Downfall, page 37
And yet, despite the neglect, there was something about this building. Drake didn’t consider himself a religious man, but even he could appreciate the significance of this place. And for a moment, he actually allowed himself to feel some measure of the peace that others had once found here.
‘Listen, pal, I don’t pretend to know what you want,’ Tenbrook said, his harsh and unpleasant voice breaking the spell. ‘But I can promise you’re fucking with the wrong guy. The men I work for are gonna be real pissed after the stunt you pulled today.’
Drake pushed him forward, steering him towards the far end of the room, saying nothing. They’d get down to it soon enough.
‘Not that I ain’t impressed,’ the CIA man allowed. ‘Not many guys could have done what you did back there, taking out an entire field team single-handed. Goddamn poetry in motion right there.’ He snorted in amusement. ‘But let’s put our cards on the table, huh? My employers are gonna catch up with us sooner or later. Hell, they make a living out of finding people. So you want some free advice? Run, pal. Run right now and maybe you’ll get enough of a head start to stay alive. Because if they get their hands on you, that little bloodbath back there will seem like—’
Raising his foot, Drake planted a firm kick in the small of his back. Tenbrook pitched forward, tripped over his own feet and landed in an ungainly sprawl on the bare stone floor, unable to use his bound arms to protect himself. He let out a grunt of pain as he hit the deck, leaving a smear of congealing blood on the sandy flagstones.
‘Christ!’ he snarled. ‘The fuck’s the matter with you?’
Drake looked down at the dishevelled prisoner lying on the floor. Stripped of his protective detail and his cocky arrogance, all he had left was his voice, which was just as well. He’d be needing it soon.
‘It’s time to confess your sins, you piece of shit,’ Drake said, gesturing at their surroundings. ‘And you’ve got a lot of confessing to do.’
Grabbing the taser from its holster at his thigh, Drake reached into his webbing for a replacement power pack. He’d expended the last one when he took Tenbrook down. Slotting it into place, he pressed it home until he heard the click as the conductors locked.
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ Tenbrook gasped, shaking his head and blinking furiously. Blood was seeping into his eyes, impairing his vision. ‘I don’t even know who you are!’
Applying the device against his neck, Drake depressed the trigger. The X26 stun gun was a police- and military-issue device designed to be used in several different configurations. It could launch a pair of barbed conducting prongs at a distant target just as he’d done earlier, but the weapon could also be used at close range to administer intermittent shocks. Just hold it in place and taser away.
Drake gave him a five-second burst, watching as Tenbrook bucked and thrashed, groaning and crying out in agony as thousands of volts surged through his body. When he withdrew the weapon, the man was breathing hard, trembling and jerking spasmodically.
‘You… you fu-ck,’ he mumbled, struggling to form the words.
Drake lowered himself down to the stone floor so that Tenbrook could make eye contact with him. He said nothing, just allowed the other man to look at his face, to search back through his long years of memories and slowly home in on one particular day. One particular briefing room on a hot afternoon in Afghanistan.
‘How about now?’ he asked. ‘Now do you remember me?’
It didn’t happen right away. There was no dramatic change from confusion to understanding. But studying his facial expressions closely, Drake was able to watch as the fire of remembrance slowly began to kindle within Tenbrook’s mind, gradually gaining strength as old memories resurfaced, until finally the flames caught hold and his eyes lit up with realization.
‘There it is,’ Drake said. ‘Now it’s coming back.’
‘It’s impossible,’ the man gasped, shaking his head. ‘It’s not…’
‘This mission is going to call for the best we have, and as of now, that is you. You remember those words, don’t you? How many other soldiers did you feed that bullshit line to over the years?’
‘W-what do you want?’
Drake leaned in closer, letting Tenbrook get a good look at his eyes, a glimpse of what lay behind them.
‘I want answers,’ Drake said slowly. ‘I want to know what Operation Hydra was. I want to know what happened that day.’
Drake had expected to see fear, but instead he saw something he hadn’t expected: disbelief.
‘What the fuck are you talking about? You led the operation. It was your mission.’
Drake’s mind flashed back to that day, seeing the same images that had plagued his thoughts and haunted his dreams for too long. He saw the bodies, the fire, the smoke, the blood-red sky, and most of all he saw the black sun. Darkness where there should have been light, stark and absolute, swallowing everything.
Screams. Darkness. Fear.
‘My mission,’ he repeated. ‘Why?’
‘We needed men who could do what nobody else could, men who could make the hard choices. That was you. That’s why your unit was created.’
With a shaking hand, Drake pressed the taser against Tenbrook’s neck and let him have a full ten-second burst, relishing the man’s screams.
It took most of his remaining self-control to release the trigger. He needed the man alive. Not yet, he told himself. Withdrawing the weapon, he watched with a curious detachment as Tenbrook coughed and retched, leaving a trail of slimy mucus on the floor.
‘Where did you send us?’ Drake demanded, grabbing him by the collar. ‘What did you make us do, you bastard? What was our mission?’
Tenbrook’s mouth was working, but barely a whisper made it from his spittle-covered lips. ‘It was… what you were… made for. Your mission… to take them out…’
Drake’s brows drew together, his mind grasping as he tried to process what he was hearing. ‘To take who out?’ he demanded, shaking Tenbrook violently. ‘What were we made for?’
‘No,’ the prisoner protested, starting to revive a little. ‘You kill me, you… get nothing. You untie me… then we talk.’
‘Answer me, you fuck!’ he shouted, ready to give him another shot. This time however there was no clicking or buzzing as current arced between the two conducting rods. The power pack had been depleted.
Throwing the useless taser aside, Drake released his grip and strode over to a nearby work table, where various tools had been left by workmen.
Amongst them, Drake spotted a sturdy-looking claw hammer. Its wooden handle had been worn smooth, and it was coated in a good layer of dust, but its five-pound steel head still looked perfectly serviceable. Especially for what he had in mind.
‘I’m not going to kill you, Tenbrook,’ he said. ‘You’ll just wish I had by the time I’m finished.’
But just as he was about to lift the weapon from its long resting place, a voice called out, issuing a single command that echoed around the vast, empty space. A voice that Drake had hoped never to hear again.
‘Stop!’
Chapter 61
The world around Drake vanished, his surroundings seeming to melt away into darkness, as if he were a performer on stage and the lights had just died. That single word cut through it all – a shard of memory driven deep.
He felt the briefest glimmer of something. Too brief, too primal to be a fully formed memory or thought, but something that was called up inside him all the same. Feelings of loyalty, of devotion, of completeness. And in the same instant, the agony of separation, the ache of regret and the burning longing for what could never be his.
She must have found another way in. Not the main doors, he’d barred them when he’d entered, and there was no way she could have gotten here ahead of him. Some hidden passage or doorway that had escaped his notice during his earlier recon.
Why did you have to come? Why now? God-fucking-damn you, Anya, why couldn’t you just let it go?
Drake lowered his head, closed his eyes and let out a slow, meditative breath. A moment of deceptive calm and equanimity before the storm broke upon him.
‘How did you find me?’ he asked.
‘Does it matter now?’ her voice carrying across the room. ‘You knew this was coming. You knew sooner or later we would meet.’
His hand strayed down to the weapon pushed down the front of his trousers. The Desert Eagle, its .50 calibre rounds able to punch through any armour she might be wearing. His keen hearing strained to listen out for the sounds of movement that would tell him where she was. When he went for it, he wouldn’t have much time to take aim and…
‘Don’t even think about it,’ she warned, guessing his thoughts. ‘I have the drop on you. Lay the weapon down on the ground and slide it away.’
She was right. The acoustics made it near impossible to pinpoint her location. Not to mention he was caught out in the open with his back to her. Bad odds.
‘Or what? You’ll shoot me?’
‘It won’t be the first time I’ve killed someone I care about,’ she assured him. ‘Now take the weapon out slowly and slide it away.’
Laying the Desert Eagle gently on the stone floor, Drake gave it a nudge with his foot, sending it skittering away across the uneven surface. He was unarmed, save for a single weapon concealed in his webbing.
‘Now turn around, Ryan.’
‘What will I find if I do?’ he asked. ‘A friend or an enemy?’
‘Someone who wants to help you.’
Sighing, he turned to face the woman who had hunted him across half the world. The woman who he’d once foolishly considered an ally, perhaps even something more, and who had now become his enemy by standing between him and his objective.
His eyes swept the room, searching for her, finding nothing but ancient stonework and deep pools of shadow. Had he been wrong? Was she trying to close in on him from another direction?
He saw movement amongst the murky shadows cast by one of the huge stone columns, and knew she’d at last chosen to reveal herself.
Anya stepped forward into a shaft of light slanting down from the windows high above, the glow of the evening sun casting her features perfectly.
Drake took in the curve of her lips, parted a little as she breathed deeper. She’d been running. Running to get here, to catch up, to reach him. Her hair was tied back in a haphazard ponytail, a few loose strands escaping to fall around her face. Her eyes, pale blue and daunting in their intensity, questioning, doubting, looking for the man she’d once known.
Drake saw all these things, but his attention was mostly focussed on the weapon in her hand. An M1911 semi-automatic. Her weapon of choice. Old, proven, reliable, powerful.
A weapon trained on him.
‘I’m going to give you one chance,’ he said, looking at her. Looking for that crucial moment of weakness. ‘Walk away. Walk away now and forget what you saw here.’
‘You know I can’t do that. I won’t do that.’
Drake shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts, trying to shake himself free of their insidious grip. His mind had been clear before, secure in its hatred. He couldn’t allow her to cloud it now.
‘This isn’t your fight.’
‘Yes it is, Ryan,’ she informed him. ‘Because I came to fight for you.’
Her statement was not delivered forcefully, but tenderly, with the quiet determination of a woman set on her path, resolved to reach its end no matter the distance or difficulty
‘The Ryan Drake I know is worth fighting for. He’s a good man, and even though you tried to destroy him, I know he’s still in there. I came to bring him back.’
She’s playing you, trying to make you doubt yourself just like she was trained to do. Don’t believe her. Don’t let her in.
‘That man you knew never even existed,’ Drake said, his teeth gritted. ‘He was a lie. I’m the only truth that matters. Now I’m going to give you one chance to stand aside, then I’m going to make you shoot me.’
‘Bad move, friend,’ a second voice called out. ‘If she hesitates to put you down, I won’t.’
Drake’s head snapped around.
He watched as a man lowered himself down from the scaffolding gantry above, using one of the ropes to descend gracefully to ground level. That at least explained how they’d made their way in here undetected, he thought with a pang of anger. The unsecured windows above had allowed them in, while the scaffold had provided an easy way down.
That was irrelevant now however as Drake concentrated on the new arrival himself. Mid-forties, long dark hair, lean build, South American features. Drake didn’t recognize him, but he did recognize his gun. A Beretta 92. Fifteen 9mm rounds in the mag. More than enough to put Drake down if he opened fire.
She brought this man to finish the job if she fails. They’re working together. You have to strike first. Do it now, finish your mission.
‘Stay back, Cesar,’ Anya implored. ‘Nobody is going to fire.’
‘You’re wrong about that,’ Drake said coldly. ‘Only one of us is leaving here. Think it’s going to be you?’
‘Don’t make me answer that,’ Anya warned. The compassion in her voice had hardened into deepening resolve, but he sensed an undertone of doubt. This was one battle she didn’t want to fight.
‘You could have stayed out of this. You made the choice. This is on you.’
Drake heard the click as she thumbed back the hammer. ‘Don’t do this. This isn’t who you are.’
Finish your mission. Kill her!
‘You still don’t get it, do you?’ he said, knowing and accepting how this was going to end. ‘This is who I’ve always been.’
It happened fast. Drake felt his hand close around the handle of the hammer he’d planned to use on Tenbrook. It would have to serve a different purpose now.
Swinging his arm forward, Drake took rough aim at Anya and hurled the hammer like a tomahawk. She twisted aside as the heavy missile hurtled through the air, narrowly missing her head and glancing off the pillar behind, gouging out a sizeable chunk of stone.
Drake was well aware of Anya’s fast reactions and her ability to sense attacks coming. He’d guessed she would avoid the improvised projectile, but it didn’t matter. He’d created an opening, giving him time to close the distance. He went for it, unsheathing his knife and rushing at her with explosive force.
He almost expected Anya to bring her weapon back into play and open fire, hoping to put a round in him before he got close, but instead she tossed the gun aside and clenched her fists, ready to defend herself hand to hand. Still not ready to kill him.
Drake swiped at her, drawing the knife in a deadly horizontal arc. Anya leapt away and tilted her weight backwards, allowing the blade to sail past her throat. Adrenaline was pumping through Drake’s veins, investing his muscles with greater strength and slowing the world down around him.
The thoughts and doubts had vanished now, replaced by the simple, primal instinct to fight and kill. She was his enemy, and she had to be stopped. That was all he needed to know, the only truth that mattered now.
Anya whirled to face him again, and he could see the concern etched into her features. She was afraid. Afraid she’d taken on an opponent she couldn’t defeat. She had made a mistake by not shooting him when she had the chance. Whether it was weakness or overconfidence, Drake couldn’t say. But he knew one thing – it would be the last mistake she ever made.
Tenbrook meanwhile had not been idle. With his former captor locked in combat, the CIA case officer saw his chance to escape. Swinging his legs beneath him, he made to rise from the floor, only for a shadow to fall across him. Looking up, he saw a second man silhouetted against the light from the windows overhead, saw the gleam of a weapon in his hands.
‘That would be a very bad move, my friend,’ Rojas warned him. ‘Stay down and don’t move if you hope to live through this.’
‘None of you will live through this, you dumb shit,’ Tenbrook spat. ‘Your friends have fucking lost it. Your only chance is to—’
Rojas silenced him with a sharp jab from the butt of his pistol. The blow wasn’t enough to knock Tenbrook unconscious, but it did put him down hard, blood dripping from a newly opened cut over his left eye.
‘Consider that a warning. There won’t be another,’ Rojas said, moving towards the desperate, one-sided battle now playing out on the other side of the room.
Gathering up his strength, Drake brought his knife against Anya again, slashing at her arm. The blade whirled down viciously, its keen edge gleaming in the light, to slice through clothing and flesh.
Anya let out a hiss of pain and pulled away, blood dripping from a deep gash across her right arm. As she backed up close to a stone pillar, Drake slashed at her throat to finish the job. Reacting with lightning speed, Anya caught his knife arm, muscles straining to hold back the blade.
Rather than try to overcome her with sheer force, Drake released his hold on the weapon and allowed it to fall between them. She saw it and tried to grab for the knife, but he was faster, catching it with his free hand and sweeping it up into her midsection.
She moved, slipping aside so that the blade missed her stomach and struck unyielding stone, breaking under the sheer force and jarring his arm.
Anya drove her knee into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs. She used the opportunity to deliver a hard elbow to the spine that dropped him to one knee. Drake lashed out again with the broken remnants of the blade, but she was already beyond his range.
Anya kept her distance, body taut and ready, pacing slowly around him. Spots of her blood dripped on the floor.
‘I’m not your enemy, Ryan,’ Anya said, breathing harder now. ‘Don’t you see? I came to help you. The man I know is still in there. The man who rescued me from prison, who showed me trust and compassion when no one else would. You are that man!’
Her words seemed to cut briefly through the haze of his anger, as if revealing something buried away in some distant recess of his psyche, something that should have been destroyed for ever. But it wasn’t gone. It had been diminished and beaten down and buried, but it remained still.
