Betrayal (62 page)

And then, just like that, his doubts vanished.

‘I was starting to wonder if you would make it,’ a woman’s voice admonished him. ‘You’re out of shape, Ryan.’

Drake closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a breath, trying to calm himself. He could feel his hands shaking, could hear the pounding of the pulse in his ears.

It was her. Somehow, it was her.

Opening his eyes, he turned around, finding himself face to face with Anya. She was dressed in a long overcoat, her eyes shining in the glow of the floodlights illuminating the monument behind. Focused on him.

Drake took a step towards her. Small, almost tentative, as if she were a mirage that might vanish suddenly before his eyes.

Saying nothing, he reached out and gently ran a hand down her cheek, as if to assure himself she was real and solid. Her skin was warm and soft to his touch, and unlike before she made no move to stop him. He saw her eyes close, felt the warmth of her breath on the palm of his hand.

It was too much for him. Taking another step forwards, he threw his arms around her and pulled her into a tight, almost painful embrace, burying his face in her neck. He could feel the strong, steady rhythm of her pulse, could smell the scent of her hair, could hear her intake of breath. Her arms were around him, every ounce of her strength pulling him close as if to make him part of her.

Almost without him knowing it, he felt the sting of hot tears in his eyes.

‘I thought I’d lost you,’ he said, his voice nothing but a ragged whisper.

‘I know. I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m sorry.’ There was a tremble, a tension in her voice that he’d never heard before. She was holding on, but only through great effort. ‘But I had to do it. There was no other way to get to him.’

‘Surovsky?’

He felt rather than saw her nod. ‘He won’t trouble you again.’

Surovsky hadn’t disappeared. Anya had made him disappear. She had gone through all of this, had risked her life, had made herself a wanted terrorist, all to confront the man who had tried to kill her.

Regaining some sense of composure, he pulled away so he could look at her properly. For perhaps the first time since he’d met her, he saw real remorse in her eyes.

‘Was it true, what Kamarov told me about you?’ he asked. ‘That you were sent to America by … him?’

He saw her eyes open wider in surprise for a moment, though it soon gave way to resigned acceptance. She swallowed and nodded, admitting it at last. ‘I was young, angry, frustrated. Surovsky offered me a way out. He promised me a new life, a life with purpose, and I took it. It wasn’t until later that I realised the kind of man I had sold my soul to.’

‘Why didn’t you trust me?’ The look in his eyes reflected the depth of his emotion, the fear and doubt and anger he had felt since all this started. All of it needless. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Anya met his gaze and replied as only she could: honestly and without reservation. ‘I have trusted people before, and it has not ended well for me. And … I didn’t want you to know the truth about me. This was something I wanted … something I
needed
to do alone.’

He understood. In some part of his mind, he understood the suffering Surovsky had inflicted on her, the damage he had done that could never be repaired. The man’s legacy was a festering wound in Anya’s soul, and only she could heal it.

Drake sighed and released his hold on her. Despite all the years of danger and conflict she had seen, despite the countless times she had risked her life, there still remained that small part of her that doubted herself, that was afraid to show itself for fear of being destroyed.

‘So what now? Surovsky’s dead. Everyone thinks
you’re
dead.’ As far as he could see, there was only one conclusion to draw. ‘It’s over.’

‘No,’ she said, her gaze hardening. ‘There is still one man left. The man at the centre of it all. And he will answer for the things he did.’

Drake felt his heart sink. That man was Marcus Cain, once Anya’s mentor, her confidant, her guide and her closest friend. Now he was one of the most powerful and influential men in the Agency, and likely to become the next director before too long.

This had all started with Cain last year. He was the one who had first enlisted Drake to bring Anya home. He was the one who had turned Anya’s former protégé against her, who had sacrificed innocent lives to cover up his own mistakes. He was the one who now held a sword over Drake’s head, and was just waiting for a chance to bring it down.

It had started with Cain, and it would end with him. Anya would make sure of it. She wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t relent, wouldn’t give up until she had completed her final mission.

‘It seems he is our common enemy,’ she went on. ‘He would kill you just as readily as he would kill me. But together, we might—’

‘No,’ Drake interrupted her, his tone hard and uncompromising. ‘Not like this.’

Anya frowned, taken aback by his flat refusal. ‘What do you mean?’

‘We can’t keep doing this, Anya.
I
can’t keep doing this – you holding all the cards and me kept in the dark. You almost got me and my team killed twice over. I can’t and won’t let that happen again. If you want my help, if you want to work with me, then we do it as equals. No more secrets, no more lies. If you can’t give me that, walk away now.’

He’d had to say it. Even if it meant parting ways with Anya right here, right now. Even if he never saw her again, he had to make her understand what was at stake. Risking his own life was one thing, but the lives of his team, of his friends, was something Drake would never compromise on.

The woman said nothing for several seconds. She looked genuinely surprised by his ultimatum, but as he held her gaze that surprise gradually gave way, replaced instead by dawning acceptance and respect.

And at last he saw a flicker of a smile.

‘All right,’ she conceded. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

A sudden flash of red light caught Drake’s attention, and he turned right to look out over the Tidal Basin. The annual fireworks display had started, hundreds of rockets, mortars and barrages exploding over the capital in a blaze of colour and thunderous explosions.

A new year had just dawned. Drake couldn’t help wondering what it held for all of them. And yet, for the first time since his return from Russia, he now looked towards it with a sense of hope.

They would find a way, he knew. They would find a way through this. If he and Anya worked together as they should have done all along, nothing could stop them.

‘Happy New Year, Anya,’ he said quietly, tearing his eyes off the spectacular display to look at the woman by his side.

But she wasn’t there. She had already left, just as silent and unnoticed as she had arrived. Drake smiled in amusement; old habits died hard, it seemed.

But he would see her again; that much he knew.

And when the time came, he would be ready.

Marcus Cain sat alone in the living room of his spacious private residence with a glass of Highland Park whisky by his side, watching the distant fireworks display without enthusiasm. His thoughts were turned inwards as he reflected on the events of the past few days.

Drake had played his part surprisingly well, he thought. The man remained a danger to him, but a danger that he could control and manipulate. His concern for Anya, his loyalty to his friends, his willingness to risk everything for what he considered right – those were qualities that were easy to play against. Cain had long since learned how to turn men’s strengths against them.

That was why he had allowed Drake to carry out his ill-conceived plan to go chasing halfway around the world in search of Anya. That was why he’d seen to it that Drake wasn’t officially prosecuted for violating Agency protocols, and why the man was still free to move around instead of being locked in a 6x8 cell. That was the reason he’d made no serious attempt to recapture Anya since her escape from Iraq the previous year.

Because of Drake’s actions, Viktor Surovsky was now dead. And so was Richard Carpenter, Cain’s former associate who had become the shadowy head of a private military company waging a dirty war in Afghanistan. Both men had been thorns in his side for far too long, both had the ability to undo everything he’d worked for, and both had to be eliminated.

Anya, always the perfect soldier, had done her duty without fail.

Cain was under no illusions about her supposed ‘death’. He’d played that game long enough to sense a deception, and had guessed her plan the moment he’d read the reports from that warehouse in Moscow. She had faked it, allowing her to get close to Surovsky so she could kill him.

Clever. Rather obvious, but clever all the same.

And now that their work was almost done, it was time to dispose of Drake and Anya.

He heard the bleep of his phone, and reached over for it.

‘Yeah?’ he said, his voice betraying a hint of weariness now. It was late, and this was his third whisky.

‘It’s me,’ a female voice said. ‘You were right about Drake. He was the one who exposed Surovsky. He had the videos hidden inside the chess piece.’

‘I see.’ It was always satisfying to have a suspicion confirmed. ‘And he doesn’t suspect you?’

‘He trusts me,’ she confirmed – not without a hint of regret, he noted. He would be mindful of that when using her in future. ‘I made sure of it.’

‘Good. Then we’ll keep an eye on him. If I’m right, she’ll make her move soon.’

‘And when she does?’

‘Then we’ll be ready.’ Cain reached for his whisky and took a sip, relishing the rich, peaty flavour. ‘And when this is over, I’ll make sure you’re rewarded.’

She said nothing to that; another indication that she was far from pleased to be part of this. ‘I have to go now.’

‘I understand.’ He was about to lay the phone down when a thought occurred. ‘Oh, and one more thing. Happy New Year, Samantha.’

She hung up without further comment.

Sighing, Cain took another sip of his whisky. He couldn’t help thinking of the game of chess which Atayev had been so preoccupied with. Both Cain and Anya had made their opening moves, had committed and sacrificed pieces to gain position, each constantly trying to discern the thoughts of the other.

And now at last they were approaching the decisive moment – the endgame. Each was a skilled player in his or her own way, but there could be only one winner. And Cain had been playing this game for a very long time.

He would await Anya’s next move. And when it came, he would be ready.

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Published by Arrow Books 2014

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Copyright © 2014 by Will Jordan

Will Jordan has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

First published in Great Britain in 2013 by
Arrow Books
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ISBN 9780099574484