Endgame (Agent 21) (27 page)

‘What are you doing?’ Ricky hissed.

‘Shhh . . .’ Zak replied, and continued tapping. His taps were a series of short and long beats – the Morse code his Guardian Angels had taught him so long ago.

It took him twenty seconds to complete his message, at the end of which Ricky whispered an immediate translation. ‘
How many guards are there?
’ He looked at Zak. ‘You think they’ll be in a position to answer? They looked in a pretty bad way on those videos.’

Zak didn’t answer. All they could do now was wait.

A minute passed.

Two.

The sick feeling in his stomach grew more intense. What if they weren’t there? What if word had reached the Russians that Cruz was dead? What would that mean for Raf and Gabs?

He tapped his message on the hangar again.

‘Mate,’ Ricky whispered, ‘I don’t think we can stay here too much—’

He paused. From the other side of the metal wall was a tapping sound. It was slightly hesitant, as if the person making it was struggling.

Dot. Dot. Dash. Dash. Dash.

‘
Two
,’ Zak translated immediately.

And then the tapping came again. Still struggling. Some taps weaker than others. But fluent enough. Zak and Ricky’s eyes narrowed as they translated.

‘
Coming . . . your . . . way . . .
’

They exchanged a sudden alarmed look.

More tapping.

‘
One . . . on . . . either . . . side . . .
’

Zak pointed to the left-hand corner of the hangar, but he didn’t need to – Ricky was already running in that direction. Zak himself sprinted to the right-hand corner and waited, his heart pumping, his back pressed up against the metal rear wall. He felt himself flexing his fingers . . .

There were footsteps approaching along the side of the hangar . . .

He raised his left arm, and with a quick glance could see Ricky on the other corner, raising his right.

The two Russian guards appeared at the same time. Zak instantly recognized the weapons his guy was carrying – an AK-47. But the soldier had made a bad error. The weapon was pointing forward from his body in the firing position, which meant it appeared from the side of the hangar, at right angles to Zak, before the soldier was even visible. Zak didn’t hesitate for a second. He slammed down his raised hand and grabbed the far end of the barrel and, before the soldier had a chance to squeeze the trigger, he yanked the butt hard into his chest.

The soldier grunted in pain and stumbled forward like a drunk. Zak wasn’t finished yet. His guy had let go of his weapon in an attempt to clutch his chest. It was still strapped round his body, but Zak had a good amount of control over it. He angled the weapon so the butt was pointing up towards the soldier’s head, then slammed it hard into the area just between the eyes.

The soldier’s eyes glazed over. He slumped heavily to the ground. Zak grabbed him by his ankles and dragged him fully round to the back of the hangar. Then he checked the guy’s pulse. It was there, strong enough. He’d live. But he’d have a hell of a headache when he woke up.

Zak looked over towards Ricky. He saw almost a mirror image – Ricky’s guard was out cold too, lying on his back behind the hangar. They both unclipped their guard’s AK-47 and, breathless, met back in the centre of the hangar.

‘They could wake up any time,’ Ricky said, fumbling with the weapon, trying to put the safety catch on.

Zak nodded his agreement. ‘We’re going to have to move fast.’ He looked uncertainly at the weapons. ‘Nobody dies,’ he reiterated.

‘Nobody dies.’

‘And Ricky?’

‘Yes?’

‘You have used one of these before, haven’t you? We don’t need any accidents . . .’

Ricky nodded. ‘Day on a range with Felix,’ he said. ‘The bullets come out this end, right?’

Zak gave him a severe look. ‘Don’t fire unless you have to. We’ll go this way.’

They ran back to where Zak’s guard was lying. Then, side by side, they turned the corner and advanced silently to the front of the hangar.

They were on the very edge of the military base here. There were no personnel up ahead. Just the far end of the landing zone. Hangar 1H was about thirty metres in length. They covered that distance in ten seconds. When they reached the front corner, they pressed their backs against the wall. There was light spill coming from the front of the hangar – a clear indication that the guards, in their hurry, had left the door open.

Zak turned to Ricky. ‘Ready?’ he whispered.

‘As I’ll ever be.’

They swung round the corner, brandishing their weapons. Zak felt his stomach lurch. The landing zone was teeming with people – he estimated twenty-five soldiers at least. But the nearest of them were twenty metres away, and facing in the opposite direction. Distance to the entrance of the hangar: five metres. If they were quick –
very
quick – they might just manage to get into the hangar without anyone seeing . . .

They sprinted, catlike, then swung round into Hangar 1H.

Zak’s eyes burned momentarily from the brightness of the light. He squinted hard, and it took a good three or four seconds before the dazzle left him.

When it did, his mouth went dry.

Raf and Gabs were there, but they looked barely alive. They were slumped against the back wall, their hands tied together. Their faces were as bruised and bloodied as they had been in the videos Cruz had sent. More so. Their heads lolled listlessly and, although their eyes were open, they were staring into the middle distance, as though not even aware where they were.

Zak sprinted towards them. He was aware of Ricky behind him, moving back into the hangar, but facing the entrance, his weapon covering it. He let his own weapon fall to the side as he slid to his knees right by his Guardian Angels.

Gabs blinked. She turned to look at him, and spoke in a hoarse voice, a shadow of what it once was.

‘What kept you, sweetie?’ she said.

Zak raised an eyebrow. ‘Ran into a couple of obstacles,’ he muttered.

‘Cruz?’

Zak frowned. ‘Won’t be bothering us any more. Nor will Calaca.’

‘Does Michael know you’re here?’

Zak looked her in the eye. ‘Michael’s dead. And Felix. And . . . and Malcolm. We’re on our own. No backup. No support.’

For the briefest moment, a look of unspeakable anguish crossed Gabs’s face. It was almost too much to bear. Zak glanced over at Raf, whose face was a mixture of anger and confusion. Then he looked down at the cable ties that bound their wrists and ankles. They were digging deeply into their skin – their wrists were bleeding. He pulled out the hunting knife he’d stolen from the cab driver’s car, and with four quick slashes cut through the plastic ties.

‘There are dogs and a sledge,’ Zak said abruptly. ‘It’s about a twenty-minute tab. Think you can make it?’

‘Only one way to find out,’ Gabs whispered with an unconvincing smile. ‘But we’d better move fast. If they find out we’re gone . . .’

Ricky nodded in agreement. Right then, however, Raf spoke.

‘Behind you,’ he breathed. His eyes flashed.

It was as Zak was spinning round, weapon engaged, that he heard the first burst of fire.

Ricky felt like the air had been punched from his lungs.

Three Russian soldiers had suddenly appeared at the entrance to the hangar. They were armed, and were advance. One of them barked an order. Ricky didn’t recognize the word he spoke, but he could definitely tell what it meant: ‘
Fire!
’

Time slowed down. As the Russian soldiers continued to advance, Zak’s mantra rebounded in his head: ‘
Nobody dies.
’

He angled his AK-47 down a few degrees and let rip a burst of fire. The sharp recoil caught him by surprise, but the rounds exploded onto the ground less than a metre from the soldiers’ feet. As sweat trickled stingingly into Ricky’s eyes, he saw the soldiers diving out of the way. The exit was clear. He didn’t know how long for.

‘Move!’ he roared, looking over his shoulder as he did so. He saw Zak standing up. His AK-47 was pressed expertly into his shoulder. The thought shot through Ricky’s mind that, for the first time since he’d known Zak, he looked like a fully-fledged adult. Not a kid any more.

Behind him were Raf and Gabs. To start with, they were still crouching on the ground. But slowly they rose, phoenix-like. They were beaten up, and in very bad shape, but there was something encouraging about the way they stood, flanking Zak. Raf had broad, muscular shoulders and a face like thunder. Gabs was slimmer and sleeker, but appeared, if anything, more dangerous. She was holding a pistol. Ricky recognized it as the red one. From his own snow jacket he withdrew the second handgun – the bulky old one Tyler had given them. Zak, Raf and Gabs moved forward in grim formation. Ricky handed the gun to Raf, who took it, cocked it, and held it – double-handed like Felix had taught him – in front of him.

They stood in a line – Raf, Ricky, Zak, Gabs – facing the open exit of the hangar. They could hear shouting outside.

‘Nobody dies,’ Zak said, his voice like steel.

‘Whatever you say, sweetie,’ Gabs croaked. ‘Rifles to semi-automatic. Fire.’

Ricky flicked the switch on his AK-47 and fired a single shot. At the same time there were three shots from his three companions. The rounds fell harmlessly at the mouth of the hangar, but the sound they made echoed loudly. Only an idiot would put themselves in that line of fire.

‘Forward,’ Raf said.

They advanced in a line, weapons engaged. Ricky’s eyes flickered left and right – he couldn’t help noticing that Raf and Gabs were both limping. Walking was clearly very painful for them.

Ten metres from the exit, they heard another surge of voices outside.

‘Fire!’ Gabs ordered.

A second set of bullets kept the exit clear. ‘We need to turn right and get up the hill,’ Zak said, his voice as taut as a wire.

‘I’ll cover you,’ Raf said.

Ricky turned to him. ‘Mate,’ he panted. ‘Are you sure you—’

He fell silent at a single glance from Raf. He might have been all messed up, but Ricky had never seen such a look of fierce intensity. ‘Yeah,’ Ricky muttered after a second. ‘You cover us.’

Raf moved forward into the doorway, where he automatically fell to one knee, the old firearm firmly in his double-handed grip. He took a moment to aim, then fired a single shot.

‘
Go!
’ Zak hissed.

Gabs surged forward, Ricky following, Zak bringing up the rear. As Raf fired a second covering shot, they swung quickly out of the hangar, turning hard right. From the corner of his eye, Ricky saw numerous figures on the landing zone. Too many to count. He lost sight of them as he followed Gabs round the corner of the hangar, but then he heard Zak, behind him, firing a burst from his AK-47 before he and Raf joined them.

Gabs, still in the lead, was limping heavily.

– She’ll never make it up the hill
, the voice in his head fretted.
And what if the dogs have gone? What, then?

Ricky ignored the voice. Looking over his shoulder he saw Raf and Zak. They were walking backwards, their guns pointing towards the front of the hangar. When a Russian soldier appeared fifteen metres from their position, Raf fired another single shot. Ricky caught a muzzle flash, and knew the round must have passed inches from the soldier – he shouted in alarm, then dived back behind the protection of the front of the hangar.

Ten seconds later, they were behind the hangar in a huddled group. Raf and Gabs were sweating profusely, their faces racked with pain. They looked toward the hill and its rocky, icy slope. It was surely obvious to everyone, Ricky thought, that the two adults would find it almost impossible to climb, in their state.

‘That way?’ Gabs asked quietly.

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Zak.

Gabs nodded. ‘Listen to me, you two,’ she said. ‘Whatever happens on that slope, you keep going. You’ve done enough already. You’ve got us out of that hangar – now it’s up to us to make it to your dogs. Your body’s going to hurt, but forget about that. This battle will be won in your head. If we all keep our mental toughness, we stand a chance. Understood?’

Neither Ricky nor Zak answered.

‘I said, under—’

‘We haven’t got time,’ Raf said grimly. ‘They’ll be swarming round us any minute. Move.’

They didn’t need any more encouragement. As a group, they sprinted towards the hillside, covering the twenty metres of open ground in as many seconds. Ricky expected to hear gunshot any moment. But it didn’t come. Not yet, anyway . . .

‘Go,’ Gabs hissed at the bottom of the hill. ‘Both of you go first. Don’t look back – we’ll cover you if we need to.’

There was no arguing with her. Ricky and Zak set off up the slope. Their feet slipped badly on the perilously icy rocks, and within thirty seconds Ricky’s lungs were burning with the effort of the climb. His AK-47 clattered hard against the rocks, and it was an effort just to carry it. But he didn’t dare discard the weapon. He might be needing it.

Ignoring Gabs’s instruction, Ricky looked over his shoulder. They’d ascended maybe fifteen metres. Only another twenty to go. Zak was alongside him, while Raf and Gabs were five or six metres behind. They were obviously struggling. Every movement seemed to be a colossal effort, and their faces were etched with pain and exhaustion. He allowed his eyes to move further down the slope. A confused look crossed his face.

‘Why aren’t they chasing us?’ he gasped breathlessly at Zak. ‘What’s going on?’

Zak stopped and looked back. He frowned. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I don’t like it.’

‘Keep going!’ Raf shouted from behind them. ‘They’re planning something. We need to get under cover.
Go!
’

Ricky suppressed a shiver of panic. He faced back up the hill and redoubled his efforts. But it was like a nightmare – the faster he moved his limbs, the slower he seemed to go. He fixed his gaze on the brow of the hill, willing it to come closer, expecting any moment to hear the sickening retort of gunfire that meant they were being fired upon.

Ten metres from the ridge, however, he heard a very different sound.