Deception Game (57 page)

Fifteen years earlier

Taking a deep breath, Drake knocked on the locker-room door. His aching hands were heavily bandaged up, and the impact sent a wave of pain through him.

It was a few seconds before a gruff voice answered. ‘Yeah!’

The locker room was old, like the rest of the club in which they’d fought. It smelled of sweat and steam and worn leather. And sitting on a bench against the far wall, looking as tired as his surroundings, was his opponent.

The man was a mess, one eye swollen shut, face covered in cuts and bruises, swollen arthritic hands still taped up. He looked up and nodded.

‘I thought I’d be seeing you.’

‘You know why I’m here.’

He nodded again. ‘You gave me a fuckin’ good fight. Best beating I’ve taken in years. You should be proud of yourself.’

‘But you wouldn’t go down,’ Drake said, an edge of anger and frustration in his voice.

The old fighter managed a wry smile. ‘No, I wouldn’t.’

‘Why? Look at yourself. This wasn’t a title fight. What was the point?’

At this, the man rose to his feet. Old, overweight, beaten and bruised he might have been, but he was still a tall, imposing figure. ‘If you have to ask that question, you’ve got no place calling yourself a fighter,’ he said, his voice laced with the pain and weariness and defiance and triumph of a hundred fights just like this. ‘We don’t do this for pay days or title shots. We fight because that’s what we’re born to do, because it still means something to get up when another guy knocks you down. Maybe one day you’ll understand that.’

Drake backed off a pace, such was his shock at the man’s words. But more intimidating was the look in his eyes – that hunger, that fierce burning passion for what he did. For all Drake’s own training and finesse in the ring, it was something he’d never experienced before.

But he understood now. At last, he understood what it meant to stand your ground, to keep getting up when you were knocked down, to never submit no matter what was thrown at you. He understood now why his opponent had chosen to go out the same way he’d always been – as a fighter.

Without saying another word, he turned and walked out.

Brecon Beacons National Park, Wales – 18 May

It was a warm spring evening, the sun just settling behind a blanket of thin cloud off to the west, its dying glow setting the nearby mountains ablaze in colour. Drake inhaled, tasting the scent of flowers and freshly cut grass. So different from the burning desert sands he’d left behind a week ago.

But as pleasant as his surroundings were, his thoughts were turned inward, contemplating everything that had happened in the week since their escape from Libya, everything that had fallen apart in such spectacular fashion.

They had been played, he realized now. Cain had manipulated them right from the start, using their efforts to overthrow him as a means of eliminating a rival programme in Libya. With their supplies of weapons and ammunition cut off, the attempted uprising had been aborted before it could even begin. A bloody civil war had been averted, to be sure, but Cain’s crooked deal with the Libyan government remained intact.

For now, at least.

Drake sensed trouble ahead for that country. With or without the Agency’s help, he knew that a war was coming.

As for himself, he had a different war to fight, and he was fast running out of allies. It was fair to say he couldn’t expect any further support from Franklin, who he had effectively alienated by going behind his back and openly breaking their agreement not to move against Cain.

Hunt too had paid the price for his part in their little conspiracy. Drake had caught an obituary for him on the
Washington Post
’s website several days ago, the brief article mentioning only that he had died of natural causes, and that he was to be buried at Arlington Cemetery. Another one of Cain’s old rivals eliminated, and another name added to the list of people who had died from Drake’s mistakes.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Faulkner’s revelation about Drake’s mother had shaken him to his core. Everything he thought he knew about her, every judgement he’d made, every assumption, every petty resentment, had just been called into doubt. How could he not have known? How could she never have told him?

And if Faulkner was right, if she had somehow been part of this deadly world of shadows and betrayal in which Drake now existed, then whose side had she been on? What was this mysterious group called the Circle that Faulkner had alluded to? And if Faulkner hadn’t arranged her death, then who had?

There were answers out there; of that he had no doubt. But finding them was unlikely to be easy. And even if he did somehow fight and claw his way to the truth, there was a good chance he wouldn’t like what he found.

But he would get there. He knew that with absolute certainty. He would find his answers, or he would die trying.

His only cause for comfort was that the rest of his team were safe, for now at least. They had gone to ground as soon as it became apparent their plan had failed, splitting up and travelling under false identities to avoid arousing suspicion. Each of them was a trained Shepherd operative, well versed in the processes and resources the Agency could call upon to hunt down targets, and familiar with how to avoid them.

They would survive, but they were shut out now. All of them.

So here he sat; a wanted man. Wanted by the Libyans, wanted by the British, wanted by Cain, wanted by the Agency. A man with a growing list of enemies and a dwindling list of friends, with few resources to call upon, facing an enemy whose power and influence was growing almost by the day. An enemy who wouldn’t stop until Drake and everyone connected to him was dead.

He sighed, staring down at the distant farmhouse. The house that had once belonged to his mother, that Jessica had now taken over. The house where he had come to say goodbye.

He was just about to return to his car when a voice spoke up from behind. ‘I’m sorry for being late. This was not an easy place to find.’

Drake smiled despite himself. It was good to know that even Anya had trouble navigating the Welsh countryside.

‘Join the club.’

Her arrival was no surprise. She had contacted him several days previously, telling him little about her situation except that she wanted to set up a meeting. He’d suggested the time and place. Thousands of miles from the Libyans and the Agency, this seemed like as good a place as any.

Moving forward, she lowered herself onto the grass beside him. As she did so, he couldn’t help but notice the bandage wrapped around her hand, the cuts and bruises on her face. She had worn makeup to disguise them, but seated so close to her it was easy to see that she’d been in the wars since their last encounter.

They both had.

She inhaled, tasted the scents of flowers and wild grass and growing things. ‘This is a good place,’ she decided, glancing at him. ‘It means something to you, doesn’t it? Did you grow up here?’

‘No.’ Though he was starting to wish he had. ‘But it does mean something to me.’

He sighed, pushing those thoughts aside.

‘Tell me, how did your... “business” work out?’ he asked.

She shook her head. There was a flicker in her normally cool, steely blue eyes. A sadness, a pain that he rarely saw in her. She was hurting; not physically – pain like that barely seemed to trouble her – but deep inside.

Whatever errand had brought her to London a couple of weeks ago, it clearly hadn’t worked out well for her. He caught himself wondering what exactly she’d been involved in, what secrets she had uncovered, or what she had lost in the process.

But as with all things, he knew she wouldn’t tell him until she was ready.

‘I’m done with the Agency,’ he said simply. ‘Finished. I can’t go back to Langley.’

If he was expecting a look of surprise or shock, he didn’t get it. Perhaps she knew already. Sometime he felt like she knew more about him then he did.

‘What happened?’ she asked, her voice quiet and subdued.

Drake snorted with dark humour. ‘I tried to take on Cain, thought I could finish this myself.’ He shrugged, reflecting for a moment on the full magnitude of his folly. ‘I was wrong.’

And there it was, laid out in stark, simple terms. He’d gambled and lost, pitted himself against an enemy and come up short.

‘So was I,’ she said.

Drake glanced up at her, unable to hide his surprise. ‘It’s not often you admit that.’

‘It’s not often that I have to.’ She drew her knees up to her chest, staring out across the fields and rolling hills with sadness in her eyes. ‘But you were right, Ryan. Last year, when you said we needed to work together, you were right. But I was...’ She glanced away for a moment, struggling for the right words. ‘I’m not used to trusting people, even good men. I did not live up to that agreement, so I shouldn’t be surprised that you didn’t either.’

‘Jesus,’ he said in disbelief. ‘First you admit that you were wrong, then that I was right. Whatever next?’

Anya’s eyes were on him now. He couldn’t tell if she was angry or faintly amused by his remarks. Perhaps it was a little of both.

‘That depends on you, Ryan,’ she said at last, her tone turning more serious now. ‘What do
you
want?’

There was a tension in her, an uncertainty that he wasn’t used to seeing. He sensed she was referring to more than just his immediate plans to tackle the threats they faced.

He stared back at her, once again questioning who she really was, what really lurked behind those pale, intense eyes. Anya, the woman who had turned his life upside down, who had lived through things he could scarcely imagine, whose real intentions and motives he could only begin to understand, and yet who somehow kept drawing him back no matter how far apart they were.

For the first time, he sensed those same doubts and questions and fears in her. For all her resourcefulness, her inner strength and her sheer indomitable will, she still sought in vain the one thing she’d never had.

Anya, if I told you what I really wanted, would you understand? he said to himself. Could you ever be like me, or I like you?

He reached out and gently touched her hand. For once, she didn’t move it away.

‘Remember what I said to you once? I made a promise that I’d be there for you even if you didn’t think you needed me, that I’d do everything I could to help you, and that I’d never give up on you. Because this is my fight now as much as yours. That hasn’t changed. We started this thing together, Anya,’ he said. ‘You and me. That’s how we’re going to finish it. Together.’

The woman said nothing to this, but at that moment he felt it. He felt her squeeze his hand just a little.

‘I need to ask something of you,’ she said at length.

‘What is it?’

‘A favour. Someone recently risked their life to help save mine. Now...she needs help, and I can’t give it to her. But you and your...team, you have made a living out of helping people. If you can, I would ask that you bring her back.’

Drake was surprised. It wasn’t often that Anya asked for help in any matter, and he could see how difficult she found it now. ‘I’ll look into it.’

He would get the details from her later. For now, he had other matters to attend to.

‘Thank you,’ she said, looking genuinely grateful. With the matter decided, she nodded towards the distant homestead that was the only dwelling in sight. ‘That house. Your sister is down there, isn’t she?’

Drake nodded.

‘Then go to her,’ Anya advised him. ‘I’ll be waiting. We can talk more...when you’re ready.’

The house was in a state of organized chaos, with packing boxes everywhere, stacks of clothes and personal belongings waiting to be sorted, and furniture scattered around. Moving one person’s life out of a place and another’s in at the same time was a daunting enough task for a team of removal men, never mind one person living alone.

But Jessica was determined to tackle it alone, just like everything else.

For now, however, her mind wasn’t on unpacking, sorting or any of the other work that still needed to be done. It was on her brother, who was standing by the kitchen counter with a cup of steaming tea in his hand.

He had finally returned after his abrupt departure a couple of weeks earlier, a different man from the one who had left. Whatever had happened out there had clearly left its mark on him, both physical and emotional. Only now, as he related the deadly events in which he’d become involved, was she able to form some understanding of what he’d been through. In particular, the revelations about their mother.

‘I didn’t know,’ she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘I never imagined...our own mother. I feels so unreal.’

Drake let out a breath and glanced away. She could see easily enough why this was so hard for him. She at least had had a chance to reconcile with their mother, put the past behind them and form a new relationship in her later years. Ryan had never had that, and he never would.

The knowledge that she hadn’t been the person he’d long convinced himself she was only made it harder to bear.

Jessica swallowed hard, almost afraid to ask her next question. ‘Ryan, these people she worked for. Who are they? What do they want?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘But I’m going to find out.’

‘So you’re leaving, then.’ It wasn’t phrased as a question. She’d sensed from the moment of his arrival that his visit would only be a fleeting one.

He nodded slowly, saying nothing.

‘You know there’s a place for you here, if...’ She trailed off. Something about the look in his eyes warned her that things had changed. He had something to tell her. Something bad.

‘Jess, it’s not going to be like before,’ he said, his voice strained, his body tense. ‘I...I can’t go back to the way things were. Cain’s coming after me now, and there’s nothing left to hold him back. I need to disappear for a while. I took a risk even coming here today, put you at risk as well, and I’m sorry for that. I really am. But...I had to come. If nothing else, I know what it’s like to leave things unsaid. I wanted to say goodbye.’