Outlaw, page 44
Marc made his way down the shop’s narrow aisle, between piles of packets and cans. The size of the place was deceptive, and its passages went back a long way. He found Lucy near a rack of snack bags, atop which dozed an elderly tabby.
‘Hey, Georgie,’ she whispered, stroking its chin. She had a smile that made her face light up.
The old cat’s eyes were milky and his fur was greying, but he reacted as if he knew her, nuzzling her fingers.
‘I used to feed him bits of jerky,’ she explained. ‘Can’t believe he’s still here.’
‘Hey, puss.’ Marc gave the animal a stroke. ‘What was Lucy here like when she was younger, George? A right troublemaker, I bet.’
The cat emitted a low purr, and Marc took that as agreement.
Lucy looked around, and exhaled a deep breath. ‘Doesn’t feel real.’ Then she shook her head. ‘No, that’s not it. It feels . . . smaller.’ She sounded vulnerable. It was something rare for her. At length, she pointed back down the aisle, towards the counter. ‘That’s where it happened. Where Dad got shot. He’s buried over in Cedar Grove, but this place is more of a marker than some headstone.’
Marc looked. Nothing indicated a man had lost his life in this place. It seemed so mundane.
He thought about the loss of his mother, and her last moments in a hospital bed. Ever since that day, Marc had loathed hospitals, and the cloying atmosphere inside them that brought his worst memories to life. He did his best to avoid them whenever he could.
But Lucy walks straight back in here, looks it right in the eye.
He wondered if he would have been able to do the same thing in her place.
Of its own accord, Marc’s hand found Lucy’s.
‘You okay?’
‘Yeah.’ She nodded, then gave a regretful chuckle. ‘We should go. Coming home, this is bad op-sec. But I had to do it.’ She gave his hand a squeeze. ‘Thanks for being here.’
There was more to say, but the moment slipped away from them when a man spoke up from behind her.
‘Lou? That you?’
Lucy heard the voice and froze, her hand gripping Marc’s tightly.
Marc turned slowly to see a tall black guy wearing a New York Mets baseball jersey and a white kufi cap. He had a paper bag filled with groceries in one hand and a carton of milk in the other.
He had never seen this man before, but Marc noted a familiar pattern in his features. He had the exact same expression on his face that Lucy did when confronted by something unexpected.
‘Hey, Johnny,’ Lucy managed, letting go of his hand. ‘Marc, meet my brother – Jasur.’
‘Who is he?’ Jasur eyed Marc coldly.
‘I’m a friend of your sister’s.’ Marc stiffened, uncertain how to react.
Different emotions warred across Jasur’s face. ‘Lou, why are you here?’
‘Doesn’t matter.’ Lucy stepped past him to make for the door. ‘Marc, c’mon.’
Jasur struggled to find the right thing to say, and Marc felt a pang of sympathy for the man. His own relationship with his sister Kate was a poor one, and he knew how it hurt when you couldn’t pull up the right words to tell someone how you felt about them.
‘Mom’s at home,’ Jasur called after her. ‘You know she talks about you all the time.’
Finally, Marc interposed himself between the two siblings.
‘Look, mate, sorry about this. We shouldn’t be here. We don’t want to cause any trouble. Maybe it’s best if we just leave.’
The irony of his words, based on what he had said only moments before, wasn’t lost on him.
Jasur studied Marc straight-on for the first time.
‘You’re trying to look out for her. I appreciate that. But if you know my sister, you know the woman makes her own choices.’
‘That she does.’ Marc turned towards Lucy. ‘Stay or go? Your call. I’ll back you up either way.’
She gave Marc a sorrowful smile.
‘Yeah. My call.’
*
The Keyes’ house was a few blocks away.
Rust-red in the afternoon light, the brick-built two-storey house had white-framed windows and a sloped roof. It sat on a street lined with identical homes, behind a patch of lawn, and stairs led up to a stoop and the front door.
Marc felt like an interloper, and he hung back as they walked up. Lucy gave him a questioning look, which he answered with a shake of the head.
‘You go ahead. Don’t mind me, I’ll wait outside.’
Jasur led her in, and Marc heard him call out as he opened the door.
‘Mom? We have a visitor. Lou’s come home.’
Lucy hesitated on the threshold, and for a second, the fearless soldier-sniper faded away and she was filled with doubts. Then she disappeared inside and the door closed behind her.
Marc heard a faint sound from within the house that might have been a sob or a gasp of joy, and nodded to himself. After the trials and losses the Rubicon survivors had endured, it was uplifting to find something good in the world, even if only for a moment.
He sat on the steps with his back to the house and took in the street, letting the time pass in silence. It was nothing like his childhood home, and yet it was exactly the same. Ordinary. Conventional. The kind of place where you might grow up and never range too far.
But we’re not like that, are we?
Marc considered that truth about Lucy and himself, about Ekko Solomon and the rest of the Rubicon team. As different as their diverse origin stories might have been, they shared the same instinct to push back against the darkness in the world.
He watched a silver SUV rumble past as the door behind him opened again and Jasur emerged with a glass of lemonade. He offered it to Marc, but didn’t sit down next to him.
‘Mom said “that skinny white boy looks thirsty”, so here you go.’
‘Cheers.’ Marc saluted with the glass and took a sip. It was home-made and tart. He nodded at the house. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Hard work,’ admitted Jasur. ‘It’s worth it.’ He paused before continuing, then changed tack. ‘What happened in the city last night . . .? The news says terrorists.’ The other man watched him carefully. ‘You part of that?’
‘Yeah. We couldn’t prevent it from happening. But we did stop it, in the end. Would have been a lot worse if we hadn’t.’
‘Worse.’ Jasur’s manner hardened around the word. ‘My sister was sent to military prison because of something she did halfway around the world in some war zone. Then she vanishes for years. A card at Christmas is the only way we know she’s alive.’ His gaze bored into Marc. ‘Months ago, Feds come to my house and my family, and to this house and my mom, and you know what they say? Lucy Keyes is a terrorist. She killed innocent people.’ He scowled. ‘You have any idea what it’s like to hear that? And I’m a black man who converted to Islam. What do you reckon those Feds did next? Questioned me for days.’
‘I know she never meant to bring any of that on you.’ Marc gave a slow shake of the head. Like Lucy, he, too, had been framed by the Combine, and they were still no closer to proving their innocence. ‘You don’t believe what they told you, though.’
‘I don’t know what to believe,’ said Jasur. ‘I don’t know you. I’m not sure I know Lou anymore.’
‘Yeah, you do,’ countered Marc. ‘You asked her to come here. Would you have done that if you didn’t trust her? You and your mum still love her, that’s obvious.’ He put down the glass and stood up. ‘I’m a big believer in instinct. Let me tell you what I know about Lucy Keyes. She’s a hero. She’s saved hundreds of lives, mine included. I’d be dead ten times over if not for her. I trust her implicitly, no question. You should be proud of her.’
‘You care about my sister.’ Jasur made it a statement, not a query.
‘I do.’
Marc wanted to say more, but he didn’t know how to frame the reply beyond that simple statement.
What he and Lucy shared was more than bonds forged under fire, more than friendship. But they had never quantified it, never had the time to decide what it truly meant. In that moment, Marc found himself hoping that when this was behind them, they might have the chance.
A flicker of silver caught his eye, drawing his attention back to the street. The same SUV he had seen pass by a few minutes ago drew up at the kerb and halted. Four doors opened at once, allowing men in dark suits to exit the vehicle with practised precision.
‘Get inside,’ Marc snapped. ‘Lock the doors and stay away from the windows.’
Jasur nodded, sensing the same danger.
‘Those aren’t cops, man.’
‘I know.’
*
Marc advanced on the men, coming forward to meet them. He let his hands fall to his sides, aware that the only weapon he had was in the van parked on the far side of the road.
Two of them waited by the vehicle while the senior agents came up to flank Marc. He scanned their faces with a flash of recognition.
The handsome man on the right carried himself with a self-assured air and a smirk playing on his lips. He clearly believed he was in control of this situation. The rough-edged man on the left had the same height and build as his colleague, but his suit wasn’t so neat. He had a flinty gaze, with the prospect of violence glittering there.
‘Mr Dane,’ said the first man. ‘It’s been a few years, so I’ll assume you forgot what I told you at our last meeting.’
‘Something about staying off our radar,’ said his partner, with a sneer. ‘And staying the hell out of this country.’
He remembered their names now.
‘Cahill. Durant. You blokes still working out of Langley, or did the CIA get shot of you?’
Cahill ignored the question. ‘It’s nice to know we made a memorable impression. That almost makes up for you impersonating me at that black site in Poland.’
‘Needs must,’ said Marc. At the time, temporarily adopting the CIA agent’s identity had been a vital step in getting information on a rogue nuclear weapon. ‘Hope it didn’t sully your reputation.’
Durant made a snorting noise.
Cahill gestured at the Keyes house.
‘Why don’t you ask your partner there to come on out, nice and easy? We don’t have to make a thing of this.’
Marc shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Who gives a shit what you think, limey?’ Durant took a step forward, but Marc held his ground. ‘Get Keyes out here right now, or we’ll break down the door and drag her family into the street, kicking and screaming. The whole neighbourhood can watch.’
Marc gave Durant a steely look. When they had first met, he had been hard-pressed to conceal how intimidated he was by the CIA operatives – but a lot of water had passed under the bridge since then, and Marc Dane was a different man.
‘Nice to see you’ve mellowed with age, Durant,’ he replied, then shot a look at the other agent. ‘Can’t you keep your dog on a lead?’
Cahill’s smirk didn’t shift. ‘You made a mistake coming here. You gave us time to track you down. We have Kara Wei and your talkative Finnish friend in custody at JFK.’ He tut-tutted. ‘Bad tradecraft, Dane. I expected better.’
‘Yeah, well. Sometimes other things are more important.’
‘Look, we know Cassidy and the Combine are behind the Wall Street attack,’ he added, in a companionable tone. ‘The men we pulled off his yacht have shown good judgement in their decisions to assist us. The NSA are conducting their own investigation into the incident at Titanpointe. I understand Mr Novick became very talkative once he understood he would be charged with high treason.’
‘Nerds got no guts,’ noted Durant, with an air of challenge.
Cahill continued. ‘Along with additional intelligence from some confidential sources, we have the big picture. We’re just missing the pieces involving Rubicon. So we need you to come with us.’
‘For debriefing,’ added Durant.
Marc pointed at him, as he spoke to Cahill.
‘You know he’s not exactly selling me on the idea? And what are these confidential sources you mentioned?’
‘They wouldn’t exactly be confidential if I revealed them.’
Cahill’s mask of self-confidence slipped a little. Marc saw the fraction of doubt in the other man and seized on it.
‘You know Glovkonin’s pulling the strings, right? He’s been angling to run the Combine from day one. Cassidy’s card was marked from the moment this operation went into action. Glovkonin’s already taken out at least one of the other members. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the last man standing by now.’ Neither of the agents replied, and Marc carried on. ‘Let’s cut the bullshit and the chest-thumping, yeah? Real talk. Glovkonin is the problem, and as long as he’s still out there, this isn’t over. His ambitions won’t stop with screwing over your stock market.’
Cahill’s smile compressed into a thin line. ‘We cleaned house after our last encounter,’ he began, referring to a failed Combine-sponsored terrorist bombing in Washington. ‘Purged as much of their influence as we could from the agency and the government.’
‘Couldn’t touch that slime Cassidy, though,’ Durant said bitterly. ‘Son of a bitch was too well connected. He’s the reason why we were looking the other way when Wall Street happened. His people tied us up with false leads.’
‘You don’t have to thank us for dealing with it,’ said Lucy, as she emerged from the front door. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘Ms Keyes,’ said Cahill. ‘Nice of you to join us.’
‘You’ve been listening?’ said Marc, as she moved up to stand shoulder to shoulder with him.
‘Every word.’ Lucy eyed the two agents. ‘Watch where you put those shoes on Mom’s lawn. Don’t make her get the hose.’
‘The Company appreciates your efforts,’ said Cahill, ignoring her comment, ‘but we can’t be seen to associate with wanted terrorists.’
Marc let out an incredulous snort. ‘Have you ever actually read the CIA’s history?’
‘We’re not terrorists,’ insisted Lucy. ‘We were framed. That video of us shooting those soldiers in Cyprus is a deepfake.’
‘We know,’ said Durant, with a sneer.
‘But you won’t go public with that information.’ Marc looked to Cahill. ‘Because it doesn’t benefit you.’
‘Well, we might,’ mused the other agent. ‘For the correct incentive. If we could ascertain the location of one Ekko Solomon, for example. He has a lot to answer for.’
‘Pass,’ said Lucy.
‘Okay.’ Durant folded his arms across his chest and threw a nod at the other agents waiting by their vehicle. The two men placed their hands on their holstered weapons. ‘Back to where we started. You come with us or we drag you away.’ He grinned. ‘Please resist. I really want an excuse.’
‘You won’t get it.’ Marc reached into the pocket of his jacket, and every gun there came out to aim in his direction. ‘Calm down,’ he retorted, revealing the burner phone he had taken off Walter Novick.
While they had been stuck in the stop-start traffic leaving Manhattan, Marc had dug into the simple software of the device, dredging the burner’s memory for any useful fragments of data. Nothing could truly be deleted without a full factory reset, and Novick had not had time to tamper with the phone before Marc secured it. He had forwarded what he found on the burner to Kara, who had already come up with some interesting information.
‘Novick got his orders through this,’ Marc explained. ‘Tracking the calls routes them through multiple blinds in Europe and the Russian Federation, back to the offices of the G-Kor corporation in Moscow. Glovkonin’s turf.’
‘That’s no use to us. We can’t touch him there.’ Cahill’s expression soured as he re-holstered his sidearm. ‘Directives from the current administration have limited special activities and Ground Branch operations inside Russian borders.’
‘Well, you have an opportunity here,’ Marc began, and he tossed the phone to Durant. ‘You can wrap up this attack today. Take us in and soak us for everything we know. Declare victory. You can pretend it’s all over. But we know it isn’t.’
‘Not as long as that arrogant Russki asshole is still vertical,’ added Lucy.
‘Or we can do the other thing—’ Marc continued.
‘No!’ Durant broke in. ‘Not this shit again! You’re not going to talk your way out of it this time, Dane.’
‘For crying out loud, Milo,’ Cahill said wearily, ‘learn when to shut up.’
Durant scowled. ‘Screw you, Simon.’
Cahill made a carry on gesture. ‘Keep talking.’
Marc gave Lucy a look and she returned it. She would back him every step of the way.
‘I’ve been hunting this bloke ever since a bomb went off in Barcelona six years ago,’ he said. ‘We can go after Glovkonin, to the place you can’t reach. And we can end this. Kill the king. Burn down the castle. You know the drill.’ He opened his hands. ‘For that to happen, what you need to do is . . . go away.’
‘Tempting,’ offered Cahill.
‘What stops you from running, and leaving us holding the bag?’ said Durant. ‘What do you get out of it?’
‘Payback,’ replied Lucy.
After a few moments of silence, Cahill gestured to the other agents, sending them back to their vehicle. He glanced at Marc and Lucy, weighing up his choice, then produced a smartphone and speed-dialled a number. As Cahill walked out of earshot to conduct a conversation, Durant’s glower deepened, and he spat.
Lucy spoke quietly out of the corner of her mouth. ‘You think they’re gonna go for it?’
‘If I’ve learned one thing about the CIA,’ said Marc, ‘it’s that if they can get somebody else to do their dirty work, they will.’
She nodded in agreement. ‘Yeah, the Virginia farm boys do love that plausible deniability, right?’
Durant stared at him. ‘You think you’re so fuckin’ smart,’ he growled.
‘I do,’ Marc admitted. ‘Because I am.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Understood, ma’am.’ Cahill walked back, finishing his call, then rang a different number. ‘Cut the other two loose,’ he told whoever was on the end of the line, before hanging up. Cahill studied Marc and Lucy, then smiled thinly. ‘Have a nice flight,’ he said, and walked away.
