The Last Spymaster (55 page)

Elaine stuck her head out and shot three times in fast succession. Suddenly bullets blasted at her from her unprotected side. The only cover left to her was inside the wheelhouse, a long twenty feet away.

She dropped to her stomach and opened fire across the width of the ship at her two new attackers—uniformed guards who crouched on the starboard side near the rail. Then she rolled and fired along the railing next to her, on the port side. But as she rolled back to shoot across the deck again, she heard the faint
chop-chop
of powerful helicopter blades approaching far in the distance.

Her throat swelled with hope. It was the distinctive song of a Black Hawk, and there were at least two.

Warning shouts filled the air. Suddenly there was the loud noise of
multiple pounding feet. She looked to her left. The two new shooters had vanished. Then she checked along the railing. A herd of uniformed guards was hustling as fast as they could toward the cargo crane’s ramp, glancing back over their shoulders at the sky behind her. The Black Hawks had persuaded Ghranditti’s rats to abandon ship.

She felt a surge of gratitude. Aching everywhere, she picked herself up and walked toward the wheelhouse—and stopped. A flash of white was descending the outside stairs from the bridge’s starboard wing. She was riveted. It was a man in steward’s dress. It was al-Hadi!

Her gaze traveled upward. Two black shadows were pursuing.

Al-Hadi leaped down onto the top of the fleet of containers, stumbled, and took off across them, out of sight. The two shadows—Jay and Raina—bounded after him, firing.

Adrenaline shot through Elaine. She put on a burst of speed, racing toward the port staircase. She climbed, forcing energy into her exhausted body. As her eyes rose above the tops of the containers, she could see the three figures again, silhouetted against the stars. The terrorist had a good lead. Gunfire slashed back and forth.

As Raina ran alongside on his left about forty feet away, Jay hesitated his pell-mell pace just long enough to aim over the distance at al-Hadi. In quick succession, he squeezed off more bullets, missing. Al-Hadi turned and crouched, his dark face gray and angry.

Listening hopefully to the noise of approaching Black Hawks, Jay fell flat. So did Raina. Gazing at each other, they pressed their cheeks against the cold steel roofs of their containers as al-Hadi showered bursts of M-4 fire at them. In their dark clothes, they made lousy targets. The bullets screamed and punctured metal.

The moment the violent storm ceased, they jumped up and ran again, firing as they followed the terrorist across the flat tops of the jumbo boxes. The containers were stacked and packed in ranks of a dozen, some twenty ranks in all, extending in a steel sea toward the bow. In between were five-foot-wide openings that plunged straight to the deck.

Curling from side to side, al-Hadi shot bursts back at them. Suddenly he was in the air, cresting one of the chasms. He landed and spun around again, searching for his targets.

Instantly Raina and Jay dropped flat again—al-Hadi had a semiautomatic weapon; their pistols were no match. His bursts sliced into the containers. When silence descended, they looked up. Al-Hadi had peeled off his white jacket. He hurled it away, eyes peering into the sky toward the helicopters. He careened off. His black undershirt vanished against the night, while his white trouser legs pumped.

They chased again, sprinting, hurdling canyons, sprinting again, firing. They dumped empty magazines from their pistols, reloaded, and continued to fire. They needed to be much nearer al-Hadi. Luckily, he was short-legged and no speed-runner. They were closing in.

Jay’s lungs heaved. He glanced at Raina. Thick sweat glistened on her face. He was covered in sweat, too. Both of them gave every indication of tiring.

When he gestured to her, indicating al-Hadi was angling toward starboard, she nodded. She was near that side of the ship. Firing less frequently, she hurried to intercept the terrorist’s escape.

Of the three, Jay was the most experienced runner. He bounded over a ravine, caught his balance, and hurtled onward, herding al-Hadi.

At the same time, al-Hadi glanced back more often, seeming to recognize that they were wearing out. But then, they had been in action more than twenty-four hours; he had not—and he was younger. He squeezed off a battery of bursts.

Almost simultaneously, the three sprang over chasms. Like pincers, Jay and Raina closed in. They were almost near enough. . . .

Raina breathed heavily, her exhalations noisy. Her eyes were glazed. Jay gasped for oxygen. But al-Hadi’s steps were still light.

As Elaine rushed headlong across the containers, trying to catch up, she realized Jay’s and Raina’s bullets were becoming erratic, often wild. Frightened, she fired past them at the steward, hoping for a good-luck shot.

At the sound, Jay turned to look at her, breathing hard.

Raina’s head was drooping, but she raised it and turned, too.

With the speed of the healthy and impeccably trained, al-Hadi spun around, threw himself onto his belly, and raised his M-4.

“Jay!” Elaine bolted. “Raina!”

Jay and Raina were not only standing still, they were only a few arm lengths apart, perfect targets for semiautomatic fire. Al-Hadi swept bursts across them. Running with a speed she never knew she had, Elaine watched Jay give her a weary look that somehow announced he was going to die. His back arched, and his arms flung upward. Blood sprayed out behind him. Blood showered from Raina’s back, too, and she pivoted, crumpling.

Elaine shrieked, “No!” She pulled the trigger, shooting again and again at the prone al-Hadi while Jay and Raina fell out of sight between the stacks.

Laughing, al-Hadi slithered toward the edge of the containers and slipped over, vanishing.

At the same time, three Black Hawks swooped past overhead, their sleek fish bodies blocking the stars. In the doorways, feet dangling, sat CIA paramilitary team members in uniforms, black boots, helmets, and thick gloves. They bristled menacingly with gear and weapons.

As Elaine closed in on the void where Jay and Raina had disappeared, the Black Hawks sank gracefully toward the wharf. Their noses rose thirty degrees, and they stabilized at eighty feet. Thick ropes plummeted from their doors. Within four seconds, teams of seven fast-roped down and spread out. Shouts of fear sounded from the docks.

Hot tears streaming down her cheeks, Elaine fell to her knees and leaned over the container. Angrily she brushed her eyes so she could see Jay and Raina lying splayed faceup at the bottom in shadows, motionless.

She shook as if from palsy. At last she gathered herself and holstered her gun. Then she slid over the side and dropped softly to her feet. There was an engine noise near the rail. She duck-walked toward it, praying it was alHadi so she could empty her Walther into him.

Instead, a motorized hoist for one of the podlike life rafts was rising. The raft was gone. Al-Hadi had escaped. She bellowed a curse and hurried
back into the steel-lined passage, yanking out her cell phone to tell the paramilitary where al-Hadi was.

She did not understand it. Jay had broken every rule he had ever taught her. So had Raina, who seemed to know the rules equally well. There was no intelligence in their behavior—no use of the supplies in their packs, no deception. They had even turned their backs on al-Hadi. It was almost as if they
wanted
to die.

Her throat tightened as she peered at their corpses lying ahead. Then she frowned, her thoughts repeating—
no deception
. With a jolt of anger, suddenly she understood.

She marched toward them. “Dammit all to hell, Jay. You’re not dead. Get up.” Furiously she wiped her sleeve across her face, drying her tears. She raised her gun. “Damn you, I said
get up!
”

With a chuckle, Jay sat up. “I’m a hunter, remember?” she snapped.

“I’m taking you in. I
know
you’re no traitor. We’ll get this straightened out. How dare you fool me!”

As Elaine reached Raina, she saw “blood” pooling out from beneath her. “Squib bags of red dye!” she accused, glaring at Raina. She pointed her Walther at her. “I didn’t know you had Kevlar protection. Your jacket’s as thin as mine!”

“You’re a smart one,” Raina said approvingly as she stood and slid off her backpack. “They’re made out of a new fabric combining Kevlar and some state-of-the-art protective material our troops will be using next year. After we left you, Jay and I made one more stop to pick up the jackets and squibs.”

Elaine shot Raina a scorching look. Then she picked up Raina’s SIG Sauer from where it had fallen, tucked it into her waistband, and closed in on Jay. “Al-Hadi has the software, doesn’t he? Now that he thinks he killed you, he’ll be sure it’s clean. Langley will be able to track the Majlis through the backdoor. That’s what this was all about!”

Still sitting, Jay grinned up at her. “A last-minute operation, you might say.” He rotated his Browning and offered it to her butt first. “Glad to know you made it through the firefight on deck, Elaine. You did a damn good job of protecting us. You’re turning into a first-rate covert operative. How did you get on board in the end?”

“I found a pilot’s ladder on the starboard side.” She grabbed his weapon. For a moment she felt uneasy.

“You left the inflatable boat there by the ladder?” Jay climbed to his feet.

There was something wrong. “Yes.”

Pain stabbed her back near her shoulder pad. She tried to whirl, but her body responded slowly. She finished the turn as Raina put an empty hypodermic syringe into her pack. Elaine looked into Raina’s smiling eyes and started to swear but could not seem to find the right word.

“You’ll be excellent in the field, dear,” Raina assured her. “You’ll never let this happen again.” She reclaimed her gun from Elaine’s waistband.

Jay walked around Elaine, smiled down at her, and hugged her warmly. Then he helped her to stretch out on the deck. “Raina injected you with a fast-acting sedative. You won’t be out long. Ten minutes—at the most, fif-teen. Confirm for Bobbye about al-Hadi and the ForeTell backdoor, but don’t tell anyone else.” For a moment, his gaze misted. “I’ll miss you, Elaine.” He took his Browning.

Her eyelids growing heavy, Elaine watched Jay pull Raina to him. She seemed to melt into him. As they clung together, he stroked her cheek and looked deep into her eyes. She lifted her lips, and they kissed for quite a while. Her fingers curled into his back. At last, they walked away. He slung an arm around her shoulders; she wrapped an arm around his waist. Their strides matched.

As they disappeared, she thought she heard Jay chuckle and his voice float back: “Remember—always have a good backup plan.”

Three Years Later
Aitutaki, Cook Islands

As Jay Tice walked home, carrying supplies and groceries, sunset arrived with the tropical languidness he loved, dusting the South Seas horizon in soft gray that deepened into tangerine and brilliant gold. The vibrant colors reflected off the darkening ocean as if it were a mirror and painted the powdery white beach a blushing rouge.

In his shorts and sleeveless shirt, Jay passed houses big and small, built of pink coral or weathered wood, surrounded by vegetable gardens, fenced pigs, and chickens running wild. Palm trees swayed in the frangipaniscented air.

One of their friends, British expat Denise Cumberland, was leaning her bicycle against the beech tree outside her bungalow. When she noticed him, she grinned. Her tall height and sun-carved face were impressive.

“Kia orana,”
Jay greeted her in Maori. May you live long.

“Kia orana
yourself, Phil. You’re walking fast today. Definitely not your usual amble.” Her eyes twinkled.

He held up a manilla envelope. “Mail!”

“Wonders never cease. How’s Kitty doing?”

“Busy as can be. Me, too. It’s more fun than we’d ever thought. Stop by for a drink soon, okay?”

“You really should wear shoes, Phil. You’ve gone native.”

Jay laughed and continued on, increasing his pace. As his gaze swept the ruffled ocean, his thoughts drifted back to his escape with Raina from Martin Ghranditti’s container ship. They had rowed to a spit of land where their hidden packet waited and begun a peripatetic journey that had taken them through Mexico then on to Australia and finally here—to this remote Shangri-la in the southern Cook Islands chain where neither had ever been, no one knew them, and they could start over.

Bobbye Johnson had covered by alerting the Coast Guard to look for
his drowned corpse in the Baltimore river. When no corpse was found, she declared Jay Tice dead and good riddance. In Germany the BND issued a formal statement that Raina Manhardt had gone into seclusion and retired—which told him Bobbye had twisted BND president Erich Eisner’s arm hard.

As a reward for her outstanding work, Elaine received a commendation and an open ticket to whatever she wanted to do for Langley. Of course, she chose undercover work, with Bobbye’s blessing—and Jay’s misgivings, but no one asked him, which was the way it should be. In congratulations for her help and obstinance, he arranged a brand-new red Jaguar be delivered anonymously to her town house. He was sorry to have missed the expression on her face.