Deception Game (22 page)

Drake thought to say more on the matter, but quickly silenced such a notion. There were more important things to deal with now.

Instead he focussed on the woman they were dragging between them, presumably Sowan’s wife. She was wearing a nightgown that was partially torn by her previous struggles. It was hard to tell from the angle and poor lighting conditions, but he guessed her age as late thirties. Long raven-black hair hung in a dishevelled mass around her face, while blood from numerous cuts – no doubt a by-product of the grenade – glistened in the wan light of their flashlights.

‘Talk to me, Monarch,’ he heard Frost call over the radio, the tension in her voice obvious. ‘It’s getting real lonely down here.’

‘Monarch,’ Drake replied, knowing all too well how she must be feeling. ‘Tango down. All units green. We’re evaccing now. Any activity outside?’

‘No, but their comms net is going ape-shit. My guess is we’ve got a couple of minutes at best before they bring down holy hell on this place.’

Drake had reached a similar conclusion already. Private security in the nearby houses didn’t concern him – they’d be interested only in safeguarding their own clients – but Libyan police and field teams from the Mukhabarat were almost certainly being vectored in right now. It was only a matter of time before they locked this place down.

‘Copy that. Get ready to move. As soon as we're downstairs, get outside and cover the main gate. Call out if you see anything.’

‘What about the van?’

Drake considered it only for a moment. The van that had brought them here was slow and unreliable, completely unsuited to the kind of fast exit they now needed. But if his hunch was right, the solution to that problem might well be close at hand.

It had better be, otherwise they were royally fucked.

‘It’s too far away. Just cover our exit. We’re coming down now.’

‘Copy that. Overwatch, out.’

Leaving Frost to it, Drake turned to McKnight. If anyone could secure them the means of escape they needed, she could. ‘The garage outside.’

He didn’t have to say anything more. ‘On it.’

As the woman darted off down the corridor, Drake hooked an arm under Sowan’s wife and together with Mason carried her down to the main hallway.

‘I’m sorry, Ryan. I had to make the call,’ Mason said as they descended the stairs, supporting the woman with some difficulty. The anguish in his voice made it plain he blamed himself for what was happening.

Drake shook his head. He understood why the man was so cut up – nobody wanted to be the one who let the team down. Mason in particular had only recently returned to active field-duty after a lengthy period of convalescence, and no doubt still felt he had to prove himself. But Drake had known Cole Mason long enough to trust the man’s decisions at times like this.

‘It happens, mate. We’ll deal with it.’

Mason said nothing.

As McKnight had expected, the door to the big double garage outside was securely locked. She had neither a key nor the time to search for one, but a single round from her silenced automatic was enough to solve that particular problem.

Hauling the door up and over, she found herself facing into a large, well-ordered garage whose exacting attention to detail reminded her of a military barracks. A small workshop had been set up in one corner, racks of tools and spare parts neatly stacked on the workbench.

And in the centre of the open space, gleaming black and spotless in the wan light filtering in from outside, was the big, imposing form of a Toyota Land Cruiser. The kind of powerful four-wheel drive that was favoured by CIA and FBI field teams back home for its rugged practicality and ability to blend in with civilian traffic.

Wasting no time, she hurried towards it and went to work.

Sowan was lying where Drake had left him, hands and feet bound with cable ties, moaning softly into the gag that had been placed in his mouth. There was an ugly dark bruise near his temple, and a little blood had seeped from a gash just above his hairline to pool on the white tiles beneath him, but the injury was unlikely to be life-threatening. Drake had deliberately checked his force, but even so it was a relief to see him beginning to stir. Knocking people unconscious was far from an exact science, and the last thing he needed was for Sowan to die from a cerebral haemorrhage before they could interrogate him.

Death would come later, when he’d given them everything there was to give.

Setting the woman down beside her husband, Drake went to work restraining her in similar fashion. She’d caused enough trouble already; he wasn’t taking any chances.

‘We taking her with us?’ Mason asked, watching him.

‘We might need her,’ he said, without meeting his friend’s gaze.

He hadn’t explicitly acknowledged it yet, but in some part of his mind he knew that the man’s wife might be useful in getting him to talk if he wasn’t feeling cooperative. After all, he had risked his life to warn her of their presence. Everyone had their weakness, and she might well be his.

‘I saw Sowan’s office upstairs,’ he said, concentrating instead on matters at hand. ‘Gather any intel you can carry. Phones, computers, anything we can use later.’

As Mason hurried back up the stairs, Drake’s earpiece buzzed with an incoming transmission. ‘All units, Overwatch. We’ve got company inbound.’

Drake crept over to the front door, drawing his automatic once more. Easing the door open, he surveyed the open space beyond. There was no sign of activity save for Frost crouched in the shadows near the main gate, but he did hear something carrying towards him on the night breeze. A distant wail, rising and falling slowly in pitch.

Police sirens.

It had been a while since McKnight had been obliged to hotwire a car, but it was a skill that was taught to all Shepherd operatives as part of their selection process. After all, operating without support in hostile environments, there was no telling what means they might have to resort to in order to escape pursuit.

Lying on her back in the driver’s foot well, the door sill digging uncomfortably into the small of her back, she unsheathed her field knife and used it to pry open the access panel at the base of the steering column. Inside were neatly bound bundles of wires of various colours, two of which needed to be severed and manually spliced together to complete the car’s ignition circuit, causing the engine to start. It was a difficult and complex task at the best of times, not helped by the desperate urgency of the situation.

Having come from a career in explosive-ordnance disposal, McKnight was no stranger to working with delicate electronics under pressure, but even she couldn’t quite keep a tremble out of her hands as she worked her way through the wires, searching for the ones she needed.

‘Goddamn luxury cars,’ she said under her breath, cursing the multitude of pointless extra features that added to the complexity of the vehicle’s electrical system. If this had been a twenty-year-old Ford Escort, she could have had it up and running in under ten seconds.

As if to add to her problems, her radio unit crackled to life. ‘Envoy, what’s the situation on that car?’

‘Working on it,’ she replied through gritted teeth, selecting one wire that looked like it might be part of the ignition circuit, and using her knife to sever it.

‘We’ve got police units inbound.’

‘How long?’

‘About thirty seconds.’

McKnight let out a muttered curse as she touched the exposed wire, a jolt of electricity surging up her arm. At least she’d found the power source, she thought with dry humour.

‘How long do you need, Envoy?’ he pressed.

‘About thirty seconds,’ she said, somehow managing to keep her voice calm. ‘Envoy, out.’

Crouched by the main gate, her diminutive form barely noticeable, Frost surveyed the street beyond, gripping the automatic in sweating hands as she awaited the inevitable flashing lights of police cruisers.

She had no idea what they would do if they found themselves cornered by local law-enforcement. Shepherd teams were amongst the elite of the Agency’s field operatives, and the four people in her group tonight were, between them, capable of causing serious problems for anyone looking to take them on. But they were still only four people, lightly armed and with few resources to call upon. They had come here to make a quick, surgical strike, not to conduct a fighting withdrawal against heavy resistance.

As if to add fuel to the fire, she was alerted by the glow of windows lighting up on the opposite side of the street. Curtains parted, revealing a man in a dressing gown with wiry black hair sticking up all angles, peering down short-sightedly into the street. Further along, an elderly woman was surveying the scene with the kind of dour disapproval one might reserve for a dog owner who doesn’t pick after their pet when it takes a shit.

Keeping a tight grip of her weapon, she carefully reached up and pressed the radio microphone at her throat.

‘Overwatch,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve got activity in the residential buildings on my twelve o’clock. Looks like local civvies. We’re totally exposed out here, they can see right into the compound.’

‘Copy that, Overwatch.’

‘Hate to sound like a broken record, but can we leave now?’ she urged him.

‘We’re working on it,’ was Drake’s only reply.

‘This is turning into a cluster-fuck, Monarch.’ Frost gritted her teeth and cursed under her breath. ‘Recommend we ditch the targets and exfil on foot.’

They certainly couldn’t carry Sowan and his wife out, but if they left now there was a good chance they could slip into the same maze of alleyways and side streets she had used to get here. Abandoning their objective to save their own asses was a shitty thing to contemplate at the best of times, but occasionally it had to happen. Sticking to the mission regardless of the danger didn’t mean much if you weren’t alive to reflect upon your courage.

‘Envoy, what’s the status on that car?’ Drake demanded.

‘I’m close, Monarch,’ McKnight replied, no doubt unwilling to make promises she couldn’t keep. Nonetheless, the tension in her voice was near breaking point. ‘Give me a little more time.’

‘We don’t have any.’ Taking Drake’s lack of protest as serious contemplation of her plan, Frost pressed harder. ‘We can get out, but we have to go now, Monarch. Either we leave them behind or we all die here. Make the call, for Christ’s sake.’

Not far away, Drake looked over at Sowan, who was beginning to show signs of regaining consciousness. The man they had travelled thousands of miles to find, who they had risked their lives to recover, was lying mere feet away from him. The secrets he held might just be enough to turn everything around, put right everything that had gone so wrong over the past couple of years, ensure the safety of his friends, and most of all his sister.

On the other hand, he might very well represent a lost cause, the relentless pursuit of which was carrying Drake and his team to their deaths.

Frost was right to suggest bailing out; he didn’t blame her for saying what was on everyone’s mind as the seconds ticked by and the net closed around them. They could leave Sowan and his wife behind now and make a run for it. Resourceful and highly trained, they might well escape Tripoli and, through luck and skill, make it out of Libya as well. But even if they did, what then?

It would mean a return in failure. A return to watching his back at every moment, to seeing Jessica fall slowly and inexorably into the murky world that had snared him, to waking up every morning wondering if today was when the axe would at last fall.

Their situation would be no better than before. In fact, it might well be even worse. There was no telling if Cain had learned of this endeavour and guessed their intentions. If so, his retribution would be swift and final.

‘I need an answer, Monarch,’ Frost pressed. ‘Make the call.’

That was when it happened, when everything else seemed to recede into darkness and in his mind’s eye, he saw her. He saw his mother kneeling on the edge of that pit, hands bound, body bruised and cut, taking her final breath before the fatal shot.

Reaching for his transmitter, Drake hit the pressel at his throat. ‘The answer’s no. We’re not leaving without him.’

McKnight had asked him yesterday if it was worth it, if this man was worth the risk. For Drake in that instant, getting his hands on Sowan was worth any risk.

His decision was met with several moments of strained, deadly silence. Then, as if in answer, he heard the distinctive throaty rumble as an engine roared into life outside.

‘Envoy’s good to go,’ McKnight replied, sounding remarkably calm, given their perilous situation.

Drake clenched his fists, resisting the urge to cry out in relief. For now, at least, they were still in with a shot. Somehow, they might just be able to pull this off.

‘Good work, Envoy. Bring it around to the front door. We’re coming out.’ Already he was reaching down to haul Sowan to his feet. ‘Cameo, grab whatever you’ve got and rendezvous with us now.’

‘Roger. Cameo’s en route.’

Reaching up, Drake pressed his transmitter once more. ‘All units, we’re coming out.’

Outside by the main gate, Frost glanced around as a black Toyota SUV rumbled out of the parking garage. The windows were partially blacked out for privacy, but she could just make out McKnight behind the wheel as she manoeuvred the big vehicle around to the front door of the villa.

But her jubilation at seeing their escape vehicle finally moving was short-lived. Seconds later, Frost’s worst fears were realized when a pair of red-and-white police cruisers came screaming around a street intersection about a hundred yards away, lights flashing and sirens wailing.

‘All units, we’ve got company,’ she hissed, reaching into her webbing and withdrawing both the smoke grenade and the flashbang she’d been issued with. ‘Local PD. Two cruisers coming in from the east. Looks like four hostiles, maybe more.’

She laid each grenade by her feet, keeping them within easy reach as she raised her silenced automatic.