She felt exposed, naked, vulnerable. She felt as if she was lying on the floor of that shower room again, unable to move, unable to protect herself …
No!
Survival instinct took over. She turned to flee, then hesitated, not knowing which way she had come. She was overwhelmed by the chaos around her. She couldn’t see properly. She was tall for a woman, but there were men everywhere, many of them far taller than herself. Together they formed a wall of flesh and bone and bright clothing that she couldn’t see over. She couldn’t see the exit.
You have to get out!
Get out now!
Then, suddenly, a figure emerged from the blurred mass around her. Not some impatient shopper eager to push past or a gawking teenager, but a man who knew her, who recognised and understood her fear.
She felt Drake’s hand on her arm and didn’t resist as he steered her towards the exit.
‘It’s all right,’ he said quietly as they walked. ‘I’m here.’
For the first time in a long time, she felt as if she wanted to cry. She was frightened, confused and lost. More than that, she was angry. Angry at Drake for bringing her to this place, angry at him for helping her and making her feel as though she needed it, angry at the people around her who crowded in so close, angry at herself for being so weak and afraid.
‘I need some air,’ she whispered, not trusting herself to say more.
Drake felt like shit. He should have known better than to drag her into a place like that. The poor woman had been living in virtual isolation for four years – she should have been in therapy, not fighting through crowded shopping malls.
Most of the time she acted so implacable and confident, it was easy to forget what she had been through. But even she had her limits, and he’d just pushed her beyond them.
You fucking idiot. She could have lost it, could have killed someone.
She was sitting in the passenger seat, her head lowered and her eyes closed, stray tendrils of blonde hair whipped up by the breeze. She hadn’t said a word since they’d left the mall and returned to the car.
Now they were heading south on a quiet coastal road, the hustle and bustle of the thronging town behind them. To their left, the shimmering waters of the Atlantic stretched off to the horizon, the endless rolling waves marred only by the occasional yacht or surfer.
‘Anya, I’m … sorry,’ he began. ‘I should have realised—’
‘Realised what?’ she snapped, raising her head to glare at him. ‘Realised that I’m weak and pathetic? That I can’t even stand to walk through a damned shopping mall?’ She blinked and looked away, tossing her head to move a loose lock of wind-blown hair out of her eyes.
‘You’re not weak. Believe me, you’re not.’
‘Then what am I, Drake?’ she asked, her voice trembling. ‘I can kill a man with my bare hands, go home and fall asleep without regrets. But walking down a
crowded
street leaves me shaking like a frightened child. What does that make me?’
Without waiting for an answer, she glanced out the window again. ‘Stop the car.’
‘What?’
‘I said stop the car, Drake!’ she snapped.
Slowing, he found a convenient lay-by and pulled over. They were on a largely unpopulated stretch of road, with just the occasional beach-front condo to the north and south. The vast swathe of white sand before them was almost devoid of people.
Anya wasted no time. As soon as they came to a halt, she threw open her door and got out. She was off, striding toward the beach with fast, purposeful strides. She didn’t look back.
‘Where are you going?’ Drake called after her.
She didn’t reply.
Chapter 44
VAST, PRISTINE WHITE
sand stretched from horizon to horizon, its perfection marred only by the occasional pier or breakwater. Anya could feel the sand between her toes – another novel sensation – as she strode down towards the waterfront.
A light breeze blew in off the ocean, warm and salty, pushing her hair back from her face. She closed her eyes and inhaled deep, just allowing the wind to blow past her.
She headed north, walking with no particular goal or objective. She wasn’t trying to get anywhere, she just wanted to be alone with her thoughts.
But as she walked, her pace quickened almost of its own volition, as if her legs were working independent of her mind. Before she knew it, her aimless walk had turned into a steady jog, which in turn gave way to an all-out sprint.
She ran, feet pounding the sand, muscles bunching and releasing, lungs greedily sucking in gasps of air. She ran, not caring where she was going. The tension, the nervous energy, the adrenalin that had coursed through her veins in the shopping mall had at last found an outlet.
She ran until she could run no further.
When she at last staggered to a halt, breathless and exhausted, heart pounding, she had left Drake and the car far behind.
She was alone. For the first time since this all began, she was alone.
Lowering herself onto the sand, she leaned back and stared up at the sky. It was a beautiful, clear evening, the sun starting its descent towards the western horizon and lending the few high, wispy clouds a pinkish tinge.
It was quiet here. She couldn’t hear cellphones or music or car engines or inane chatter or any of the countless other sounds she found irritating and even frightening.
All she could make out was the deep, vibrant roar of waves breaking against the shore, the sigh of her own breathing and the strong, steady beat of her heart. She was alone on an endless beach, staring up into the infinite sky.
How many nights did you lie awake dreaming of this? How many times did you force it away, telling yourself it would never happen? How many times did you want to cry with frustration in that tiny cell, holding it back, refusing to give in?
It was over now. Whatever else happened, she would never again go back to that place, or any like it. She would die first.
Weakness will not be in my heart. Fear will not be in my creed
.
Fear. She had felt it today, stronger than she ever imagined.
In that shopping mall today, she had felt like the little girl she had been Before, the little girl she could barely remember as herself. She had felt frightened, panicked, lost and alone.
She had promised herself she would never feel like that again, would never permit weakness or fear into her mind. Her mask of self-control had been her armour.
It
had protected her from the horrific things she had seen and done in her long life, it had allowed her to stay sane in an insane world.
But it was a heavy burden to carry, and she was tired.
How did it come to this?
I did everything that was asked of me. Everything. Is this my reward?
To stand when all others have fallen. Alone. Scared. Lost.
A soldier without a war. A patriot without a country. A life without meaning.
Giving in at last, she squeezed her eyes shut as tears flowed from them. She cried for everything she had lost, for everything she had done and all that had been done to her, for all the mistakes and the regrets, for all the sacrifices and pain.
She cried, and no one saw her.
She felt different when she at last returned to the car. Lighter, somehow. She had discarded something she’d been carrying with her for a long time, and it felt good.
Drake was waiting for her, sitting propped against the side of the car. Honouring her request, he had stayed behind, giving her the time she needed. She didn’t even know how long she’d been gone, but the sun was closer to the horizon than it had been when she’d left.
She sat down beside him, both of them staring out across the glinting waves in silence. There were things she wanted to say, but she wasn’t sure how to begin.
‘How do you feel?’ Drake asked, as if sensing her difficulty.
She thought about it for a few seconds. ‘Better.’
‘I’m sorry for putting you through that, Anya. It was stupid to go there.’
She shook her head. ‘I wasn’t angry at you.’
He said nothing. That was one thing she appreciated about him. He spoke when he had something to say, and he knew when to shut up and let the other person talk.
‘I know I must be … difficult,’ she said, groping for the right words. ‘I know your life has been made harder because of me. But if it means anything, I’m grateful for the things you’ve done.’ She sighed and looked down for a moment. ‘It might sound stupid, but you are probably the closest thing I have left to a friend, Drake.’
He turned to look at her then, saw the same look in her eyes that he’d caught a glimpse of on the flight back from Russia.
He smiled gently. ‘It doesn’t sound stupid.’
They sat together in companionable silence as the waves rolled in off the sea and the occasional car droned past on the road. Neither spoke, because neither had anything to say.
And that was all right with them.
The mood was finally broken when Drake’s phone chimed, notifying him of an incoming email. He passed the phone to her.
Anya’s heart leapt. It was a message from Typhoon.
‘He’s still alive.’
Drake leaned in close as she opened the email. To his surprise, there was no message as such, just a hyperlink to a website.
‘What do you think?’ For some reason he found himself aware of the warmth from her skin, the closeness of their bodies, the faint tang of salt in her hair.
She glanced at him, then back at the screen. ‘Only one way to find out.’
She clicked on the link, but to Drake’s disappointment it returned a blank window with a
Page Not Found
error
message
. Whatever was on that website, it seemed they were unable to read it.
‘Maybe it’s not compatible with the phone.’
Anya shook her head. She was smiling. ‘No. This is a little trick of his – a test, to make sure I am who I say I am. This screen is the password.’
He frowned. ‘I don’t understand. There’s nothing there.’
‘Yes, there is, if you know where to look.’ Manipulating the phone’s fiddly tracker ball, she highlighted the
n
in
Found
and clicked on it.
Straight away the error message disappeared and they were transported to a new page. It looked like a dialogue box used in the old Internet chat rooms of ten years ago.
Clever man, Drake thought. Most people finding an error like that would have dismissed it as a broken link and navigated away. Only someone who knew where to look could find the way in.
An automated message appeared:
Connecting with host
…
‘He will know we are online,’ Anya explained. ‘In my day it would have sent an email to his computer, but now I imagine it has messaged his cellphone.’
Sure enough, thirty seconds later the status changed:
Host is online
.
Typhoon, whoever he was, wasted no time on greetings.
Host:
PASSWORD
.
Guest: EUPHRATES.
For the next several seconds, nothing happened. Then, at last, Typhoon seemed to accept that she was who she claimed to be.
Host:
WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN???
Face tight with concentration, Anya set to work on
her
reply. This was a delicate task. If she said the wrong thing, she could lose him for good.
Guest: I WAS ARRESTED BEFORE OUR MEET. RUSSIANS – FSB. HAVE BEEN IN PRISON FOR FOUR YEARS.
Host:
HOW DID YOU GET OUT?
Guest: CIA BROUGHT ME HOME. AM WORKING AGAIN.
Host:
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
Guest: TO FINISH WHAT WE STARTED. CAN YOU HELP ME?
This was a critical moment. If she couldn’t convince Typhoon to help them, it was over.
Host:
YOU LET ME DOWN
.
Guest: I HAVE NOT LIED TO YOU, AND I WILL NOT.
Host:
THE WORLD HAS CHANGED SINCE WE LAST SPOKE
…
Guest: BUT I HAVE NOT. NEITHER HAS MY OFFER. HELP ME, AND I WILL HELP YOU.
Host:
YOU WILL HONOUR OUR AGREEMENT IN FULL?
Guest: YES.
Host:
HOW DO I KNOW I CAN TRUST YOU?
Guest: YOU DO NOT. BUT I AM YOUR ONLY HOPE, AS YOU ARE MINE.
There was no reply for some time. Drake couldn’t blame him for being hesitant. He’d be doing the same thing in Typhoon’s position – pondering whether or not she was telling the truth, whether it was worth the risk.
Then, at last, it came.
Host:
IF YOU’RE STILL IN, THEN SO AM I. MEET ME IN IRAQ. I WILL GIVE YOU MORE INSTRUCTIONS WHEN YOU CROSS THE BORDER. FOR YOUR SAKE, I HOPE YOU KEEP YOUR WORD THIS TIME
.
Guest: FOR ALL OUR SAKES, I HOPE YOU KEEP YOURS. I AM LOOKING FORWARD TO MEETING YOU.
The dialogue box changed again:
Host is now offline.
Handing the phone to Drake, Anya leaned back, closed her eyes and sighed with relief. ‘He will meet us.’
Drake didn’t quite share her sense of jubilation. ‘Great. Now all we need is enough money for a flight to the Middle East, a couple of passports and a way to slip over the Iraqi border undetected.’
Anya smiled at him. ‘Come. We have work to do.’
Chapter 45
JESSICA COUGHED, HOT
stifling air and dust irritating her throat. The heat in her tiny concrete cell was unbelievable; never in her life had she experienced anything like it. The very air seemed to radiate heat. There was no escape from it.
She wiped a forearm across her brow, slick with sweat. Her clothes, the same ones she’d been wearing when they snatched her, were stained and grimy. She’d been given nothing else to wear, and no opportunity to wash.
Over and over she replayed that terrifying moment when her safe, secure world had been torn apart. Walking to her car after staying late at work, she had heard footsteps on the concrete behind. She hadn’t questioned it. She wasn’t a woman prone to jumping at people just going about their business, or tensing if she passed a man while out walking alone.