Viper Nine Read online

  ‘You know,’ Driver said. ‘You’re a student of Molevchek.’

  Kovac judged her with suspicion. ‘Tell me, what is Molevchek’s first principle?’

  ‘Purity of genetic integrity,’ she replied in Russian.

  ‘And what is the fourteenth principle?’

  Driver smiled. ‘There is no fourteenth principle.’

  ‘She seems to know it,’ said in German, lingering in the corner of the room.

  ‘Of course,’ Driver replied in the same tongue. ‘I was one of his closest students.’

  Kovac seemed taken aback. ‘You studied with Molevchek?’

  Driver nodded. ‘In The Boneyard, yeah.’

  The Serb stroked the darkening stubble on his chin. ‘You speak excellent German.’

  ‘I have a German mother. And two grandparents from Berlin, forced to flee Germany after the war.’

  Graf nodded at Kovac. ‘She’s from good stock. With her skillsets, she could be useful.’

  Kovac wasn’t quite so convinced.

  And Jana was about to feed his paranoia, jabbing at her keyboard in frustration.

  ‘What is it?’ the Serb asked over a shoulder.

  ‘The internet connection’s down.’

  ‘How can that be?’ Kovac asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jana said, heading out of the room to investigate.

  ‘Sir,’ a foot soldier said, passing her on the way in. ‘The power’s down.’

  ‘What?’

  The man swallowed and stuttered. ‘Um, the power, it’s down, sir.’

  ‘I know it’s fucking down; it was rhetorical question!’ Kovac turned to Graf. ‘See to it.’

  As his number two beat an urgent path out of the door, Kovac stepped back, pulled his Beretta and aimed it at Driver. ‘This is you.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Driver pleaded. ‘I’m as in the dark as you.’

  ‘You’ve got three seconds to tell me what you’ve done.’

  * * *

  Wells prowled around the vehicles parked under the depot canopy. The fixed-trailer truck was locked up tight and too exposed for him to gain entry. A military transport truck with an open rear and a beige canopy had revealed nothing. The only other transport was a two-seater Fast Attack Vehicle, or FAV, the military term for a giant armoured dune buggy.

  Turning his attention to the opposite end of the compound, he skirted the perimeter, dashing in bursts. Making it across the rear of the compound unseen, he jogged along the perimeter fence out of sight of the patrols.

  Wells found a stack of hard plastic munitions boxes under a camouflage netting pegged into the ground and ruffling in the breeze.

  He enjoyed the brief respite of shade and picked his way through the high stacks of boxes. There was a good chance the warhead was on the base somewhere. It was doubtful they’d keep it in the jail. More likely in the box it came in. Tucked away somewhere secure no one would stumble across it.

  Thermonuclear warheads weren’t the kind of thing you left lying around. Yet so far, his search had proven futile.

  Under the shade of the netting, the British operative found only standard military supplies. He tutted to himself. Perhaps they’d sold the stolen B83 already. If so, he was wasting his time, and risking capture for nothing.

  At least he’d been able to share the co-ordinates for the base. And disabling the power should, in theory, have stalled the transfer and interfered with the hackers’ efforts for the time being.

  In reality, the mission depended on the actions of Lim and Mo in Hong Kong, and Rios and Pope in Mexico.

  Would sabotaging the Saudi cell put more lives in danger, including Driver’s?

  Wells couldn’t afford to let his doubts about the others invade his mind, and yet they did. Lim may have proven herself in Rome. But what was to stop her disappearing now she was so close to home? Her chances of success were slim at best.

  The same went double for Rios. A former cartel sicario returning to her old killing grounds. How easy would it be to return to the fold, either before or after the mission? Wells wasn’t in contact with any of them. They could be anywhere, doing anything and he feared for the safety of both Pope and Mo.

  The British agent shook the doubts out of his head. No, he had to operate on trust that everything would fall into place, even if he had to pretend. Even if all the odds were against it.

  ‘Faith and fear are one and the same,’ his grandmother once said to him when he was young. ‘They both involve believing in something you can’t see. So why not choose faith?’

  Wells remembered asking why he should choose faith.

  ‘Because fear will give you nothing but indigestion,’ she’d replied at the dinner table. ‘Now eat your vegetables.’

  Wells took a last look around. Faith it would have to be.

  His sole focus was to report Kovac’s location and do what he could to take down the cell. The rest was up to the others. Yet having fulfilled his role, he couldn’t just leave Driver in the compound alone with Kovac. He had to try something to save her, even if he had severe doubts about her intentions. A woman with right-wing views meeting an extremist ex-paramilitary? Was this some kind of defection? She seemed mighty keen to deliver the ransom.

  Wells chose to leave the inquiry for later. Right now, he needed access to the main building. Getting in and out alive with Driver was a long shot, but he had to try.

  In fact, a way in was about to present itself. As he backed away from the munitions boxes, Wells heard the scuff of boots behind him. A half-turn to his right revealed the sight of Kovac’s right-hand man, Otto Graf. The German grinned at him from behind the sight of an assault rifle. ‘Caught you, you rat.’

  Chapter 34

  Kowloon, Hong Kong

  Lim took cover as the triads on the top floor tore the nearby wall to shreds. Mo stayed low in a ball, his hands over his ears, not used to the sound of an automatic.

  Lim found a single bullet left in the chamber of the weapon, its barrel smoking and magazine dry. She tapped Mo on the shoulder. ‘The bag. There should be a knife.’

  Mo’s hand shook as he opened the zip on the front pocket. As he handed her a six-inch blade, she heard the triads shouting among each other.

  They were out of bullets too, the hotel walls like a colander and gun-smoke tempering the air.

  Lim had counted a gang of four massing in front of the door to the penthouse floor. In the back-and-forth of the gun battle, she’d only taken down one. A teenager who’d fired in a panic, wasting his rounds and leaving himself exposed.

  That left three Dragons in her way, with only one bullet and a knife to combat them with.

  But there was no option but to go. Now was the time.

  Lim tapped Mo again and pointed upwards. He stayed where he was. She beckoned him on with fierce eyes until he relented and unfurled himself, ready to move.

  Lim switched the gun to her left hand and the blade to her right. She could shoot with either hand, but threw better with her dominant arm.

  Breaking cover, Lim rounded the corner of the penultimate landing and hit the foot of the stairs. Two of the men retreated, ditching their empty weapons. She took a shot but missed. The third man wasn’t so lucky. Lim threw the knife upwards with the hard flick of a wrist. The blade lodged in his heart. He staggered to his right and toppled over the balcony to the flight of stairs below. The man’s body tumbled to a stop as Lim grabbed Mo by the scruff of the neck.

  She kept the pistol in hand on the off-chance it might fool the triads. With quick, light strides up the final flight of stairs, she arrived on the landing and eased her way through the bullet-ridden door.

  Behind it sat a foyer of sorts. A square space with elevator doors dead ahead, wedged open with a huge pot plant in a heavy gold pot. There was a tall, floor-to-ceiling window to the right of the elevator, letting in the late afternoon daylight. And a large, blue and white China vase on an ornamental table to the left of the stairwell door.

 
Lim turned to her right and faced a set of double-doors leading into the penthouse. Made of tall, dark wood, they stood behind the last of the Kowloon Dragons. Two twenty-something men a snip under five-ten. One, stocky in a faded yellow T-shirt, his lip carrying the wisp of a moustache; the other a bone-thin, goateed weasel in a lime-green, short-sleeve shirt.

  Lim held them in the sights of her empty pistol. ‘Out of the way.’

  ‘You’ll have to shoot us,’ Yellow T-shirt replied, as Mo dared enter through the stairwell door.

  Lim sighed and tossed the gun away. She noticed a third person resting on a cream chaise lounge to the right of the doors. A woman with dramatic orange eyes and hair woven into two long braids.

  She wore a dark-brown fur coat and pumps that rested on the end of the chair. The woman was young and languid, seeming unfazed by the sight of Lim or the previous gun battle.

  ‘Attack Dog must be on the other side of those doors,’ Mo said, appearing at Lim’s side.

  ‘You think?’ she replied, with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

  ‘So what’s the next move?’ he asked under his breath.

  ‘Depends on if they’re willing to move,’ Lim said, of the men guarding the door.

  ‘You know Kung Fu, right?’ Mo asked.

  Lim looked him in the eye. ‘Not everyone over here practices martial arts,’ she said. ‘Or wants to engage in a—’

  Mo nodded towards the men. Both stepping forward, assuming Wing Chun stances. The swagger in their movement told her they were looking forward to a fight.

  Mo shrugged. ‘You were saying?’

  ‘Shut up,’ Lim sighed as the men began to move around her in a wide arc. They goaded her with remarks. What they were going to do with her when they had her on the floor. Then what they’d do with her after that.

  ‘You’d make a nice piece of ass,’ the man in the green shirt said. ‘Shame we’ll have to fuck you up.’

  ‘What do we do now?’ Mo whispered from the corner of his mouth.

  Lim peeled the jacket off her tired shoulders and held it out on the end of a finger. ‘You hold my jacket.’

  Mo took it off her. ‘What happens if they beat you?’

  ‘Then don’t beg for your life,’ she replied. ‘Keep quiet and you’ll earn their respect.’

  ‘And they’ll let me go?’

  ‘No, but they’ll kill you faster.’

  Mo swallowed a lump the size of a tennis ball. ‘You have moves, right? I mean, I’ve seen you fire a gun, but—’

  Lim put a hand on his chest and pushed him into the corner of the penthouse foyer. Rolling out her neck, she limbered up and breathed in some much needed energy. Meeting the two men in the middle of the carpet, Lim raised her fists in defence.

  Green Shirt was the first to make a move. He let out a cry and attacked her with a series of kicks. Lim blocked them all, but was driven against a wall. She slipped out as the man took a chunk out of the plaster and danced into space.

  Yellow T-shirt was on her with a punch. She rolled his weight over her shoulder and onto the floor, blocking the next attack from his triad friend. Countering on the back foot, she threw a straight right to his jaw.

  The man’s head snapped back. Blood spitting into the air. Lim stayed light on her toes as Yellow T-shirt came for a second bite. Lim repelled a chopping left, but caught a heavy kick to the thigh. It knocked her off-balance and into a limp. The two men took full advantage, moving in for the kill.

  Lim shook out her leg and defended against the whirl of feet and fists as they drove her back again on her heels. She spied the china vase to her right, scooped it with one hand and smashed it over the head of the bigger man.

  He staggered away in a bloody daze. Lim caught a jagged piece of the broken vase, ducked a swing and slashed Green Shirt across the leg. She came back up, cutting the man’s chest and throat.

  He sank to his knees, holding his neck. Lim drove the shard into the side of his temple and he fell away.

  That left Yellow T-shirt, back for more. He shook off the blow to the head and sized Lim up at a distance, planning his avenue of attack.

  She bent at the knees and raised both hands. A smile and a wink drew him into an all-out assault.

  Adjusting her feet, Lim delivered a side kick to the triad’s jaw. It broke his run and his neck, the man left flat on his back on the carpet.

  She felt the inside leg of her tight-fitting black trousers. Lim could swear she heard a rip in the seam. ‘I should have worn the stretchy pants,’ she muttered, as Mo edged out of his corner.

  Catching her breath, Lim waved him on towards the door of the penthouse. She was sure that was the end of the triads. She felt relieved the ordeal was over and a little surprised they’d made it.

  A good dose of heavenly luck, she thought. But, as the pair of them walked tired towards the door, the girl on the chaise lounge swung her legs to the floor and rose to her feet.

  She blocked the way to the penthouse, taller than she appeared on the chaise lounge, with a good three inches on Lim. ‘My name’s Gigi,’ she said, like it was their first day at elementary school. ‘What’s yours?’

  Lim waved her aside. ‘Your worst nightmare if you don’t move.’

  Gigi threw her head back and let out a high-pitched giggle. She drew her lollipop through closed lips and stuck it to the hallway wallpaper, the stickiness holding it parallel to the floor.

  The smirk remained, but Gigi’s disturbed gaze took on an ominous focus. She slipped the fur coat off her bare shoulders and let it fall to the floor, revealing a black, sleeveless trouser suit underneath. The thin, comfortable kind a girl could fight in.

  Gigi had the look of a pro athlete. A muscular frame shredded of all fat, with defined biceps, broad shoulders and powerful thighs.

  She moved with a balletic grace across the carpet, sidestepping across Lim’s path and assuming a traditional position, a variant of the Ban Ma Bu, her feet wide apart and her legs bent deep, with her ass close to the floor.

  Lim turned to Mo and waved him back into his corner. Already fatigued from the previous fight, she sucked several chi breaths into her diaphragm. Turning side-on to her right, Lim bent low at the knees two feet from her opponent. Yet Gigi wanted in closer. To intimidate Lim before they started.

  Without breaking eye contact or stance, she shuffled her way forward until the tips of their shoes almost touched.

  Lim kept her eyes on Gigi’s, waiting for the first twitch of movement. It didn’t come, so Lim went first. A dummy with her right. A left thrown to Gigi’s head.

  Her opponent dropped a shoulder and evaded the punch. She hit back with a stinging left of her own.

  Lim attacked again, but Gigi was a split second too fast. She sucked the Chinese in and threw her to the floor. Lim bounced up, only to absorb a dizzying flurry of attempted kicks and punches. She hung in there, but the larger woman’s mixed style was hard to anticipate. Keen to avoid a long contest, Lim got sloppy and broke her defences at the wrong time. She went for a head-kick only for Gigi to catch her leg and deliver a forearm smash to the cheekbone. Lim took the hit and locked the woman up with her hands around her neck. Gigi telegraphed the attempt and swept her standing leg out from under her.

  Suddenly, she was staring at the ceiling. Gigi leapt into the air, knees to her chest. Lim rolled backwards out of the way as her opponent landed where her windpipe would have been.

  Nursing a dull pain in the small of her back, Lim recovered her composure. Gigi, meanwhile, bounced and danced on the spot, eyes above knuckles like a Muay Thai pro.

  Clearly the woman was the more skilled of the two. She had devastating power and speed. An answer for every move and a masterful command of a mix of martial arts.

  Lim spat a mouthful of blood to the carpet, raising her guard for the next exchange. Was it even possible to win?

  Chapter 35

  Saudi Arabia

  With her wrists bound in duct tape, Kovac’s men marched Driver into a differ
ent room. This one an old interrogation room, with old manacles bolted to the wall and none of the trappings of the Viper Nine leader’s quarters.

  She took a hard shove in the back and fell to the concrete floor. Kovac stood over her with his weapon holstered. ‘Time to start talking,’ he said. ‘What do you know?’

  The man’s first threat had been a bluff. She doubted his desire for the truth would stretch beyond a second refusal to talk.

  ‘I told you, I don’t know anything,’ Driver said, struggling to her feet and facing her captors.

  ‘Then why is my power still down?’ Kovac asked. ‘The breaker switch is back on, but yet, no electricity.’

  ‘Faulty wiring?’ Driver suggested, looking around the room. ‘It’s a pretty old place.’

  ‘Or there’s an intruder in our midst,’ Kovac continued, as a naked lightbulb flickered back to life.

  Jana appeared in the doorway. ‘The emergency generator’s kicked in. We’re back online.’

  ‘Complete the transaction,’ Kovac said, his eyes fixed on Driver.

  Jana dropped to the seat of her jeans and crossed her legs with her back against a wall.

  Driver thought fast as Jana continued with her work. ‘There’s one way I can prove myself to you,’ she said to Kovac.

  ‘Oh, and what’s that?’ he asked.

  Driver lifted the bottom of her vest, slow, so as not to spark any twitchy trigger fingers. She raised it to chin level, baring the tattoo imprinted on the left of her ribcage.

  Kovac squinted and stepped in closer. He reached out as if about to touch it.

  ‘We’re the same, you and me,’ Driver continued, dropping her vest. ‘Please, bring me in. Make me a part of your bigger plan.’

  Kovac stepped back. She moved in closer. He held out a hand, as if forbidding her from invading his space. ‘What bigger plan?’

  Driver continued to edge forward. ‘I know how hard it is, living a lie, hiding in plain sight. Having to keep your hopes and dreams and identity a secret.’ The more Driver talked, the lower Kovac’s gun dropped to his side. ‘And I know what it’s like to see the people you care about—’