro plunged the makeshift dagger into his adversary’s throat, forcing it through the man’s windpipe.

Rahul’s eyes went wide, his mouth gaped open as if
to
scream, but all he managed was a sickening gurgle. With blood pumping from severed arteries in his throat, he fell to his knees, desperately trying to draw breath that wouldn’t come.

Tearing the MP5 from his limp grasp, Munro kicked the dying man to the ground and turned away, quickly assessing the situation. His men were under attack by God knew how many Shepherd team operatives, and with at least two of them dead at Anya’s hands, they were up against it.

He had little confidence in the men supplied by Cain. They were Private Military Contractors, mercenaries who fought and killed for the highest bidder. They were nothing compared to the elite, battle-hardened troops he had once commanded in Task Force Black.

Pain burned outward from his left arm. The round had passed straight through, leaving blood seeping down to his fingers in crimson tracks. It wasn’t a critical injury, but the pain was another reminder of his failure.

‘Goddamn you, Anya,’ he hissed, reaching for his cellphone as he started moving. He had a Ford Explorer parked on the other side of the aircraft boneyard. That was his ticket out of this goddamned mess.

Dialling a familiar number, he waited a couple of seconds while the line connected. It rang only once before it was answered.

‘Talk to me.’ Even from half a world away, he could hear the tension in Marcus Cain’s voice.

‘We’re fucked,’ Munro said, wasting no time. ‘A Shepherd team just showed up. They’re securing the place as we speak.’

‘What?’

‘Anya’s still alive. She knows everything, Marcus.’

‘You stupid son of a bitch!’ Cain hissed. Realising he
had
no time to waste on petty recriminations, he forced calm into his voice. ‘What about her source?’

‘He’s dead. I made sure of that.’

Cain was silent for all of two seconds. ‘Get out of there. I’m going to handle this.’

‘Copy that,’ Munro said, tossing the phone away. He was under no illusions about his prospects when this was all over. Cain showed no mercy to those who failed him.

He was going to have to disappear when this was all over.

On the other side of the world in his expansive office at Langley, Cain slammed his fist down on the desk. Everything he’d planned so carefully was falling apart at the last moment. Only now did he realise on how slender a thread his entire career, even his very life, now hung.

Reaching for his phone, he dialled the number for the CIA reconnaissance centre in Baghdad. He had a direct line to the chief of operations there.

‘Kaminsky,’ a deep voice announced a moment later.

‘This is Director of Special Activities Division Marcus Cain, Mr Kaminsky. You are to commence with Case Orange immediately. Authorisation Charlie, Delta, Victor, Victor, Kilo. I repeat, commence Case Orange immediately. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir. We have a Predator standing by. We’re vectoring in now.’

Cain replaced the phone, closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, willing himself to stay calm and rational.

There was a danger, no doubt about that, but he could still prevent disaster if he acted quickly. The whole reason he’d insisted on having the Predator standing by was in case something like this happened. It was his fallback, his final line of defence.

He had learned a long time ago never to underestimate Anya, but even he hadn’t expected this. God, the things they could have achieved if only she’d learned to work with him instead of against him.

He hadn’t wanted it to play out this way, but she had forced his hand. If need be, he would flatten that entire airfield and everyone in it to stop her.

‘He what?’ Franklin gasped, incredulous.

‘The order just went out,’ Sinclair confirmed, staring at his computer screen. ‘Director Cain ordered an air strike on Hijazi. They’re vectoring in a Predator right now.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ He was already reaching for his cellphone.

Taking a deep breath, Frost leapt from cover and charged across the open windswept ground between two crumpled fuel bowsers, nimble as a gazelle trying to evade a lion. A fresh burst of fire erupted from the nearby building, rounds whizzing past her head to bury themselves in the ground around her.

Switching direction, she threw herself behind the twisted remains of the vehicle’s cab. More projectiles slammed into it, some tearing right through the metal skin to leave gaping holes as big as her fist. Mercifully none of them found their mark.

With her heart pounding, she peered through one of the bullet holes, trying to get a fix on her would-be killer. Sure enough, she caught movement at one of the windows of an office block about 50 yards away. She couldn’t tell what he was armed with, but judging by the volume of fire, she suspected some kind of belt-fed support weapon, probably an M60.

As if to prove the point, he opened up again in a long, sustained burst, sacrificing accuracy for weight of firepower.

Ducking as more holes were torn in her scant cover, she keyed her radio. ‘Keegan, I’m pinned down. Need support.’

‘I got your back.’ His voice was calm and composed. ‘You got a fix on the shooter?’

‘Office block, north-west side. First-floor window.’

It only took him a moment to spot the target. ‘I see him.’

Frost jumped as another hole was punched right through the wing only inches from her face. ‘Nail that son of a bitch!’

Nearby, Keegan slowly let out a breath, his face a picture of calm.

The rifle kicked back into his shoulder as he squeezed the trigger, the gas discharge from the expended round causing a slight ripple to pass through his clothing.

An instant later, his target toppled back and disappeared from sight. A perfect head shot.

Chapter 71

HEART POUNDING, LUNGS
burning, sweat running down his face in the hot sun, Munro sprinted through the ranks of ruined aircraft and ancient vehicles. The air around him was stifling, his T-shirt already soaked with perspiration as dry gritty sand swirled around him.

He was almost there. He could see his jeep parked behind the stripped-down remains of a refuelling truck. Ignoring the pain in his arm, he rushed for it with a final burst of speed.

‘Dominic,’ a cold, ghostly voice whispered.

Oh, no.

Reacting on instinct, he whirled around, weapon up and ready, finger already tightening on the trigger.

Nothing. Just sand and derelict aircraft.

He could have sworn she had been behind him. She had to be. She couldn’t possibly have circled around in front.

He exhaled, his finger easing off the trigger.

The jeep was mere yards away.

But he didn’t go for it. His instincts told him he was being watched. He could feel it. She was here.

He spun, twisting the MP5 around to fire.

‘Don’t,’ Anya warned before he could bring the weapon to bear. She was standing a dozen yards away with the Smith & Wesson handgun levelled at his head.

His own weapon was trained on him.

‘Put down the gun,’ she ordered.

It would be futile to try anything. She could snap off three or four shots before he could draw down on her, and he knew she wouldn’t miss.

Glancing down at the MP5, he hesitated a moment, then threw it aside in disgust. She’d been right – he should have killed her when he had the chance.

Now unarmed, he turned slowly to face her.

‘If you expect me to beg, you’re wasting your time,’ he spat, glaring at her with every ounce of malice that years of hatred and bitterness commanded. ‘I’m not afraid to die.’

Her eyes glimmered; cold and hard and remorseless. She said nothing, just kept the weapon levelled at him.

‘Go on, do it,’ he taunted, deciding to try one last desperate gamble. ‘Shoot me, like the fucking coward I always knew you were. Prove me right, Anya.’ Her eyes flashed, and just for a moment he saw her mask of control slip aside. He saw the long-buried anger and betrayal that still lurked deep within her.

Saying nothing, she turned the weapon aside and hit the magazine eject button. The clip fell free from its housing, clattering to the ground. Racking back the slide to eject the round still in the chamber, she tossed the useless weapon away.

‘This is between us, Dominic,’ she said as she brought her hands up, readying her tired and injured body for one more fight. ‘It was always between us.’

Munro smiled, hardly believing she had allowed herself to be so easily provoked. The stupid bitch actually thought she could beat him in a fair fight, hand to hand. Even now, she still clung to some obsolete notion that there was honour to be found in battle.

It was the last mistake she would ever make. He would make sure of it.

With Jessica now freed from her cuffs, Drake and Dietrich hurried back into the building’s former operations room, still bathed in the soft glow of computer screens.

Dietrich’s phone started ringing.

‘What is it, Dan?’

‘Jonas, you’ve got to get out of there!’ Franklin’s voice was loud and urgent. ‘Cain’s bringing down an air strike on your position.’

‘What?’

‘The order just went out. They’re vectoring in a Predator to flatten the fucking place.’

In that moment, any lingering doubts he might have had about Drake’s story vanished. ‘I don’t believe it. He’s trying to cover it all up.’

‘Cover what up?’

‘Cain’s been behind this whole thing. Munro was working for him. He even launched the first Predator attack to make it seem legit. He tried to sell nuclear secrets to the Iraqis before the invasion, and when the deal went bad he took the money and ran. Drake just told me the whole story.’

‘You found him?’

‘He’s with me. So is his sister. Munro took her hostage, used her as leverage to get Drake to cooperate.’ Further explanations would have to wait. ‘How much time do we have?’

‘Not much. I suggest you find a hole and hide in it.’

Like that would do any good. Hellfire missiles were designed to penetrate strike-hardened bunkers. There could be no refuge from them here, and the Black Hawk chopper had peeled away to avoid ground fire.

His eyes swept the room, coming to rest on the control station opposite.

‘I’ve got a better idea,’ he said, a hasty plan forming. Killing the phone, he turned to Drake. ‘We’ve got problems.’

‘So I heard.’

‘Cain’s bringing in an air strike to flatten this place. He’s going to kill everyone who knows the truth.’

Drake glanced down the corridor leading outside. The corridor Munro had retreated down. Along with Anya.

Dietrich saw the look in his eyes and guessed his thoughts. ‘You go,’ he decided. ‘Find Munro. I’ll take care of the Predator.’

Drake’s eyes met his for a moment, and he nodded in gratitude.

‘Ryan, what are you doing?’ Jessica asked.

He turned towards her, wishing he had more time to explain. ‘I have to find the woman I came here with. She’s in danger.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why you?’

‘Because there’s no one else. And because I owe her.’ He was out of time. Reaching out, he pulled her close in a fierce embrace, then released his grip and turned away. ‘Dietrich will keep you safe. Stay here until I get back.’

Hefting the carbine, he turned and sprinted through the door.

Dietrich hit his radio pressel. ‘Frost, what’s your position?’

‘North office block. We’re securing the first floor now.’

‘Forget it. Meet me in the air control tower. And make it fast. We don’t have much time.’

Central Intelligence Agency Field Ops Centre, Baghdad, Iraq

In the operations room, Kaminsky watched the live feed from the Predator drone as it made a wide turn to start its attack run.

‘Good roll,’ the terminal operator reported. ‘Bearing now three-one-five degrees. Time on target, ninety seconds.’

‘Go hot,’ Kaminsky ordered. He didn’t know what the hell was going on at that abandoned base or why it was so vital that they destroyed it, but that was little different from any other day in the pit. Their orders came down from above, and they followed them without question, without hesitation.

And in this case, their orders had come from very high indeed.

‘Copy that. Weapons free. Arming Hellfires.’

Chapter 72

BALLING UP HIS
fist, Munro swung hard for a crushing right hook, but Anya ducked it before he could connect. Quickly shifting his weight to keep himself on balance, he threw a left jab, but she twisted aside with ease, caught his arm and countered with a stiff right that snapped his head back.

She was going to try to lock his arm. He knew it. He had sparred with her enough times to know her fighting style, the moves she tended to employ and the tactics she favoured.

That was his key; the one advantage that none of her other opponents had ever possessed.

Sure enough, she began to twist his arm down and around, exerting all her strength to force it behind his back. She would show no hesitation in breaking it.

In response, he lashed out with his other arm, trying to catch her with his elbow. She saw it coming and ducked to avoid it, but the reprieve bought him the opportunity he needed to wrench his arm free.

Rounding on her once more, he lashed out with a roundhouse kick to her left side, aiming for the vulnerable injury that he knew still caused her great pain. But she was ready for him, jumping back to avoid the crippling blow.

She was standing a few paces away, fists up and ready, eyes locked on him. She was a daunting figure, and still
a
deadly opponent, but Munro noticed she was breathing harder from her exertions. Tiring fast. Her time in prison had weakened her, and loss of blood from the shrapnel wound had further sapped her stamina.