Rise of the Enemy (24 page)

I glanced around, up and down, left and right, taking in the surroundings. Nothing seemed untoward. Except for the fact that we’d stopped in this place at all.

‘What the hell are you playing at, Schuster?’ Mary said.

He didn’t answer.

‘Is this the place?’ I said.

‘This is it,’ Schuster said.

The smile began to creep up his face.

I heard a thudding sound to my left and I jumped. A small cloud of concrete dust burst in front of me. I heard a distant crack a second later.

I knew immediately what it was.

The bullets of most rifles travel at almost twice the speed of sound. It’s disconcerting to experience being fired upon from distance because the bullet reaches you before you’ve even heard the gun fire. I’d seen this before.

A silent assassin. A sniper.

‘Get back!’ I shouted, pushing into Mary, shoving her backwards, towards the side street we’d just come from. Given the tightly packed buildings on all sides, I could see only one place the sniper could be. The distant tower block. I couldn’t help but notice the look on Schuster’s face before I turned and bundled into Mary. Such a knowing look. He was already spinning on his heels to flee as we neared the corner.

I heard another crack of gunfire.

The way I had to scoop Mary up as I headed for cover told me she hadn’t reacted as quickly as I had. Maybe she hadn’t understood what was happening. I more or less carried her around the corner, my momentum easily pushing her slight body weight.

We landed in a heap on the cold ground.

Only then did I realise there had been no pre-emption to the noise of the second shot. No sign of where the bullet had landed before I’d heard the delayed sound from the muzzle.

I soon realised why.

As I looked down, I saw exactly where the bullet had hit. The soft tissue it had struck had made its impact more or less silent.

Mary had been shot.

She had a gaping wound in her neck. Blood was gushing out of it. She had her hand held up to it and I pressed mine against hers. The look on her face said it all. We both knew what this meant.

Her face was already as white as a ghost as the blood rushed out of her.

‘Mary, stay with me,’ I said. ‘Just keep that hand held up there.’

I knew she was dying but I couldn’t help but try to reassure her.

‘I…I’m sorry,’ she blubbered, blood spilling out of her mouth as she spoke.

I pressed harder onto her hand, squeezing it tightly. A tear escaped from her right eye and rolled down and onto the pool of blood on the ground.

‘You need to go,’ she said, her words slurred. ‘Use the phone…I planted the tracker. It’s not over…yet.’

I didn’t move. I wasn’t going to leave her there on her own.

‘Go!’ she said, louder, more assured, finding an unexpected strength from somewhere.

But I didn’t move. I stayed there. Holding her hand. Looking into her pretty eyes as the life slowly faded from her.

And then she was gone.

I knew where the sniper had been positioned. Both the trajectory of the bullets and the layout of the streets had been a giveaway. Around the corner from the small square, I was at least in cover, though I guessed the sniper would probably have scarpered already. I saw no point in trying to track him down. Either way I knew I couldn’t stay in the secluded alleyway for long. Schuster had very deliberately lured us there. I had to assume there were other agents nearby.

Aware that time wasn’t on my side, I quickly went through Mary’s pockets and found two clips of ammo. She also had a handful of roubles bank notes and I took those too, stuffing them into my trouser pockets. I didn’t feel good about looting her body but I knew I might need those supplies further down the line.

I looked once more at Mary’s contorted and lifeless face. I struggled to not feel grief at witnessing the death of someone so young, with so much life still ahead of her. She’d lied to me, or at least not let on the truth, but I felt she’d always been loyal to Mackie and to the agency. With everything else that had been going on around her, I had to admire her for that.

There was no more time for sentiment. I wiped my bloodied hands on her coat and got to my feet. I took the
phone out of my pocket and opened up the app that linked with the tracker. It had been cunning of her to have planted the receiver on Schuster. She’d got close to him on multiple occasions, but each time I’d thought she was reacting genuinely to the situation. Instead, she’d been cleverly trying to craft the right moment. I’d not noticed the move at all.

The chip wouldn’t be concealed in a seam like it had been in her coat – there’d been no time. She must have planted it in a pocket or a sleeve or somewhere else where the receiver would stick but without being noticeable. I just had to hope Schuster didn’t find it.

The app finished opening and I felt a wave of relief when I saw the map with the blinking red light. It was moving. My own position was shown on the centre of the map, a solid blue arrow. The map on the phone was orientated north and the red light was above my position, towards the top of the screen. So I knew Schuster had headed north.

I hurried down the alleyway, retracing my steps, looking for any other route that would allow me to head in the direction that Schuster had gone. I didn’t want to follow him up the alley to where the sniper had been.

It wasn’t long before I came across another side street and I turned there. The map gave an indication of the prominence of the streets through the thickness of the lines that represented them. I could see that Schuster had moved onto a main road, and as soon as the opportunity came I too veered onto more well-trodden ground. The back streets we’d been ushered down by Schuster were creepy and dangerous. That had already been proven, and I wanted to be as far away from them as possible.

I couldn’t see him, but from what I could tell on the map Schuster was only a few hundred yards in front of me. He was moving at a steady pace but I kept up easily enough. He was injured after all. Although I was back on the main
streets rather than the cramped alleys, the area I walked through was becoming less residential and more industrial.

Soon, following the red dot closely, I turned into a long, straight road that housed several large warehouses, strewn along either side of the road. Each of them was a basic corrugated steel structure with small office blocks either attached or detached from the main unit. They were of various shapes and size. Some of them were clearly empty – the barren car parks and weeds a dead giveaway. Some were shinier, newer.

Then, all of a sudden, the red dot on the phone stopped. And I paused too. I’d closed the gap somewhat and Schuster had stopped only about a hundred yards in front of me, off to the right.

Looking around me for any signs of life, and satisfied there were none, I continued to walk, closing the distance to the building ahead: a small warehouse, one of the more dilapidated. Weeds grew out of the gutters and up from the sides of the structure. The wire fence that ran around the perimeter had fallen down in places and tall weeds on the grounds surrounding the building came straight up out of the pockmarked tarmac.

As I got nearer I noticed that three large four-by-fours were parked in the otherwise empty car park. No sign of any people, but the lights were on in the building – the dirtied green windows were tinged yellow from the light within.

I carried on walking along the opposite side of the road to where Schuster was, heading right past the warehouse. I spotted large sliding doors at the front of the building. They were ajar, the light from inside seeping out. But I couldn’t see what was happening within.

Satisfied from my brief recce that no threats lay on the outside, I hurried across the street and entered the complex through the open security gates. A metal staircase rose up
at the side of the building, sweeping up to the very top of the structure to a fire-escape door. I assumed there must have been a mezzanine office level or something to warrant an escape in that position. Given the real risk of walking into a gun fight if I entered through the open main doors, I decided the stairs were the better option. With the dilapidated state of the building, the security up there surely wouldn’t be tight.

I sneaked around the side of the cars, keeping an eye on the main doors of the warehouse for any signs of danger. The sounds of muffled voices came and went but I didn’t see anybody at all. I came to a stop at the side of the building and took a moment to compose myself. My heart was thumping in my chest from the anticipation of what was to come. And I could feel my arms and my legs twitching. Nerves, but also the adrenaline that was coursing through my body but was so far not being utilised.

Taking two big, deep breaths, I began a slow ascent of the staircase. The steps were icy and slippery and more than once I lost my footing and had to grab hold of the frozen handrail to keep my balance. But the staircase was sturdy at least and didn’t creak or crack under my weight. When I reached the top I looked back down to the bottom but still saw no sign of life down there. Hopefully my awkward walk up to the top hadn’t alerted anyone.

The fire-escape door looked to be a simple metal structure. Not reinforced. Not particularly secure. It opened outwards, which meant it would be much too difficult to crash through it. The simple lock embedded on the door knob would be easily blown off by my gun, but I couldn’t afford to make that much noise. I reached out and tried the knob, just to be sure. Locked. Just as I’d expected it would be.

Other than trying to pick the lock, for which I had no tools, I couldn’t think of a way to open the door that
wouldn’t make noise. Breaking the lock was my only option. I just had to hope that whoever was inside the warehouse wasn’t up at this level. If they were at the bottom then the distance alone would, hopefully, give me some cover. If not then I’d simply have to be ready for whatever came.

I took the barrel of the Glock in my right hand and thrust the butt down onto the door knob. A loud crack sounded out at contact and a shower of frost and ice flew into the air. But the knob hadn’t budged. Probably because I’d been too cautious, not wanting to make too much sound. If anything, I’d probably made it worse, as having to strike it again would only increase the chance of being heard.

I had little choice, though.

I swung the gun up and crashed it down onto the knob again, this time with more venom. The knob snapped off and dropped to the ground. The noise from the impact and the breaking was one thing, but I cursed my bad luck when the severed knob began to clank and clunk down the metal stairs, all the way to the bottom. I cringed and readied myself for an onslaught. But after a few moments, I realised it wasn’t coming. Perhaps I’d got away with it after all.

The door had come ajar, creaking open on its rusty hinges, no longer secured by the now failed lock. I edged it further open and stepped inside. The room I walked into was an office space, dusty, dank – and, to my relief, empty. It was only about fifteen feet wide, twenty long. Along one side windows looked out onto the warehouse below. A closed door stood at the far end. I couldn’t see what lay beyond that but guessed either another, similar, room or a corridor. Luckily for me, the fact that I’d entered a closed room was probably the reason they hadn’t heard me breaking the lock – at least I hoped they hadn’t heard.

I crouched low, crept up to the windows and peeked over the top. The main warehouse below was similarly sparse of
fixtures, save for some simple metal shelving that lay strewn around the floor. And amid the metal, a meeting, the participants clustered in the centre of the warehouse floor.

Schuster was in the middle, facing towards me, flanked by two other smartly dressed men. They were standing opposite four other people, their backs to me. I couldn’t see their faces but I could tell from their physiques and clothes that three of them were men. The fourth was a woman. She was tall and slender, with silky dark hair. She had on flat knee-length boots over tight trousers and a bomber jacket on top. Even from behind, confidence emanated from her. I didn’t need to see her face to know who it was.

Lena.

The two men flanking the Russian group were holding large automatic weapons, strapped across their shoulders. No-one else was brandishing a weapon but I knew everyone would be armed.

The two groups were standing about ten feet from each other. Schuster’s men were scouring the room, on the lookout for anything untoward.

The conversation between the two groups was barely audible and I wasn’t able to make out any of the words. Schuster was looking his confident self again, no signs of the pain he must have been in from the beating. His right hand was down at his side, his stricken finger not bandaged. He was a resilient old fox.

As they were scanning the room, one of Schuster’s men looked up in my direction. I froze. He quickly looked away again, his eyes still scanning. Somehow, he hadn’t spotted me – maybe glare from the warehouse lighting on the office window had kept me hidden. But I didn’t want to give him another chance.

I sank lower and moved towards the internal door. This one was unlocked and I turned the handle slowly, then inched the door open until the gap was wide enough to peer out. The door opened out onto a narrow corridor. Off to the
right was a toilet. Opposite was another door that led, I presumed, to another office space. To the left the corridor led to a metal walkway that ran along the front of the office level.

The head of the stairs that led down to the warehouse floor was off from the walkway, starting in between the two office spaces and snaking down to the right. From where I was, looking towards staircase, I had a good view of the gathering below.

Schuster took a step forward and then the man to the right of Lena did the same. They carried on moving cautiously, one small step at a time, until they met in the middle. A brief conversation ensued and then an exchange. I couldn’t make out what had changed hands. Something small. Schuster stuffed his left hand inside his coat pocket and then began to retreat, still facing Lena and her men.

When he reached his flankers there was a final trade of words and then Schuster turned around and walked towards the exit. His two men initially stayed in position, but then the one on the left turned and began to follow Schuster. Finally, the third man began to move, creeping backwards.

I had to follow Schuster. Seeing Lena again had reminded me just how much I loathed her. She may have helped me to escape from the scene of Mackie’s demise, but nothing she’d ever done had really been for my benefit. I wanted to kill her. But as much as I wanted to stay and finish off Lena and her cronies, I couldn’t let Schuster get away again. I had to believe that Schuster now had all he needed to locate Angela. Her life was very probably going to be over soon if I didn’t act. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I had to be the one to find her. I still didn’t know exactly what I’d do when I did, but I couldn’t let her be killed.

Lena would just have to wait.

I went to move backwards. But my shoe slipped on the dusty floor and my elbow smacked off the part-opened
door. Schuster’s man, still edging towards the exit, looked up towards me again. I knew this time he’d not only heard but also seen me.

Lena and her men spun around too, the two on the outside of her already pulling up their weapons. Schuster had exited the warehouse already and his first man didn’t stop to turn around but carried on out of the door. I wanted to go after them. But my chance had been blown. If I went back out of the fire escape now, they’d all be waiting for me by the time I got to the bottom.

I had no choice but to stand and fight.

I got to my feet and lunged forwards to the top of the stairs. Schuster’s second man was already turning around to head to the exit, following after Schuster and his colleague, clearly not wanting to get caught up in the melee that was about to ensue. That was fine by me. One less target only increased my chances.

By the time I reached the stairs, I’d already set myself for firing. The two men holding the automatic weapons were ready to pull on their triggers, but Lena and the other man were still processing their next move.

I fired two shots in quick succession. One of the bullets hit the man on the left in the chest, the other in his neck. He went down before he’d had the chance to pull on his trigger.

But I wasn’t going to get to them all that easily.

I heard a crack as the man on the right opened fire with his machine gun. He wasn’t holding back. A succession of shots blasted from his automatic weapon and the bullets whizzed and ricocheted nearby. I ducked and rolled forward, hoping my quick movement would make me a harder target.

As I came up against the guardrail at the top of the stairs, I’d already positioned myself for the next shot. I fired off four times, not wanting to take any risks. Only one of the four hit the target. That was enough. The man went down,
a randomly aimed spray of automatic fire coming from his gun as he fell to the ground.

Lena and her last man were both rushing for cover, heading under the mezzanine level where I was located. I adjusted my aim as best as I could and fired off the rest of my clip. I hadn’t the time to measure up properly for the shots. I’d wanted to get to them before they found cover. I heard Lena cry out and I knew that I must have hit her. Her shouting and moaning, though, told me that she wasn’t yet down for good.

But they were both now out of sight underneath me.

I began to reload but heard a bang and a clank from below that made me jump. One of them was firing up at me from underneath. The walkway I was on and the stairs were a metal mesh. The holes weren’t big enough to let through a bullet but I didn’t want to stick around to find out exactly how good they were at cushioning automatic rifle fire.

Looking down through the mesh, I couldn’t spot the shooter at all. But I could make out Lena’s crumpled body, a streak of blood behind her from where she’d crawled from the open space to shelter. The shooter, her last man, must have already been in cover. From my position, I could see nothing of him at all.

Another shot rang out, and this time the clank as the bullet hit the metal walkway came right next to my foot, the vibrations shooting up into my body. The floor had buckled upwards, a neat outline visible where the bullet was lodged. If I stayed where I was, it would only be a matter of time before he got me.

I moved quickly across the walkway that ran right along the front of the office area. The two extra clips I’d taken from Mary were in my pocket. I took one of them and reloaded the gun as I moved, heading for the far end of the walkway.

And Lena’s man leapt out in front me.

Only then did I spot a second staircase at that far end. He’d slunk up there, hoping to come at me from behind. The look of surprise on his face at seeing me running toward him must have matched my own.

I began to raise my gun. But he’d already set his position before he’d come out into the open. I instinctively ducked and twisted to my right, hoping to get the chance to retreat.

As I did so he fired.

My quick manoeuvre saved me and I managed to get three shots off without even looking. But my quick change of direction threw my balance off. I tried to steady myself. My body thumped against the guardrail that ran alongside the walkway. I reached out with my free hand, trying to grab the rail, but my fingers slipped. With the bulk of my weight still in motion, I could do nothing to stop my momentum. I toppled over the edge, my arms flailing uselessly as I fell toward the ground ten feet below.

I had no time to prepare myself for the landing. I slammed into the floor, shoulder and hip first. The short distance was the only thing that saved my life. But the shock of the landing was enough to leave me on the deck dazed, unable to move.

From the lack of further fire from the man on the stairs I could only assume I’d been lucky and hit him, otherwise he’d have had no problem finishing me off.

Lying on the ground, I looked around the warehouse floor, my vision blurred. As I started to regain myself, I spotted Lena over in the near corner, underneath the mezzanine level. She was sitting upright against a bare shelving unit, breathing heavily, her right arm slung across her body, cradling the wound in her left shoulder.

I tried to sit up but it was too much too soon. I shouted out from the pain that tore through me. The whole right
side of my body was throbbing. The gun I’d been carrying had been thrown from my grip and was lying two yards in front of me, towards where Lena was sitting.

I concentrated and picked myself up, gritting my teeth. Crouching low, more because of the pain and stiffness than anything else, I crept forward towards my gun, my body awkward and unwilling.

Lena’s right hand came away from her stricken shoulder. With all the layers she had on I couldn’t see down to the wound. But the way her dark jacket was glistening in the dim light told me she was soaked in blood. Her hand moved down towards her side.

Towards the gun that lay by her.

She wasn’t going to get the chance to use it.

From somewhere within, I suddenly found clarity of movement and thought. I leap into action. Ignoring the fallen gun I’d been heading for, I rushed straight at Lena. She was trying to ready herself as I reached her. I grabbed hold of her right hand and slammed it against the metal shelves that lay behind her. She cried out and let go of the weapon.

Without giving her a chance to recover, I punched her left shoulder twice in quick succession. She screamed in pain. But I wasn’t about to start playing nice. Months of pent-up anger, hatred, vengeance had built up in me. And she was one of the biggest causes. Whatever sordid attraction I’d felt for her in my time of despair was long gone now. She’d used me. She’d had Mackie killed. I wanted to hurt her.

I sat on top of her and dug my knuckle into her stricken shoulder. She cried out again but I held my hand there, grinding into the wound that lay beneath her clothes.

‘Where’s Grainger?’ I shouted.

Despite her position and the obvious pain, her steely resolve didn’t waiver. She stared at me coldly, only blinking
each time the pain got too much.

‘I’m going to make this real easy for you,’ I said. ‘You gave Schuster something. I’m guessing you’ve given up where Grainger is. Tell me where she is and I’ll make the pain stop.’

Her hard glare didn’t shift. Her mouth stayed firmly shut.

I grabbed the collar of her coat with my right hand and pulled her close to me.

‘Where is she!’ I screamed.

But she didn’t respond at all. Didn’t react.

I slapped her hard in the face with the back of my left hand. Then I pulled back my arm, balled my fist. Ready to strike. I wanted to punch her. Wipe that look off her face. I wanted to punch her again and again and again until there was nothing left of her.

I knew that if I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. Not like I had with Schuster. I didn’t lose it often. But I didn’t think I could control myself around her. I could do nothing to Lena that I’d feel bad about. But then nothing I could do would bring satisfaction. Beating her to death wasn’t going to make all the bad things she’d done go away. As hard as it was, I had to rise above it.

Some of the steel that had been in her eyes before had gone. Maybe she finally understood that she wasn’t going to win this time.

But I also understood something. I understood that she was never going to tell me where Grainger was.

‘Just tell me one thing,’ I said. ‘Why Mackie? Why did you kill Mackie? Of all the things you could have traded, why that?’

Lena began to laugh. Actually more of a cackle.

‘You still don’t understand anything about me, do you?’ she said with pride.

Somehow, despite everything, she’d once again managed
to trump me. I hated her for it. I hated her more than anything.

‘We didn’t kill Mackie,’ she said, enjoying her moment. ‘We didn’t have to. The Americans were more than willing to do it themselves when they found out what we were offering. It’s so much more fun watching you take each other out, fighting over something, somebody that we don’t even care about.’

And in that moment I finally realised what drove Lena. We’d discussed ourselves many times during my captivity but I hadn’t truly known her then. I did now. She didn’t do what she did out of duty to her country or her superiors or her family or anything as seemingly noble as that. What drove her was destruction, chaos and other people’s pain. It was as simple as that. She thrived on the pain of others.

I pushed her away from me, pressing hard on her left shoulder, eliciting another cry. This had gone on too long. There would never be a satisfactory conclusion. I stood up and strode back to my gun, picked it up, turned around and aimed at her head.

She began to laugh again.

‘You can’t save Grainger now,’ she said. ‘You’ll never be able to save her.’

I ignored her jibes and walked back up to her. I crouched down by her side and pushed the barrel of the gun onto her forehead.

‘Even if you get to her before the Americans do, she’s dead,’ Lena said. ‘You’re all dead. You don’t think we’d just let those CIA pigs walk away from this, do you?’

Despite myself, I just couldn’t help but be sucked in.

‘What did you do?’ I said.

‘The cherry on top,’ she said, a beaming smile on her face. ‘We don’t do deals. You should know that by now.’

This time I couldn’t help myself. I threw a punch into the
side of her head. I got to my feet and unleashed a kick into her ribs, then another. She doubled over and coughed and spluttered.

‘She’s dead!’ Lena screamed, not lifting her head. ‘You can’t save her now. You can’t save anyone!’

I pulled the gun up, aiming for the spot between her eyes.

‘This is it, Carl,’ she said, looking up. ‘This is your chance. Do it!’

I lowered my aim and fired a single shot. The bullet hit Lena in the gut. She winced and her body creased over onto the floor. She began to cry and moan. I walked up to her, knelt down and put my face to her ear.

‘I’m not letting you off that easily,’ I said, my voice calm and quiet.

Both of her hands were up against the wound on her gut. She was writhing on the floor.