Deception Game (14 page)

Drake looked at each of them in turn. His team, his friends, his family as much as any blood relative, each willing to risk everything for him one more time. Never could he have asked for a finer group of people to stand by his side.

‘All right,’ he said at last, knowing they wouldn’t be swayed from their course any more than he would. ‘Let’s get started.’

Washington DC, Virginia

Deputy CIA Director Marcus Cain was in the back seat of his Chrysler 300, en route to Langley for his morning briefing. Not that he needed it – the laptop laid out next to him had been logged into the Agency’s secure network before he’d taken his first sip of morning coffee, and he’d already made a host of phone calls with department heads and station chiefs all across the globe.

Up front, the driver kept his eyes studiously fixed on the road ahead, a radio comms piece trailing from his ear allowing him to stay in constant contact with a second vehicle trailing about a hundred yards back. In it were three additional field agents, all highly trained, heavily armed and hand-picked by Cain himself. The kind of men who didn’t come from the Agency’s own pool of field operatives, but who belonged to a far more select group. The kind of men who had already proven themselves on the battlefields of Iraq and Afghanistan, and other more exotic places that their government would never admit to.

He travelled virtually everywhere with a full security detail these days, officially because his status as a high-ranking member of the US intelligence community made him a target for everybody from terrorist organizations to foreign governments. That was the official cover, but Cain knew the real reason.

Anya – once his protégé, his most successful asset, his greatest achievement. Now his most bitter and dangerous enemy.

She was out there somewhere at this very moment, planning, preparing, waiting for her chance to strike. In the past two years she had killed virtually everyone else that had stood between them, settling a few old scores along the way, and now she was out to settle one more.

And she might succeed. Cain was under no illusions about his own invincibility, or the infallibility of his mind. He was intelligent, cunning, gifted with the ability to perceive the deeper motivations in almost any action, able to wield some of the most powerful resources on the face of the earth and protected by multiple layers of security, but in the end he was still only a man. And as Anya had demonstrated with typical ruthless efficiency, all men could be killed.

But he possessed an advantage that Anya did not – knowledge. Anya, forever the soldier, so used to fighting the enemies she saw on the battlefield, still failed to understand that the true enemy was the one she couldn’t see. That had been her undoing before, and it would be again.

‘Listen to me, Quinn. We’ve been chasing our tails for the past six months, and we’re nowhere. Our drones can’t help us unless we know what to point them at. Our human intel has been useless, outdated or plain bullshit right from the start. Well, that stops now. The Pakistanis are the key to this. They always have been,’ he said, speaking calmly and carefully into his secure satellite phone. Conversations with CIA station chiefs halfway around the world were no time to risk being misunderstood. ‘If we don’t have them onside, we’ll never get to his inner circle.’

‘I understand, but you know we can’t lean too hard on them. They barely tolerate us as it is, and they’d never give up actionable intel to one of our own. Not willingly, at least.’

Cain hadn’t missed the implication in that last sentence. Hayden Quinn was a good man, a reliable and ambitious case officer who Cain had seen fit to promote to station chief, overseeing all Agency operations in Pakistan. His appointment had been part of a gradual reshuffling of senior personnel that Cain had begun almost as soon as he’d been promoted to Deputy Director, making sure that key posts were occupied by competent people loyal to him.

He intended to put the seal on his promotion to full Director with a victory in the War on Terror. The kind of victory the American people had been waiting eight long years for, that even Anya with all her guile and cunning had been unable to give him. The kind of victory that would ensure his elevation to the highest levels of power and influence.

‘That’s a card we can only play once. And we’d have to be sure it was the right time,’ he acknowledged. ‘And the right man.’

The prospect of kidnapping and torturing foreign intelligence operatives didn’t trouble him if it yielded the results he needed, but if it failed then they’d be left with nowhere to go.

‘Send me everything you’ve got on their senior personnel,’ he said at last. ‘I want to review them all before we do anything. All we need is a way in – there’s always a way in.’

‘Of course, sir.’

Their conversation was interrupted when a call came through to Cain’s private cell phone. There weren’t many people in the world who knew that number, so when it rang, it was advisable to pick up.

Ending his satellite phone call with Quinn, he fished his cell from his pocket and checked the caller ID. Sure enough, this was one call he couldn’t afford to ignore.

Taking a moment to marshal his thoughts and his composure, he hit the Receive Call icon. ‘Yes?’

‘Marcus, always good to speak with you again. I trust I’m not disturbing you?’

The voice on the other end was warm, pleasant, almost friendly. An old acquaintance calling to touch base after a period of absence.

But Cain knew the man that voice belonged to, knew all too well that the warmth, the pleasant demeanour, the friendly tone was nothing but a veneer, a facade to hide the cold darkness that lurked beneath.

The man to whom he was speaking was but one of many, carefully selected for their individual skills, experience, insight and influence; there to help guide and direct the collective whole. He was one of many, but he was the man to whom Marcus Cain, the Deputy Director of the CIA, answered.

‘Of course not,’ Cain assured him. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I think you know why I’m calling, Marcus.’ The tone had become a little less pleasant, a little less friendly now. ‘We’ve lost one of our assets – a key one, with information that could compromise us. There’s a concern amongst the group that we need to hold Antonia back.’

Cain could feel himself tensing up, knowing that what occurred during this call could make or break his plans. Antonia was one of the biggest initiatives the group had undertaken in the past several years, and much of it was because of him. But he couldn’t do it alone. As with everything, the group’s collective decision was the absolute final authority.

Just as this man’s influence could help steer them in one direction, so others could move it a very different way. He knew there were naysayers, those with more to lose and less to gain, who hadn’t been in favour of the plan, but he had to prevail. He had to convince them to move forward despite the risks.

‘We both know that any delay now would kill our chances of success. We can’t afford to stop; not when we’re this close. You know we won’t get another opportunity like this.’

That much at least was true. The conditions for success now were as good as they were ever likely to get. Launching their initiative earlier would have incurred too much resistance, while waiting much longer would mean losing their chance, and their potential gains. One way or another, it had to be now.

Silence; thoughtful, tense and unpredictable.

‘I do,’ the caller conceded. ‘But not everyone feels the same way. If I was able to offer them some...reassurances, it would go a long way towards settling a few nerves.’

Cain knew exactly what he was asking for. He wanted Cain himself to vouch for this plan, to put his own reputation on the line, to take the hit if it went wrong.

‘I’ve got some of my best people working on it right now,’ he said truthfully. ‘They’re reliable. They’ll make sure things go as they’re supposed to.’

Silence again. Cain knew his contact as well as anyone could know such a man, and had come to understand at least some of what drove him. He was cold and ruthless as any in the group, but paradoxically he was also a risk-taker, inclined to lean towards plans that offered a greater reward in a shorter time.

All he could do now was hope that he was ready to take one more risk.

‘As you say,’ he decided. ‘I’ll forward your thoughts on to the others. It was good to speak with you again, Marcus. We’ll have to meet up some time.’

‘Looking forward to it,’ Cain lied. Meeting with this man in person was even more fraught than their phone calls, but it was a necessary evil. Just like so many other things he’d done over the years.

With that final remark, the man hung up, leaving Cain alone with his thoughts.

Brecon Beacons National Park, Wales

With their objective decided, the first order of business for Drake and his team had been to find somewhere they could formulate a plan to make it happen. A pub in Covent Garden might have sufficed for their initial discussion, but clandestine research and detailed mission-planning required something a little more secluded.

And as it happened, Drake knew just the place.

‘Christ, I’ll be wiping cow shit off my boots for a week,’ Frost said, glancing around the living room with thinly veiled distaste. The Welsh countryside came about as naturally to her as flower arranging and evening dresses.

‘It’s sheep shit, not cow shit,’ Mason corrected her.

‘Like it matters.’

McKnight looked around, perhaps reflecting on her earlier remarks in the pub. ‘Well, this is a first. We literally are running an op out of your living room.’

‘It’s a roof over our heads, and its miles from anywhere. Anyone tries to spy on us, and we’ll know about it,’ Drake pointed out. ‘Keira, get set up. We have a lot of work to do.’

Frost began to unpack her laptop and various other pieces of equipment in preparation for the task ahead.

If Mason was amused by Drake’s mild reproach, it was to be short-lived. ‘I want someone on stag at all times today. Two-hour shifts, full perimeter sweep. Cole, you’re up first.’

Mason, already settled into the couch, gave him a disapproving look. ‘Why me?’

‘Because you’re not doing anything useful,’ was his simple answer.

‘Yeah? And what are you planning to do?’

Drake fished a cell phone out of his pocket; a cheap burner phone he’d purchased the previous day. ‘Contact an old friend.’

He wasn’t looking forward to this one. The man he was about to ask for help had once been a specialist in covert extractions, starting with Eastern Europe during the Cold War before moving on to Africa and the Middle East in later years. He’d since transitioned into the Agency and become a Shepherd team-leader himself, but Drake knew he still had access to a decent network of contacts.

He was about the only person Drake could think of who could get him what he needed at short notice and outside the Agency’s umbrella. Unfortunately, whether or not he would agree to help was another matter. The two of them had a chequered history to say the least.

The phone rang out for a good ten seconds, which wasn’t surprising. It was early morning in DC, and from what Drake knew of the man, he didn’t take kindly to unexpected contacts like this.

‘Who the fuck is this?’ a gruff voice demanded, carrying a hint of a German accent. ‘How did you get this number?’

Drake might have smiled if the success of the entire operation didn’t rest on this man’s cooperation. Jonas Dietrich had never been one for pleasantries.

‘Jonas, it’s Ryan.’

‘Ryan?’ He paused for a moment. ‘What do
you
want, man?’

‘It’s business.’

At this, Dietrich snorted in amusement. ‘Really? Well, I’ve got enough business to keep me occupied. Don’t call me again.’

‘Don’t hang up,’ Drake implored him.

‘Why shouldn’t I?’

‘Once an asshole, always an asshole,’ Frost remarked as she waited for her laptop to power up.

She’d said it loud enough to carry down the line; a fact that wasn’t lost on Dietrich. ‘Who was that?’

Drake glared at Frost. ‘It’s Keira; she’s here with me,’ he explained, keeping his voice remarkably calm given the circumstances. ‘She says hi.’

‘Tell her to piss off. And she still owes me for that beer,’ Dietrich shot back. He seemed to be the only person on earth whose temper matched Frost’s. ‘You planning some kind of reunion, Ryan? Well, if you’re thinking about rescuing any more insane bitches from Russian prisons, count me out. Once was enough.’

Dietrich had been part of the team that Drake had led into a Siberian prison to recover Anya from captivity. His motives for going along had been dubious at best, but in the end he’d proven himself a valuable, if reluctant, ally.

Drake closed his eyes and let out a weary sigh. ‘It’s an open line, Jonas.’

He was unpopular enough in Russia after the events of last year. The last thing he needed was for even more serious transgressions to come to light.

‘Like I care,’ Dietrich shot back. ‘We both know you’re calling me on a burner. Nobody’s listening in, but if you’re worried about it, I’ll save you the trouble and hang up now.’

‘I need your help,’ Drake cut in, adopting a harder tone now. ‘And you’re going to give it to me.’

Silence greeted him for a few seconds. ‘This had better be good. And I mean Oscar-winning good, not Golden Globe good. If you’re going to give me some speech about how you helped me out of that prison after I got shot, that I owe you my life or something like that, I’ll be very disappointed. You lost that advantage when I risked my career and my life to get you out of Iraq. As far as I’m concerned, we’re even.’

‘Maybe in your mind we are, but not as far as Marcus Cain’s concerned. Guilty by association, Jonas. You’re a liability now. The only reason you’re still alive is because of the deal Franklin cut with him, but Franklin’s out of action now and there’s no telling when he’s coming back. You’re running out of time just the same as us. If you won’t help us, then for fuck’s sake help yourself and give me what I need.’

His words were met with stony silence. In Drake’s mind, this could play out one of two ways – either Dietrich would agree to his request, or he would slam the phone down and never speak to him again. He honestly couldn’t say for sure which way it would go.

‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘What do you want?’

It was all Drake could do to keep from letting out a sigh of relief. ‘We’re planning a little holiday in Libya and we need some support, no questions asked.’

‘Off the books?’

‘Of course.’

‘What kind of support?’

‘Logistics. Ground transport, weapons, ammo and breaching equipment. Standard package for a covert extraction.’

‘How many in your team?’

‘Four, plus one guest.’

‘When do you need it?’

‘At most, two days from now. Maybe less.’

Dietrich sucked air through his teeth, like a builder about to give a bad quote. ‘That won’t be easy. Guys who work at short notice are expensive, and they’ll want half in advance.’

‘Fine.’ There wasn’t much else he could say to that. However this played out, he suspected he’d be a lot poorer by the time it was over. ‘But your contacts need to be reliable, and so does the gear. I can’t have someone who cuts and runs at the last minute.’

Dietrich thought on that for a moment or two. ‘I might know a guy,’ he finally conceded. ‘I’ll make some calls.’

With that, the line went dead.

‘That sounded...interesting. Do you think he’ll come through for us?’ McKnight asked, as Drake laid the phone down on the kitchen counter top.

‘Hard to say,’ he admitted. ‘But he’ll try. That’s the best we can hope for right now.’

In any case, he had another call to make. If this was to play out the way he hoped, they would need transport in and out of Libya. Arranging it at short notice would mean calling in a few favours, but at least he had someone in mind.