Deception Game (52 page)

Reaching into his webbing, Cunningham produced a wrapped package and handed it carefully to his master. Smiling like a child on Christmas day, Faulkner undid the wrapping, exposing the hard drive taken from Sowan’s computer. The hard drive that had been recovered at such great cost.

‘And the others?’ he asked with only mild curiosity, as if enquiring after a distant acquaintance.

‘On the way now,’ Cunningham confirmed. ‘One of my boys is bringing them in.’

Drake closed his eyes and bowed his head as the words sank in; a man crushed and utterly defeated by a superior opponent

Perched on a rooftop high above the street cafe, Sam Tarver leaned in a little closer to his rifle, keeping the sights focussed on the approach road to the abandoned factory. He was sweating profusely from a combination of stifling heat, burning sunlight and growing tension; all of which were wearing on his nerves.

Two of his comrades, Regan and Palmer, were watching the gate, with more available as backup inside the building itself. A lot of guns were guarding Faulkner and his prisoners, yet still Tarver could feel the tension building by the moment. This was taking too long, leaving them too exposed. They needed to finish it and get out
now
.

Glancing past the gate and the two armed bodyguards protecting it, Tarver absently watched a pedestrian hobbling along the road past the factory. An old woman in dirty clothing, bent with age and leaning heavily on a staff as she shuffled along the pavement, her face and head covered by a tattered old keffiyeh. Another beggar, perhaps looking to scrounge up enough money to survive until the next day. The small town was littered with them.

If he was to put a round through her head, he’d probably be doing her a favour.

No sooner had this thought flashed through his mind than he felt the heat of the sun abate for a moment as a shadow fell across him. Glancing up from the weapon, he was just starting to turn when suddenly strong hands gripped his head and yanked it back so hard that he let out an involuntary gasp of pain and shock.

This was silenced a second later when a wickedly sharp blade bit into his exposed throat, severing the windpipe with a couple of terrible sawlike thrusts.

Unable to cry out, he could manage only a terrible gurgling groan as he fell to the ground, clutching at his mangled throat. His last sight as his vision faded was of a young man in Arab desert clothes picking up his sniper rifle and taking his position, oblivious to the man he’d just murdered.

‘So much trouble for such a simple thing,’ Faulkner mused, turning it over in his hand. ‘You’ll understand if I confirm the contents before you go on your way?’

‘Of course,’ Cunningham acknowledged.

A single radio call from Faulkner, and a third man entered the room, armed with a laptop computer. A lean, spare-looking man with thinning blonde hair tied back in a limp ponytail, his eyes hidden behind darkened glasses. Setting the computer on an upturned oil drum, he retrieved the hard drive from Faulkner and connected it up, waiting a few seconds while his laptop recognized it.

‘Looks good so far,’ he said after a few moments, bent over the screen. ‘Running decryption now.’

‘Take your time,’ Faulkner said, helping himself to another sip of water. His eyes met with Drake and he smiled, confident and in control as always. The strategist, the planner, the enemy. The winner of their game. ‘No rush, after all.’

But Drake wasn’t hearing him now. All his attention was focussed on Samantha. She was staring right back at him, her eyes pleading for understanding, for forgiveness. She didn’t need to speak for him to understand her thoughts.

I’m so sorry, Ryan. I never knew this would happen. I didn’t want you to give up your life for me.

Faulkner too could sense the unspoken sentiments. Moving close to her, he reached up and gently brushed her cheek with his hand. His touch provoked a shudder within her, which seemed to amuse him greatly.

‘You know, I would have happily taken any one of you hostage,’ he admitted. ‘But I wanted her. There’s something so much more...intimate about having a woman at gunpoint, don’t you think, Ryan? I mean, if I was to do something like this...’

Reaching for the weapon holstered inside his jacket back, he drew it, and levelled it at McKnight’s head.

‘No!’ Drake cried out as he pulled the trigger.

But there was no thunderous crack as the round discharged, no sickening moment of impact, no spray of blood and brain matter as it cleaved its way through her head. Instead there was a dull click as the round hit an empty chamber. McKnight let out a strangled gasp, flinching instinctively at the sound.

‘You see what I mean?’ Faulkner said, smirking in amusement as he withdrew a magazine from his pocket and inserted it in the weapon, pulling back the slide to chamber the first round.

‘Only a woman can provoke that kind of reaction. The fear in their eyes, the sound of their breath coming faster, the feel of their heart beating so fast and urgent,’ he whispered as he traced the barrel of his gun down the side of her face, her neck, her breasts. ‘It’s...primal, arousing. Maybe it stirs up that protective instinct, gets the blood pumping just a little more, eh?’

‘Fuck you,’ Drake spat, staring back at him with absolute hatred.

Far from being offended or angered, Faulkner seemed to relish the emotions his words had stirred up. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’

With that, he holstered the weapon for the time being, removed his cell phone and began composing a text message, perhaps reporting to his handlers that the situation was now firmly in hand. No doubt he was envisioning the praise that was soon to be heaped on him.

Drake said nothing further as the hot sun continued to beat down on them through the dirty windows, as traffic rumbled by outside and distant horn-blasts sounded. A tiny bead of sweat ran down between his shoulder blades, trickling down his back. His heart was beating hard and fast, his muscles tightening in anticipation.

‘You know, it’s a shame,’ he remarked, staring across at his nemesis.

Faulkner glanced up, disturbed from his work.

‘Despite all of this. Despite all the killing and the double-crosses and the secret agendas, there’s one thing neither of us can get away from.’

‘Really? And what might that be?’

Drake smiled. ‘You dress like an absolute wanker.’

Shaking his head, Faulkner drained the last of his water and set the bottle carefully down on the floor beside him. ‘You disappoint me, Ryan,’ he said, rising from his chair. ‘I was hoping we could have resolved this like civilized men.’

‘That’s not what I think of when I look at you.’

At this, Faulkner smiled coldly. ‘Stubbornness must run in your family. It’s funny; Freya was just like you.’

In that instant, everything around Drake seemed to fade into darkness. Every danger, every consideration, every plan and contingency and measure that he’d tried to encompass within his mind simply ceased to exist.

All he could see was the image of his mother laid out on a mortuary table a lifetime ago, her greying hair combed back to reveal an aged face once so familiar, now cold and pale.

And beside it, the simple and blandly efficient name-tag – Freya Louise Shaw.

‘What did you say?’ he whispered.

Faulkner could barely contain his malicious glee as he sprung his final trap. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I forget you’re still playing catch-up. Never did get around to telling you the truth about dear old Mum, did I? Then again, neither did she.’

‘What truth?’

Faulkner looked him hard in the eye. ‘Didn’t you ever wonder why she was so preoccupied with her work? Always coming home late, running off at the last minute, all those urgent trips overseas? Didn’t you ever stop to question what she did that was so important?’

Drake felt like the world was spinning around him. He closed his eyes, having to swallow hard to keep even a shred of his composure. Again and again he saw images, camera-flashes of his mother tensing up every time the phone rang, saw her retreating into another room to take the call, saw the focus and intensity in her expression as she left. Again and again he pictured her departing suddenly on ‘business’, gone for days at a time with little or no explanation.

He’d sensed, on some childish level, the growing rift her preoccupation was creating between his parents, the strain it was putting on the entire family. And he felt again his own resentment and jealousy that she valued her stupid, unimportant job more than her own children.

Only now did he begin to perceive another explanation. Only now did the jumbled pieces of the puzzle begin to reorder themselves, forming a terrible, chilling conclusion that was at once inconceivable yet impossible to ignore.

‘It’s not possible,’ he gasped, willing it not to be true. ‘It can’t be.’

‘Can’t it? Or is that what you’d rather believe?’

‘She was...one of us?’

The mere thought of it was ludicrous. How could she possibly have kept such a secret without her own family knowing? And yet, at the same moment he realized that he himself had once maintained much the same deception. He himself had told the same lies, lived the same secret life.

Faulkner chuckled in amusement. ‘Think bigger, Ryan. Like I said, you see the obvious, but the subtleties are lost on you. Freya was part of something far more important than one country’s intelligence service. She was part of the group that I represent, because like me she saw and believed in the bigger picture. She even pulled some strings to help keep you and your sister safe for the past couple of years. Just in case you thought you’d made it this far on charm and good looks.’ He leaned in closer, his tone conspiratorial. ‘You honestly didn’t know?’

Drake said nothing, which prompted a laugh of sheer delight.

‘Ryan, it’s almost poetic. Two generations of the same family, living the same lie. One day they’ll write songs about you.’

‘What happened to her?’ Drake asked, finally mastering his thoughts enough to speak. ‘You killed her?’

Faulkner sighed with what seemed to be a touch of regret. ‘Every asset has their day, I’m afraid. She had hers, but...she did have one last role to play. She brought you to me. I suppose I should be thankful for that.’

It took only a heartbeat for the full import of his words to sink in. A terrible, agonizing moment as the full extent of Faulkner’s treachery was at last revealed.

Drake’s heart was beating so fast and loud that it almost seemed to drown out everything else around him. All of it; the burning sun overhead, the noise and smell of traffic, Faulkner standing by so close...All of it seemed to be drowned out by the pounding of blood in his ears.

The world seemed to tremble and shiver around him as the truth sank in. Everything he’d come to believe was a lie. The ground upon which he’d built his life had given way.

‘Don’t feel too bad, Ryan,’ Faulkner advised him, his voice barely audible above the pounding of Drake’s heart. ‘From what I’m told, she put up quite a fight.’

Tom Regan reached up, drawing a dusty sleeve across his sweating brow. The heat of the midday sun was unbearable, beating down on him with an almost physical intensity. The weapon holstered in his jacket was a leaden weight that seemed to be dragging him down towards the ground.

The sooner they were out of here, the better.

His thoughts were interrupted by a low, guttural voice a short distance away. His head snapped around, and he found himself staring at a bent, gnarled old woman in loose tribal clothing that looked so stained and dusty that it was practically one with the desert landscape. Another beggar; one of many in this godforsaken shithole.

She saw a white man in reasonably good clothes and took him for an easy payday.

‘No money. Piss off,’ he warned, waving her away, but she ignored him, moving forwards with one hand outstretched.

‘Shoot the stupid bitch,’ his comrade Raymond Palmer snorted, looking away in disgust.

Regan had no time for this. Reaching into his jacket, his hands closed around the butt of his automatic. He was loath to shoot someone in public, but with luck, the mere display of a weapon would be enough to make her fuck off.

‘I told you to—’

Even as he spoke, the woman suddenly straightened up, drew a silenced weapon from her loose robes and levelled it at his head. Such was the speed and fluid grace of her transformation, he didn’t even have time to react as her finger tightened on the trigger.

There was a muted flash, an explosion of white light, and then he knew no more.

His companion turned towards the source of the noise, but he was too late to react. A second shot went in through his temple, blowing out the back of his skull.

Even as he slumped to the ground, Keira Frost reached for her radio. ‘Gate secure. Roll in.’

The moment was suddenly broken by a shout from Ponytail. The very words that Drake had been waiting for.

‘We’re in,’ he reported. ‘Everything’s intact.’

He was just turning towards the others when suddenly a far larger man rushed at him, grabbing his head by the ponytail. Before he could even think to fight back, powerful muscles forced his head down, slamming it into the edge of the oil drum with bone-shattering force.

Even as he let out a muffled, shuddering groan, his attacker grasped at him, yanking away the weapon he kept in a shoulder holster on the left side of his chest.

Faulkner, focussed momentarily on Drake, took half a second longer than usual to realize something was wrong. Half a second before he reached into his suit jacket for his weapon, already turning towards the source of the disturbance.

Half a second too late.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Cunningham warned, covering Faulkner with Ponytail’s weapon. ‘Lay the gun on the floor, then get down on your knees.’

Savvy as he was, Faulkner could tell right away that resistance would be suicidal. Lifting his gun out with his thumb and forefinger, he laid it on the ground and slid it towards Cunningham, who immediately snatched it up and hurried towards Drake.

‘How are you doing, mate?’ he asked quietly, undoing the knots that held him down.

Drake said nothing as the bonds slipped away. Instead he rose to his feet slowly, rubbing his wrists to get some circulation going again, and approached his erstwhile captor. Faulkner was on his knees, hands behind his head, staring up at Drake with something akin to respect.

‘Bravo, Ryan,’ he said, smirking in amusement. ‘I didn’t know you had it in you.’

‘Gun,’ Drake said, holding out one hand to his companion.

Cunningham was happy to oblige, laying Faulkner’s weapon in his grip. ‘The safety’s off, there’s one in the pipe.’

‘Untie Sam,’ Drake said quietly, not taking his eyes off Faulkner for a moment.

‘Aye.’ Hurrying over to the woman, Cunningham drew a knife from his waist and made short work of the plasticuffs holding her arms and legs secure. ‘You all right, lass?’

Such was her disbelief at this sudden turn of events, McKnight could only nod.

Cunningham flashed a brief smile. ‘Hang in there. We’ll get you out.’

‘Hard drive,’ Drake prompted, well aware of how short they were on time.

Leaving the erstwhile hostage to sort herself out, Cunningham turned his attention to the laptop, his eyes quickly scanning the screen. ‘Jesus, this is a fucking gold mine. Contacts, delivery times, everything; their whole operation’s on here.’

‘Never mind, just pack it up. We’re taking it with us.’

‘Got it,’ he confirmed, folding up the laptop and drawing his weapon to cover Faulkner.

At the same moment, another voice spoke up.

‘Ryan.’

Taking his eye off his enemy, Drake spun around to find himself face to face with the woman he’d risked everything to save. Much like himself, she looked exhausted and dishevelled, her clothes stained with dirt and sweat, her skin red with sunburn, but she was alive and on her feet all the same. The same defiant will to keep going that had kept them both alive in the desert had pulled her through the hours following her rescue when her life still balanced on a knife edge, and even her time in Faulkner’s grip.

Unable to summon up the words, Drake reached out and pulled her tight against him, as if to reassure himself she was real and solid and alive. The thought of what might have happened was like a knife twisting in his guts, and he held her even tighter in response, tears stinging his eyes.

‘It was all a lie, wasn’t it? To get your hands on that intel,’ Faulkner said, watching them in disgust.

‘Couldn’t have decrypted it without you,’ Cunningham said over his shoulder.

Faulkner’s eyes were on Drake. ‘So what now, Ryan? Are you going to shoot me? Kill the only man who knows the truth about your mother?’

Letting go of McKnight, Drake turned towards him, his grip tightening on the weapon. Then, suddenly, he swung it in a wide arc, catching Faulkner on the left cheek with all the force he could summon. There was a metallic crunch, and the man fell sideways with blood leaking from the gash on the left side of his face. A shattered cheek bone was going to cost a pretty penny to put right.

Reaching down, Drake gripped him by his expensive suit jacket and hauled him to his feet. ‘You’re coming with us, too, you piece of shit. And you’re going to tell us everything. Believe me, by the time I’m finished, you’ll wish there was more to tell.’

Down below, a rusted old panel van was chugging along the main drag that ran parallel to the factory, moving with no great urgency, like most of the other traffic in this town. However, as it approached the main gate, the driver suddenly stamped on the accelerator, swinging the vehicle hard right and straight into the chain-link barrier.

‘Hope you’re ready for this, Ryan,’ Mason muttered through gritted teeth, bracing himself and ducking down low in his seat.

There was bang, a crunch of metal and plastic shattering, and the gate sprang open, allowing the vehicle to barrel straight into the delivery yard beyond.

Up on the rooftop, Caitlin Macguire flinched at the sudden disturbance in the delivery yard below. Instantly her mind assembled the facts, arriving at a single irrefutable conclusion. It was a trap.

‘Contact! Contact!’ she cried into her radio, shifting her aim to try to get a fix on the driver of the van. ‘Targets inbound!’

Sighting the van’s windshield and bracing herself for the inevitable recoil, she pulled the trigger.

‘Shit!’ Mason cried out, ducking down as shattered glass rained down around him and a high-powered round thumped into the seat mere inches from his head. Pinned down, he could do nothing but keep his foot on the gas.

The rough engine roared and the vehicle shot forwards as if it were a wild animal suddenly set free, Mason steering virtually blind for fear of exposing himself to the deadly sniper fire.

The chassis thumped and clanged as more rounds slammed into it, but still he ploughed onwards, heedless of anything that lay in his path. He could only hope Frost had had the presence of mind to get out of the way.

This thought was interrupted by the sickening, crushing impact of the van slamming straight into the big sliding doors that blocked the main entrance, demolishing the thin metal walls and careening forward until it slammed into the unyielding mass of a support girder. Unrestrained, Mason was pitched forward with bruising force as the vehicle came to an abrupt stop, steam and smoke billowing from the crumpled engine bay.

‘Fuck,’ Macguire hissed, ejecting the spent magazine, which clattered to the ground at her feet. Wisps of smoke trailed from the barrel of her silencer, now red-hot after expending thirty rounds of ammunition in short order.

With the practiced ease born from long years of experience, she snatched a fresh clip from the pouch on the left side of her webbing, pressed it into the magazine port and gave it a tap to make sure it was locked in place.

Situated on the factory rooftop, she was oddly removed from the chaos unfolding in the square down below, though the added distance did little to improve her mood at that moment. She’d watched in disbelief as the van hurtled forward into the delivery yard, the driver seemingly having no regard for his own safety, until finally it had slammed right into the building itself, crashing through the corrugated steel wall and crippling the vehicle.

It was only then that she’d understood escape had been the last thing on his mind. Now that he was directly beneath her, she had no shot. And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it from her remote vantage point.

She was moving a moment later, abandoning her position and making straight for the stairwell that would take her down to the lower level, moving with fast, efficient strides. She preferred to keep her distance in situations like this, to strike from a position of total superiority, but sometimes there was nothing for it but to get up close and personal.

In any case, it wouldn’t be long before the local police showed up. She intended to be well clear of the area before then.

Descending the stairs two at a time, she keyed her radio. ‘Tarver, I’ve no shot from up here. Keep their heads down until I can flank the fuckers.’

Her terse command was met with nothing but static.

‘Tarver, report in!’

Nothing. Macguire paused for a moment, quickly reconsidering the situation. It seemed Faulkner had underestimated their opponents, never guessing that Drake himself would have been capable of outplaying him.

Well, those were Faulkner’s mistakes. She would put them right herself, one dead body at a time. Gripping her rifle tight, she hurried down the stairs.

Reaching up, Mason yanked open the passenger door and practically tumbled out onto the ground, battered and bruised after the crushing impact against the building. He was just in time to see Frost come darting over to meet him, clutching her silenced automatic.

‘Nice driving, Cole,’ the young woman remarked.

Mason glanced at her. His face was marked by several cuts where flying glass had caught him, but otherwise he seemed unhurt. ‘Had to improvise,’ he said by way of apology. ‘And we needed the cover.’

‘Someone’s taking pot shots from up there. You get a fix on the sniper?’

Mason shook his head. It had all happened so fast, it was hard to take in anything beyond the split-second decisions needed to stay alive.

‘Couldn’t see him.’

‘Fuck it,’ she decided, removing the shotgun from the improvised sling across her back. ‘We’re in. Let’s find Ryan and get the fuck out of here.’

Mason wasn’t about to argue. Rising up from behind cover, the two specialists rushed forward, pushing deeper into the ruined factory.