Deception Game (15 page)

Despite her earlier complaints, Frost threw herself into her task of digging up intel for their hastily planned operation with the kind of ruthless dedication that Drake had come to expect from her. Casting her net far and wide into the digital ocean of the internet, she soon began to unearth all kinds of information about the luxury two-storey villa on the outskirts of Tripoli that Tarek Sowan called home.

Everything from original construction blueprints, to planning applications for major remodelling, to purchase orders for alarm systems and security cameras; all of it fell victim to her relentless online forays, to be downloaded and sorted through on her laptop.

For Drake, this part was almost as crucial as the execution of the op itself. The generally held theory amongst the Shepherd teams was that 5 per cent more effort at the planning stage usually meant 50 per cent less chance of being killed later, and he wasn’t inclined to dispute that. To the best of his knowledge, no operation had ever failed on account of having too much intel.

Armed with everything Frost could throw at them, Drake and Mason went to work piecing together a detailed picture of the target building. Trained in house assaults and well-versed in the difficulties that could easily derail such operations, they knew exactly what to look for. Years of experience allowed them to quickly assimilate the information they were given, to understand the systems of protection that surrounded Sowan, and most importantly devise a plan for how to defeat them.

At about mid-afternoon, they were alerted by a shout from Frost, who was standing watch outside. ‘Vehicle coming in.’

Drake tensed up immediately, preparing to hide the computers and printed maps and documents that now lay strewn across the kitchen table. ‘Make and model?’

‘Sports car, dark green. Hell if I know the make.’

It didn’t matter to Drake. She’d just told him what he’d been hoping to hear. ‘It’s all right. The driver’s a friend.’

‘An Anya kind of friend, or a real friend?’

‘The kind of friend that’s going to get us in and out of Libya.’

Taking a welcome break from the arduous planning session, Drake made his way outside just as an E-type Jaguar came screeching to a halt on the gravel driveway, its British racing-green paintwork splattered with mud after a bumpy journey down winding single-track roads, probably at high speed, knowing the owner.

Drake had encountered a lot of people in the course of his career as a Shepherd operative – some good, some bad, some infuriating to work with and others that he considered valuable friends. And some, like the owner of the car now sitting just a few feet from the front door, were genuinely unique.

He’d first met Vanil Chandra during an extraction mission from a muddy improvised airfield in Kosovo several years earlier. The weather had been terrible, the landing strip questionable to say the least, and the threat of enemy ground-fire from renegade Yugoslav units in the area ever-present.

Drake, wet and exhausted after an eight-mile slog through mountainous forest, had been bracing himself for the worst – a radio call from the pilot of their extraction flight warning that it was impossible to land in such conditions, and that regrettably they were on their own. It wouldn’t have been the first time such a thing had happened to him, though given the large number of hostile units tasked with hunting his team, he’d suspected it might well be the last.

Then he’d heard it – the distinctive buzz of twin turboprop engines somewhere in the dense clouds overhead. To his everlasting amazement, a twin-engined transport plane had suddenly dropped from the low-lying cloud-deck like an old dive bomber from the war, tearing in just above the treetops before setting down hard on the improvised landing strip. Drake had actually seen it bounce twice before settling down and taxiing to a halt less than fifty feet away.

Running forward to express his thanks and disbelief that the pilot had executed such a dangerous manoeuvre, he’d found himself confronted by a relaxed and smiling Asian man with neatly cut hair and the kind of clean-cut good looks of that belonged in a menswear catalogue. Grinning at Drake, he’d gestured to the rear hatch and, with an impeccable English accent, remarked, ‘Grab yourself a seat, old boy. Weather’s a tad unpleasant today, but we’ll soon be out of it.’

And that had been his introduction to Vanil Chandra, a freelance pilot who ran his own business hauling cargo – legal and otherwise – and who did occasional work for the Agency, usually in places where most rational men were unwilling to fly. His success wasn’t so much down to the skill he possessed behind the stick, but rather because he seemed entirely unfamiliar with the concept of fear. Bad weather, bad terrain, even the possibility of being shot down didn’t seem to trouble him.

Drake had always thought that the man had simply been born half a century too late. He would have been quite at home in the cockpit of a Spitfire.

Killing the engine, Chandra stepped out onto the gravel drive, drawing himself up to his full six-foot-three-inch height. By now in his late-forties, he still possessed the rangy build and sprightly energy of men half his age. Combined with lean, finely chiselled features and a mane of dark hair that was just starting to show flecks of grey at the temples, he cut a striking figure that few people failed to notice.

Spotting Drake, he flashed the infectious grin that hadn’t changed since the day they met in Kosovo, and strode forward to greet him.

‘Ryan, good to see you again, my friend!’ he beamed, grasping Drake’s hand in a strong handshake. ‘How the devil are you?’

‘Could be worse,’ Drake acknowledged. Could be a hell of a lot better too, but there was no sense starting the meeting on a downer.

‘My apologies for running a little late. Damned sheep-farmers held me up.’

Drake made a face, recalling his own experiences getting here. ‘You get used to them, mate. Thanks for coming at short notice, though. I appreciate it.’

Chandra shrugged. ‘Of course.’ He leaned a little closer, his tone conspiratorial. ‘To be honest, it was an excuse to get away from the lady for the afternoon.’

Drake decided not to pry too much into that. Being a wealthy, good-looking man who flew aircraft all over the world for a living, it wasn’t hard for Chandra to attract female attention, and he was more than happy to capitalize on that fact. Bizarrely, he always referred to his latest girlfriend as ‘the lady’, rather than using her actual name, possibly because there was more than one and he didn’t want to risk being caught out. Or maybe he himself had trouble keeping track.

‘So tell me, what are you planning that you need my help with?’ Chandra asked, growing a little more serious now that they were talking business. ‘I assume you didn’t invite me round for a chat and a cup of tea, though I wouldn’t refuse the latter.’

‘I can sort out both those things for you,’ Drake assured him. ‘Come inside and I’ll introduce you to everyone.’

Normally introducing a newcomer to the rest of the team was a tense, awkward business, with Drake constantly on edge that one side would say or do something to offend the other. In this case, however, Chandra did most of the work himself, making his way from person to person and greeting them with an enthusiastic handshake and his characteristic beaming smile. Drake couldn’t help noticing that he paid particular attention to McKnight, perhaps recognizing that Frost was a little too young and volatile to reciprocate, and hid a flash of annoyance that she seemed pleased by his casual flirtation.

‘Before you steal my entire team away, why don’t we go over what we need from you?’ he suggested, his tone making it clear the time for socializing was over.

Chandra made a show of his disappointment. ‘Excuse me, Samantha. Duty calls,’ he said, giving her a wink before crossing the room to join Drake by the kitchen table. ‘Fine people you associate with, Ryan.’

‘They are. And I’d hate to think I was leading them on a one-way trip,’ Drake added. ‘That’s where I need you.’

Chandra raised a dark eyebrow. ‘How can I refuse an offer like that? Do tell.’

This he did. Leaving out the background and motivation behind the operation, Drake outlined his intention to lead his team into Libya no later than forty-eight hours from now, capture a high-ranking member of their intelligence agency in his home and covertly spirit him from the country to a safe location for interrogation.

‘This is an unsanctioned operation,’ he added, recognizing the need to be honest with Chandra before they went any further. ‘The Agency doesn’t know about this. In fact, almost everyone who does is in this house right now. We can’t expect any support from outside.’

‘This is nothing new,’ Chandra remarked with a wry smile. ‘But tell me, what has this man done to earn such attention from you? Is this personal?’

Drake knew he had to tread carefully with this one. ‘If what I know about him is true, he deserves whatever he gets.’ However this panned out, he’d make sure Sowan ended up in either a concrete cell or a wooden box. ‘But this isn’t about revenge, if that’s what you mean. This man might hold the key to stopping a whole lot of wrong before it happens. I can’t say much beyond that, but it’s very important I get to him and find out what he knows. For that, I need your help.’

‘I’d expected as much,’ Chandra confirmed. ‘You need extraction from Libya.’

‘Two questions. Can it be done, and will you do it?’

The veteran pilot inhaled slowly, his usual bonhomie having vanished now as he contemplated what was being asked. ‘I won’t be able to enter their airspace without being detected, I can tell you that much. It would have to be done legally. I would need a flight plan that takes me to Tripoli, plus entry visas, which means I need a reason for being there, which usually means a few bribes to the right people. But in theory, I could make a short landing on the homeward leg, maybe plead mechanical problems.’

‘Where?’ Drake prompted.

Studying a map of the target area, he indicated a spot to the east of the city. ‘As I recall, there’s a small private airfield right around here. It shuts down at night, but a resourceful chap like you should be able to find a way in and set up some improvised lights.’ He glanced up at Drake. ‘That’s the theory, at least. The timing would have to be rather spot-on, since their air-traffic controllers would know something was wrong if I started circling the field waiting for you.’

‘But if we could make it happen, it could work.’

Chandra chewed his lip for a moment, deep in thought. ‘It could.’

The next question was obvious enough, but it had to be asked all the same. ‘So putting theory into practice, will you do it?’

He regarded Drake for a long moment. ‘My fee would be twenty thousand, to cover fuel costs, paperwork, bribes and...well, unforeseen hazards. Half payable in advance, the other half on completion. Sorry to be rather mercenary about this, old boy, but it’s the business we deal in now. I’ll file the flight plan, get myself and my plane to Tripoli, and make sure I’m over the airfield at the agreed hour. The rest is up to your good self, I’m afraid. If you’re not there in time, I’ll have no choice but to head home without you. How does that sound?’

Hiring men like Chandra was a somewhat different prospect when a government agency wasn’t underwriting the pay check, Drake reflected. He hadn’t expected Chandra to risk his life for nothing, and it wasn’t as if he was in a position to negotiate on price, but neither did he have £20,000 in disposable income just lying around. Especially not when he still had to purchase weapons, equipment, and pay off the man hired by Dietrich to provide ground transport.

‘I don’t have that much,’ he said, bracing himself for the worst.

Chandra gave an apologetic shrug and pushed himself away from the table. ‘Then I wish you the best of luck, my friend.’

‘Wait,’ Drake implored him. ‘I can’t pay you in cash. But...I can offer something else.’

Chandra regarded him sceptically. ‘What might that be?’

He hesitated a moment, knowing the line he was about to cross and hating himself for it. But he could see no alternative. ‘Follow me.’

For the second time in the past couple of days, Drake found himself in the little secluded garage set back from the main house. Undoing the padlock that was the only modest nod to security, Drake swung the double doors open to reveal the meticulously preserved vehicle hidden within.

The moment Chandra laid eyes on Drake’s father’s sports car, he let out a low whistle of approval. Ever the classic-car enthusiast, there was no question that such a machine would make an impact on him.

‘An Austin-Healey 3,000,’ he said, his voice sounding almost reverent. ‘This is a Mark 1, if I’m not mistaken. They made fewer than three thousand of this model. There can’t be more than a few hundred still in existence, and even fewer in such good condition.’

‘Worth about twenty grand on the open market, wouldn’t you say?’ Drake prompted him.

Chandra immediately grasped what he was suggesting. Stepping inside the old building, he did a slow circuit of the car, even reaching out to run a hand along the gunmetal-grey paintwork. ‘Does it still run?’

‘Bet your arse it runs. My dad restored it himself,’ Drake informed him, surprised at the pang of sadness and longing that it evoked.

‘This belonged to your father?’ Chandra glanced up at him, giving him a dubious look. ‘I don’t mean to lecture you, old boy, but are you sure this is what you want? Something like this is...irreplaceable.’

‘He gave it to me, now I’m offering it to you.’ Drake tried for a dismissive shrug, but didn’t quite manage it. ‘Anyway, I’m not much of a car enthusiast. You’ll probably treat it better than me.’

Chandra let out a slow breath, nodding faintly in acceptance. ‘It’s your choice.’ He held out his hand. ‘If this is what you’re offering, then we have a deal.’

Drake shook it, trying to silence the accusing voices in his mind. ‘Done.’

For the next couple of hours, Drake worked virtually nonstop at his makeshift base of operations, alternately seeking advice, recommendations and opinions from the four other people in the house, each of whom had their part to play and their own areas of expertise. And gradually, a plan began to take shape.