Shadow Conflict Read online

  Doubtless he knew this area better than she, and Anya was content to let him lead. She did, however, notice that he wasn’t following a direct route, instead cutting left and right seemingly at random, and at one point almost doubling back on himself.

  The part of Anya’s mind devoted to tradecraft and situational awareness recognized this basic anti-surveillance routine straightaway, having employed it countless times herself. She was however surprised that an untrained civilian like Alex should be so inclined.

  ‘Relax, Alex,’ she advised. When it came to potential tails, he was in safe hands as long as she was around. ‘No one is going to find you.’

  ‘You did,’ he pointed out with an edge of irritation.

  She decided to let that one slide. In fairness, she couldn’t blame him for being nervous. When she’d caught up with him at an underground gambling den a short while earlier, he’d just fleeced nearly a thousand euros from a Russian thug at a game of poker. If the man’s body language had been anything to go by, he wasn’t the sort to let such a humiliation stand.

  The street soon opened out onto a much larger square, ringed by more bars and restaurants, and dominated on its western side by a massive clock tower. Groups of tourists were pausing to take selfies in the city’s central square as they passed. Anya instinctively turned her face away from the camera phones, cursing the march of technology that had given virtually every civilian an easy means of capturing her image.

  Approaching a small but busy café-bar just off the main square, Alex seemed to have found what he was looking for. He led her inside, found a free table near the back and dumped his coat over a chair.

  ‘Have a seat,’ he said, gesturing to the chair opposite. He’d already made himself comfortable, and had caught the eye of one of the waitresses.

  Anya frowned. ‘You said we were going to your apartment.’

  ‘No, I said we’d go somewhere we could talk,’ Alex corrected her. ‘Trust me, I’ve got a pretty good memory for these things. We can talk here. It’s busy, so no one’s going to overhear us. Our table has a good field of view, so no one can come in without being seen, and there’s a back door that leads to an alleyway if we need to bail in a hurry.’

  Anya’s look of surprise must have been obvious even to him. ‘I’ve been reading a lot of spy fiction lately,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘And frankly, I’d rather you didn’t know where I live. So take a seat and have a drink with me.’

  Anya compared the man before her to the weak, indecisive and downtrodden individual she’d parted company with nearly a year ago. He was different now, more confident, tougher. She supposed anyone would have been altered by what he’d been through, seeing his life fall down around him, becoming a wanted criminal. She knew it was largely her own actions that had wrought this change.

  He was smirking at her, perhaps enjoying the slight but perceptible shift in the dynamics of their relationship. She’d come here in search of his help, and it was within his power to refuse her. For now at least, he could call the shots.

  ‘Fine,’ she said unhappily, slipping into the chair opposite and repositioning it slightly to afford her a better view of the bar. She’d been doing her best to watch for possible tails on the way here and found nothing suspicious, though the throngs of tourists and late-night revellers made it impossible to watch everyone.

  It was one of the reasons Anya had always found busy cities unnerving.

  ‘You told me I should look you up if I ever needed help,’ she began, struggling for the right words. She was used to people trying to pry information out of her, not the other way around. ‘Here I am.’

  Alex cocked an eyebrow. ‘That’s it? That’s all I get?’

  ‘What would you like?’

  ‘I don’t know. What about, “How have you been doing for the past year, Alex?” Or maybe, “Sorry for fucking up your life and cutting you loose once you did my dirty work?” You know, something along those lines. Surprise me, get creative.’

  Anya had sensed something like this was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier to listen to. ‘Nobody is proud of what happened to you, Alex. But I can’t spend my life dwelling on it. Neither should you,’ she added with a meaningful look.

  Alex met her gaze evenly, as if to test himself against her. The young man she’d first met would have backed down at a moment like this, but not now. For a moment, the tension between them seemed to hang heavy in the air.

  At this moment however, the pretty young waitress working the tables caught sight of them, and wove her way skilfully through the bar to take their order.

  Normally Anya might have been irritated by such an interruption, but this time she welcomed it. Alex, speaking fluent Polish that surpassed Anya’s grasp of the language, greeted her and ordered a bottle of Żywiec beer.

  Not for the first time, she caught herself envying the photographic memory of her younger companion. She could commit important information to memory, and had learned to speak a number of languages in the course of her long career, but it required great effort and mental discipline. For Alex, it simply happened. And it was a talent he’d clearly put to good use in his new life.

  The waitress returned shortly with a beer for Alex and a mineral water for Anya. She was here to talk, not to get drunk. Alex, however, didn’t look impressed with her choice.

  ‘Least you can do is humour me with a proper drink,’ he said, tipping his beer back and downing half the bottle in one gulp.

  Anya gave him a look of disapproval. ‘Would you like to hear me out, or are you planning on starting your own… “stag do” tonight?’

  This prompted a snort of amusement. ‘Not unless you make me a proposal. Anyway, I’ve got a feeling I’m not going to like what you’re about to ask.’ Sensing his humour had fallen on an unappreciative audience, he put down his beer and leaned forward. ‘All right, Anya. Say what you came here to say.’

  ‘I need your help finding someone. This person has been carefully hidden and protected, and my usual contacts won’t be enough to get the job done. But as we both know, you have certain… skills that could be useful.’

  Alex was, or had been, a gifted computer hacker when she first met him. His years of coding experience had enabled him to hack into the CIA’s secure network and steal a highly classified file known as the Black List for her. The endeavour had nearly cost both their lives, but his abilities were undeniable.

  ‘Aw, now I feel like Liam Neeson, only younger and better looking,’ he remarked sarcastically. ‘So you want me to run a digital trace on this mystery person. Why? What are you caught up in this time?’

  Anya took a sip of her water. ‘Better that you don’t know.’

  ‘No, I think it’s better that I do,’ he countered. ‘I got into that whole Black List bollocks last year without even knowing what I was dealing with, or why people were trying to kill me. Yourself included. No, this time I want to know what’s at stake, then I’ll decide if I want to help you.’

  Anya was silent for a few moments, weighing up how much to tell him. It went against her nature to give out information that wasn’t necessary to an operation, but she was beginning to understand that such an approach didn’t exactly foster a sense of trust or loyalty in others. Alex’s ultimatum was proof of that, and forcing his cooperation would take more time than she had.

  ‘It’s about Marcus Cain,’ she said at length.

  That was enough to darken Alex’s mood. ‘The guy who sent all those black ops arseholes to kill us in Istanbul?’

  She nodded. ‘Myself and a few others staged an operation to take him out in Pakistan. It did not work as we’d hoped.’

  She shifted position, her jaw clenched tight. A stray round had slammed into the left side of her chest, partially penetrating her body armour and cracking two ribs. Painkillers had kept it under control for the past couple of days, but it was clear she needed time to heal up.

  ‘The rest of my group were taken prisoner,’ she went on. �
��Only I made it out.’

  The pieces seemed to come together in Alex’s mind then. ‘So you want me to find your missing friends?’

  Anya shook her head. ‘No. They will be completely off the grid. And even if you could find them, he will have them well guarded. Cain will take no chances this time. I would not be able to get to them alone.’

  He frowned, confused. ‘So who do you want me to find?’

  So Anya told him. She told him everything she knew about her target, why they were so important, and what she was planning to do once she got her hands on them.

  Although he wasn’t normally lost for words, Alex remained silent once she’d finished. She watched as he raised the beer to his lips and drained the remainder of the bottle, putting it down carefully on the table. Spotting his empty drink, the waitress came over to ask if he wanted another, but he waved her off.

  ‘Jesus,’ he said at last. ‘I mean, going after Cain I can understand. But this—’

  ‘This is the world we live in, Alex,’ Anya cut in, pain and urgency undermining her patience. Every minute that passed increased the chance of Drake or one of the others breaking. ‘He would do the same if the situation were reversed.’

  ‘What does that say about the two of you?’

  Anya could feel her throat tightening, not just because of what he’d said, but the way he looked at her. It was as if she had diminished in his estimation somehow, as if she had exposed an aspect of her life she would rather he hadn’t seen. But there it was.

  As she’d said, that was the world they lived in.

  ‘I am not proud of this,’ she assured him.

  ‘So you keep saying.’

  ‘But lives are at stake, and I am running out of options,’ she pressed. ‘Good people risked their lives to help me.’

  ‘Lot of that going around.’

  She ignored his biting remark with difficulty, just as she ignored the pain in her ribs. ‘And they will die if we don’t do something.’

  ‘Hate to say this, but what makes you think they’re not dead already?’

  Alex jumped as Anya slammed her fist down on the table hard enough to rattle the empty bottle, pain and mounting frustration finally getting the better of her. The chatter seemed to die down then, several customers casting curious or anxious glances their way as they waited to see what would happen next.

  Anya said nothing. She was prepared to endure a frosty reception if it meant recruiting his help, but there were lines even she wasn’t willing to cross.

  ‘No offence intended,’ he mumbled, realizing he’d gone too far.

  As it became obvious that a raging argument wasn’t about to flare up, the conversation in the bar began to pick up again and Anya felt secure enough to speak.

  ‘Cain will keep them alive for now, because he thinks they can lead him to me,’ she explained, fervently hoping it was true. ‘But if their lives mean nothing to you, think of this as a chance to take down the man who made you a wanted fugitive.’

  ‘Well, technically you did that.’

  Anya sighed, sensing any potential justification she tried to give him would be similarly rebuffed. ‘I can’t do this without you, Alex,’ she said, deciding simply to be honest with him. She leaned closer, finally allowing herself to show some of the guilt and fear that had wracked her since leaving Pakistan. ‘I’m asking for your help, because there is no one else I can turn to. Please.’

  Alex looked down, saying nothing, but she could sense her words had struck a chord. The only question was whether it was enough to change his mind.

  When he looked up again, his expression was difficult to read, even for Anya, and she felt herself tense up.

  ‘All right,’ he conceded. ‘I’ll need as much information as you’ve got on her.’

  That wouldn’t take long, Anya thought. Most of her information was at least 15 years old; the rest would have to come from conjecture and assumption.

  ‘You will have it.’

  ‘And a guarantee we won’t hurt her.’

  That wasn’t so easy given what they were about to attempt. ‘I promise I have no intention of harming her,’ she said, formulating a compromise of sorts.

  It was enough. Nodding, Alex rose from his chair and grabbed his coat. ‘Well then, we’d better get started. I’m guessing you’d rather not wait until morning.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘Looks like you will get to see my apartment after all, but only if you promise not to fuck the place up.’

  Somehow Anya doubted that would be the honour he was making it out to be. Still, at least he’d agreed to help her.

  She stood up, letting out a sharp breath as her ribs protested. Alex spotted it, and took a step towards her. ‘You all right?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she replied, shaking her head. ‘Come on, let’s get to work.’

  Finding Marcus Cain’s daughter was going to be difficult enough, abducting and taking her hostage even more so. And as for trading her life in exchange for Drake and the others… well, that was a bridge she would cross once she got to it.

  For now, they had a starting point. That was enough.

  Chapter 3

  Drake was dying. He knew the symptoms of hypothermia well enough, and in some part of his groggy mind he was aware that they were taking hold. Sluggish movements, slowed heart rate and respiration, impaired concentration. If it hadn’t been pitch black in his cell, he imagined his vision would be growing hazy as he slowly lost consciousness.

  Physical sensations were fading away, replaced by a dreamlike state where memories and thoughts intermingled with the world around him, taunting him with images of battles already lost and companions already dead.

  One moment he was here in this freezing cell, the next he was storming into a conference room in a Pakistani safe house, expecting to catch his most dangerous enemy unawares, but instead finding himself fighting for his life. In another flash, he saw himself speeding away from the scene, injured and furious at his failure, then there was an explosion of noise and sickening weightlessness, and the vision faded as darkness encroached on him.

  Drake’s eyes were growing heavy as his exhausted body pleaded with him for sleep. He could almost feel himself surrendering to it, his mind relinquishing the iron grip it had retained on his consciousness these past couple of days.

  Accepting the inevitable.

  Another vision came to him then. He was strapped to a chair in some dingy basement, surrounded by armed enemies, forced to choose between his two friends tied up in front of him. Choose one, or they both die. He saw the pistol being raised, saw the look of acceptance in Mason’s eyes, and jumped violently at the harsh crack of a gunshot.

  Drake snapped as shock and grief exploded from his lungs, his mind returning to itself at least temporarily as the terrible vision lingered.

  But it wasn’t a gunshot that he’d heard. It was the clang of his cell door being unbolted.

  Harsh light flooded in from the room beyond, blinding him. Too weak to resist, Drake could do nothing but watch as the giant’s enormous silhouette bent over him, grasping the plasticuffs that still secured his wrists, and hauling him to his feet. At least, he would have been on his feet if he had been capable of walking.

  Instead he was dragged through to the main room, his body as limp as a rag doll. As his vision slowly returned he saw the meat hook suspended from the ceiling again, and braced himself for the inevitable wave of pain as he was hoisted up onto it. It didn’t hurt as much this time, perhaps because hypothermia had reduced the blood flow to his extremities, numbing them to the damage.

  At least it had some advantages, then.

  Trying to focus what remained of his senses, Drake looked around. There wasn’t much to see: the same illumination coming from a couple of bare bulbs wired into the ceiling, the same rough paved floor and dark brick walls. The only new addition was the sturdy wooden table placed near the centre of the room, directly in front of him. About six feet in length and three in width, it looked like t
he kind of rustic, hard-wearing kitchen table one might find in a farmhouse.

  He almost expected to find drills, saws and other torture implements laid out to give him a good look at what was in store, but to Drake’s surprise the table was entirely bare. Still, he knew it had been placed there for a reason, and he had a feeling he’d find out what it was soon enough.

  ‘Well, well,’ a familiar voice spoke from somewhere behind him. ‘How’s it hanging, Ryan?’

  Drake watched as its owner sauntered into view. Tall and powerfully built, he cut an imposing figure that was down to more than just physical size. There was a presence, a confidence in his movements, an unhurried ease that spoke of a man used to doing whatever he wants, in whatever way he sees fit.

  His face, rugged and strong-featured, might have been called handsome but for the long snaking scar that bisected the left side, running from the jawline to just above the eye, and leaving his mouth permanently contorted into a faintly sneering smile. The effect was to render an already intimidating visage truly frightening.

  The smile broadened as he regarded Drake. ‘Sorry. Just couldn’t help myself. I mean, how often does a man find himself in a situation like this?’

  Quite often, if Drake’s memory of Jason Hawkins served. Torture and interrogation might have been a necessary evil for some people in their profession, but for Hawkins it was something else: a chance to indulge his baser appetites and apply some of his terrible creativity to the infliction of pain. It was something he took great pleasure in.

  Hawkins took a sip from the cup of coffee he was carrying. Drake could see the steam rising from the cup, curling into tantalising wisps. He could only imagine what it would be like to gulp down that hot liquid, or to be clothed in the heavy jacket and woollen jumper that Hawkins was wearing.

  ‘I’ve got to admit, buddy, you’re not looking too good,’ he decided after surveying Drake’s battered body. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. ‘Between you and me, I don’t think the accommodation here is up to much. The guys here haven’t been looking after you too well, have they? It’s cool, man, you can tell me.’