As he walked away, Dietrich closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His head was pounding and his leg throbbing.
‘Fucking rednecks,’ he mumbled in German.
Anya’s mood was somewhere between elation and trepidation at the thought of making contact with Typhoon again. She had risked everything to find this man four years ago, and had paid a heavy price for it. She had no wish to repeat the experience.
Yet the secrets he held just might make it worth her trouble.
The moment Drake mentioned him, an idea had begun to form in her mind; an idea spurred on by her desperate desire to claw back what she had lost. It was the same reason she had abandoned her fruitless mission in Afghanistan to pursue Typhoon four years ago, the same reason she had risked her career and her very life on a desperate gamble.
Redemption.
Her standing within the Agency had suffered greatly after the debacle with Munro, and the conflict that had torn her unit apart. Indeed, she had grown so disgusted with the whole affair that she resigned her position
and
disbanded what remained of Task Force Black, spending almost a year in virtual isolation while brooding on her mistakes.
Only the September 11 attacks and the subsequent US-led invasion of Afghanistan had been enough to lure her out of her self-imposed exile. But even then, she’d known she would never regain the prominence she’d once held, would never stand as high as she had on the eve of Munro’s treachery.
The chance to find proof of Iraqi weapons of mass destruction had seemed like just the boon she needed to rebuild her reputation, to redeem herself in Cain’s eyes and prove she was still an asset to the Agency.
She had lost that chance once, yet here it was again.
It was part of the reason she had accompanied Drake this far. She could have escaped a dozen times already, taken him hostage or even killed him with ease. Instead she had chosen to stay with him, knowing he could lead her to Munro. He might even be useful in finding Typhoon.
If she delivered both Munro and Typhoon, perhaps, just perhaps, she could return to the Agency on her own terms. Perhaps she could serve again.
‘Tell me about Munro,’ Drake said.
Anya blinked. She was back in the cheap motel room again, and such dreams were, for the moment, far away. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘What really happened between you two?’
She flashed a grim smile. ‘I thought Cain told you already.’
‘I got his version. I was interested in hearing yours.’ He took a sip of beer. ‘How did you meet him?’
She sighed, thinking back to a time in her life when things had been very different. ‘I recruited him,’ she began.
‘My
unit was short on manpower, and Cain kept pressuring me to bring in new operatives. I was against it. I didn’t want to bring in outsiders, but … Cain persuaded me. So I chose a few candidates, and one of the men I picked was Munro.’
Even now she could still picture Munro the first day she’d met him. He had been lined up alongside the half-dozen other candidates in a training hall in Camp Peary, Virginia, known within the Agency as the Farm.
Young, eager, and perhaps a little full of himself, he’d had an infectious grin and a natural charisma that others seemed to respond to.
‘Most of the others fell away during selection, but not Munro. He took everything I could throw at him and kept going. I had never seen a more dedicated soldier.’
She had gone through the same gruelling selection process a decade earlier, had endured every attempt to break her and force her to quit, and emerged stronger for it.
Wary of showing favouritism, she’d gone even harder on him, determined to test his mettle. But still he wouldn’t give in.
His perseverance had earned him the one thing that so few others had ever gained – her respect. She had sensed a kindred spirit in the young man called Dominic Munro, and knew then that she wanted him in her unit.
‘He was a brilliant tactician, a gifted soldier, an excellent operative in every way. He understood people and how to bring out the best in them. I taught him everything I could, and he never let me down. He helped bring more men in, oversaw their training, made sure they were put in roles where they excelled. Within a few years, Task Force Black had become more than just a paramilitary unit. We had our own intelligence resources,
our
own supply and logistics. And after a while, we even had our own funding.’
Drake frowned. ‘So what went wrong?’
‘I made two mistakes. I trusted Munro, and I trusted the Agency,’ she admitted. ‘By the end of the decade, Task Force Black had become so large and complex that it took all my time just to keep it running. I started to rely more and more on Munro to plan and carry out operations. I gave him free rein, and he used it.’
She swallowed, facing up to it at last.
‘I suppose that was when it started. The newer crop of recruits were trained and led by Munro. They were loyal to him, and him alone. Some of them even began to question why I was still in command. As for the others, they began to think I had abandoned them, that I didn’t care any more. If I hadn’t been so distracted, I would have realised it was starting to come apart.
‘I was back at Langley when Munro contacted me in the middle of an operation in Bosnia. He told me he needed to speak urgently, so I agreed to meet him in Sarajevo. That was when he tried to have me killed.’ She shook her head, remembering the horrific ambush on her vehicle as she drove through the muddy pine forests near the Bosnian capital. ‘My own men, the soldiers I had led into battle myself, and they tried to murder me. They almost succeeded.
’I couldn’t believe he would do such a thing. Not Dominic. But there was no denying it. He had planned it for a long time, carefully placing men loyal to him in key positions all throughout the task force, ready to act the moment he gave the order. He was trying to stage a coup.’ Even now she still felt the aching, gut-wrenching pain of his betrayal. ‘He assumed I was dead,
and
he ordered anyone still loyal to me to be arrested or shot. But I survived, and I managed to track him down.’
With tears in her eyes, she looked down at the broken, bleeding man lying on the ground at her feet. Their fight had been short but brutal, with no quarter asked or given
.
She had fought with a savagery that none could withstand, breaking bones, slashing flesh and tearing muscles without mercy
.
Around them, the woods were quiet, a faint mist drifting between the ancient boles. The air smelled of pine needles and damp soil. It reminded her of another place; a place she had left behind in another life
.
How many of her comrades were dying at this very moment? Men who had served with her since the beginning, now spread all across the world. How many were fighting for their very lives?
Everything she had worked so hard to build, everything she had sacrificed so much for was being torn apart. Because of this man
.
‘I trusted you, Dominic,’ she said, her voice an agonised rasp as she watched his feeble attempts to rise. He was struggling to draw breath as broken ribs pressed against his lungs. ‘I trusted you.’
Anger welled up inside her like a tide. Kicking him in the chest, she sent him sprawling on his back
.
The knife was in her hands before she knew it, the blade eager and gleaming as she knelt atop him, pressing her knee into his throat
.
‘You took everything I had left,’ she said through gritted teeth, ignoring his pathetic, desperate efforts to push her off. ‘Look at me, Dominic! Look at me, and see what you’ve done.’
His ragged gasps for breath soon turned to agonised screams
as
she went to work with that keen blade, carving out one eye while the other stared at her, pleading for mercy
.
She had none left in her
.
‘I let him live,’ she said at last. ‘Even then, I couldn’t bring myself to kill him. But I wanted him to remember me, remember what he’d done.’
Drake had been watching her in silence as she related her grim tale. ‘What happened to the rest of your unit?’
‘Most of the newer recruits were loyal to Munro, or were made to believe I was the enemy. But those who had been with me since the start refused to join him. The two factions fought, and the entire task force almost tore itself apart in a single night. When it was over, only a handful of us survived. I left the Agency soon afterward.’ She exhaled slowly. ‘I was finished.’
She looked at Drake again. ‘It was my fault, Drake. I made a mistake when I let him live, but I won’t make the same mistake twice.’
They spoke little after that. Both were tired and occupied with their own thoughts, and it wasn’t long before Drake’s turned to sleep.
He had no idea how long it had been since he’d slept. His body clock was thoroughly ruined after crossing countless time zones, but he did know he was exhausted.
‘You should get some sleep,’ she remarked, as if sensing his thoughts.
‘I don’t need it.’
‘Yes, you do. Lying is not one of your skills, Drake.’
He frowned, irritated that she seemed so sure about everything. She was right, of course, but he had no intention of going to sleep before her. He didn’t trust her enough for that.
Standing up, he tossed a couple of pillows down on
the
carpet by the door. With a little luck, the hard floor would keep him awake for a while.
‘You can have the bed. Don’t say I never give you anything.’
To his surprise, she shook her head. ‘I prefer the floor.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘I have lived most of my life without a bed. I’m too old to start now.’ She offered a faint smile. ‘But I appreciate the gesture.’
Feeling guilty and self-conscious, Drake sat down on the hard, lumpy mattress and pulled the Glock out of his jeans. He’d kept the weapon with him throughout the day, chambered and ready to fire, partly in case they ran into trouble, and partly as a deterrent against Anya trying to escape.
Keeping a wary eye on her, he laid the weapon down gently on the bedside table. Anya watched him, and smiled in amusement at his suspicious glance.
‘I don’t intend to shoot you in your sleep.’
‘How comforting,’ he remarked, peeling off his T-shirt. He couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath as the heavy bruising across his shoulder made its presence felt.
Anya saw it too, and stared a moment too long at the discoloured flesh. ‘You’re hurt.’
He flashed a weak smile. ‘It happened when we parachuted into your prison. A close encounter of the air-vent kind.’
‘I did not know.’ She sounded almost touched by his admission.
He shrugged. ‘It goes with the job. I’ve had worse.’
Saying nothing further, she settled herself on the floor near the bathroom. A single pillow was her only nod to comfort.
Lying back with his arms behind his head, Drake stared
up
at a cobweb hanging from the light fixture overhead, drifting slowly back and forth on some unseen air current. The Artex ceiling, once white, was yellowed with age and cigarette smoke.
‘Typical. Your first night of freedom, and it’s in a place that makes my house look like the Savoy.’
Her voice was soft and quiet when she replied.
‘Most nights in Khatyrgan, I would have killed every man in the prison to be where I am now. It is warm, I can move around, talk when I want. There is food and clean water. I can walk outside and breathe the night air. I can fall asleep without worrying about being raped when I wake up. It is good here.’
Drake sighed. ‘How did you … do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘Survive. Stay sane.’
‘The same way I have always survived – by shutting it out. Keeping a part of myself untouched no matter what happened.’ He heard her faint exhalation of breath. ‘They could do what they wanted to my body. I couldn’t stop them, but my mind was my own. They could never control that.’
He doubted he could have endured what she had.
‘I didn’t mean it, you know,’ he said at last.
She sat up to look at him. ‘Mean what?’
‘What I said earlier, about wishing you were still there. I didn’t. Nobody deserves that place.’
She looked genuinely surprised. ‘Not even me?’
‘I don’t know your history, but I know you’re still here.’ He raised himself up on one elbow to look at her. ‘That has to count for something.’
Anya said nothing, though she held his gaze for several seconds, and he saw that same fleeting look of sadness and vulnerability he’d seen on the flight back from Russia.
When she laid her head down on the pillow again, he did likewise. For the next couple of minutes he heard nothing, just the faint hum of the air conditioner and the sound of his own breathing, until his mind at last surrendered to sleep.
Chapter 42
Drake watched as the windshield disintegrated in slow motion, thousands of tiny spiderweb cracks spreading outward from each point of impact. Miniature fragments blew outward in lazy arcs, drifting like snow in front of his eyes
.
And beyond it, he caught a glimpse of blue dress, dark hair and wide, pleading eyes
.
DRAKE AWOKE WITH
a start, instinctively reaching for the weapon beside his bed. He wasn’t thinking rationally, his mind still caught somewhere in the nightmarish world that had assailed him.
But instead of closing around the cold, rough grip of the Glock, his fingers found only the flat tabletop.
‘Looking for something?’
His head snapped around. Anya was standing over by the door, light from the rising sun peeking through gaps in the blinds behind her. She held the Glock in a loose, easy grip.
Drake felt his throat tightening as he stared at the weapon. She could do anything she wanted. She could shoot him dead and he could do nothing to stop her.
She stared back at him, her eyes still shining faintly with that same predatory look he had seen in Khatyrgan, as if she could sense his fear and relished it.