Downfall, page 50
First things first. Powell nodded to his hooded prisoner. ‘Let’s see her.’
Drake grasped the prisoner’s hood and yanked it off. A ripple of tension ran through Hawkins and the other operatives as the hood came away, and Powell saw their weapons raised a little despite their orders to stand down. She saw the fleeting look of surprise in Hawkins’ eyes, the relief that Drake hadn’t betrayed them, then the growing realization of what this moment truly meant.
Anya.
The woman who had eluded them time and again, who had defeated Cain and all his intrigues and strategies, who had given Hawkins the facial scar he still bore today, who had somehow fought her way out of every trap they’d laid for her, was standing helpless before them now. A prize offered up willingly by Powell’s most powerful creation.
It was absolute perfection.
* * *
Rio de Janeiro – four days earlier
Powell leaned in close to Drake and spoke quietly, persuasively, reasonably in his ear, outlining what she needed.
‘You’ll leave here tonight, you’ll go on your way and resume your mission. Sooner or later, Anya and the rest of your friends are going to find you, and they’re going to try to convince you that I’m your enemy. And they’re going to succeed.’
Drake stared at her, shocked and confused by what she was saying.
‘At least, that’s what you’ll make them believe. You’re going to make them think they’ve got you back, that you’re back to being yourself again. And you’ll play this role for a time to gain their confidence. You’ll even tell them there’s a danger you could lose yourself again, and that they shouldn’t trust you. But Anya will. She’ll insist on staying with you. Then when the time’s right, you’ll bring her to me, alive. And then it’ll be over. You’ll have completed your mission, and we’ll be together again, Ryan. I promise.’
* * *
‘Well I’ll be damned,’ Hawkins said under his breath, his familiar sneer returning. Even he was surprised by this turn of events.
‘Oh, Ryan,’ Powell said, savouring the moment. ‘It’s good to have you back.’
Drake was triumphant. ‘It’s good to be back.’
She embraced him warmly, and he returned the gesture in equal measure. The man she’d created, whom she had built and perfected, whom she had loved as if he were her own son, had returned to her.
She let go and backed off, turning her attention to the prize that Drake had won for them. Powell grasped the edge of the duct tape covering Anya’s mouth and ripped it away, eliciting a gasp of pain.
So this was the woman who had stolen Marcus Cain’s heart, Powell thought as she looked Anya up and down, surveying her as one might consider the merits of a sculpture.
She was tall, standing almost eye to eye with Powell herself, and fuller at the breast and hip. Probably stronger too, judging by the compact but efficient musculature. An attractive, albeit conventional example of her gender, Powell decided. But then, Cain’s taste in women had always been characteristically predictable.
Anya could do little but glare back at her with impotent fury as Powell looked her over. A tiger without teeth, rendered helpless and impotent by that most devastating of weapons – trust.
‘I imagine you’re feeling pretty let down right around now,’ Powell remarked. ‘Thinking you’d won Ryan back, that you had this game all figured out, only to realize you were the one being played.’ She shook her head, almost feeling sorry for this woman who had survived so much only to be undone by her own emotions. ‘Don’t you see? I was there long before you, Anya, and I’ll be there long after you’re gone.’
Anya arched her head forward and spat straight in Powell’s face.
Hawkins was moving immediately. Placing himself between the two women, he reversed his grip on his assault rifle and slammed the stock into Anya’s unprotected sternum.
‘This isn’t exactly how I pictured us meeting again,’ he said, looking down on her as she coughed and struggled to draw breath. ‘But I’ll take it.’
‘Wait,’ Powell called out as he raised the rifle to strike her a second time.
Wiping her cheek, Powell turned towards Anya again, displaying no sign of anger or discomfort at what had happened. She did however keep her distance.
‘Pick her up. Now.’
Hawkins complied, grabbing a handful of Anya’s hair and hauling her up from the rocky ground. She stubbornly refused to cry out, defiant to the last.
‘Pretty good. Not exactly original, but full marks for effort,’ Powell acknowledged with grudging respect.
‘You’re a monster,’ Anya snapped. ‘The things you’ve done—’
‘Spare me the self-righteous routine. I doubt someone as limited as you could even begin to understand my work.’ For the first time, Powell’s composure had slipped a little. ‘You’ve caused a lot of problems for a lot of people over the years, Anya. Including my employers. I can’t imagine how many of them would like to see you dead.’
‘I’m used to that.’
‘I’m sure you are, but I think you’ve kept them waiting long enough.’
Reaching into her jacket, she withdrew a Kel-Tec P-11 automatic pistol, designed for concealed carrying. She didn’t normally carry firearms, finding them brutish and crude, but her presence in one of the most dangerous countries on earth had prompted a rethink.
‘We don’t need her any longer,’ Powell said, holding the weapon out to Drake. ‘Deal with her, Ryan.’
Anya backed away a step, and even Hawkins looked at her in surprise. ‘Cain’s orders were to bring her back alive.’
Powell shrugged. ‘I don’t take orders from Cain. Anyway, he always was too weak and sentimental with Anya. Better to deal with it ourselves.’ She nodded to the gun. ‘Take it, Ryan. Finish this.’
Hesitating just for a second, Drake took the weapon, checking that the safety was disengaged before turning it on Anya. She stared back at him, standing her ground, unwilling to show weakness even now, at the end.
‘Ryan, remember what I told you,’ Anya said, speaking softly, almost reassuringly. ‘I meant it. You’re… my life.’
Something seemed to pass between them then. Something even Powell couldn’t fully articulate. A kind of unspoken understanding, an acceptance of what neither could avoid. A forgiveness.
‘You’re my mission,’ Drake said as he took aim.
Anya closed her eyes, inhaling a final breath, one last gasp of life before the end.
And with that, Drake pulled the trigger.
Click.
Anya flinched as the sharp, precise sound of the weapon’s firing pin hitting an empty chamber rang out. Opening her eyes, she looked at the weapon in Drake’s hands, as if convinced she must have imagined it, as if she would see the telltale curls of grey smoke.
‘Well done, Ryan,’ Powell said, easing the empty weapon from his grasp. ‘Forgive the cheap trick, but I had to know.’
‘I would have done the same thing.’
She nodded, pleased by his reaction. ‘Good. Now, there’s something else I need from you. Your group, the ones who helped you escape Tunisia. Where are they?’
‘I don’t know.’
Powell’s expression darkened. ‘Are you sure about that, Ryan?’
‘They didn’t trust me. They knew there was a chance I could turn again, so Anya and I separated from the others.’ He nodded to Anya, who was still glaring at Powell with murderous eyes. ‘Only she knows where they are.’
Powell’s smile returned. ‘Then we’ll find out. Jason, prep the prisoner for transport.’ She turned towards the waiting chopper. ‘We’re taking her home.’
As Hawkins snatched up the hood and threw it over Anya’s head, Drake moved close to Powell. ‘Where do you want me?’
‘You stay by my side, where you belong. We’re going there together.’
Chapter 79
Forward Operating Base Pegasus was located about 50 miles due east of Kabul, on the western edge of a mountain range that threaded a tortuous path all the way to Jalalabad. Technically this placed it under the authority of ISAF’s Regional Command East. However, Pegasus was no ordinary military installation, appearing on no official maps and belonging to no recognized command structure.
It was a black site, created by the CIA and maintained under the highest possible security. No military or government representatives had set foot inside its high walls, no journalists or reporters would ever witness the events that took place within its underground holding cells and interrogation rooms.
The facility certainly wasn’t a purpose-built encampment, Drake thought as their Black Hawk came in to land. Roughly pentagonal in shape, with circular guard towers set at each corner and ancient stone walls overlooking the plain below, the structure belonged to a different era of warfare.
Appearances, however, could be deceptive. Despite its antiquated façade, the entire fortress was protected by a state-of-the-art electronic surveillance system, from thermal imaging to motion sensors covering every square inch of ground for miles around. The flat, open plains surrounding it offered a perfect field of fire for the remote-controlled heavy machine guns mounted on each of its five watchtowers, allowing their operators to identify and engage targets from the safety of the base’s heavily protected control centre. There was also a surface-to-air missile battery for engaging low-flying aircraft, while sub-surface seismic monitors even guarded against the possibility of tunnelling attempts.
These formidable measures combined to create one of the most secure, heavily defended outposts in the entire country. It was quite simply impossible to enter or leave Pegasus without being seen, whether on, above or beneath the ground.
The armed personnel on duty were almost exclusively private contractors, employed by the newly resurrected Nexus Security. Men who would follow orders and asked few questions as long as the money was good. And, as for the rest of the staff, Unity Pharmaceuticals provided a cadre of carefully selected doctors to carry out their own dark work.
Sweeping in low over the ancient walls, their Black Hawk touched down in the wide open courtyard that occupied the centre of the fortress. Drake, Powell and the other passengers waited until the engines had shut down and the dust subsided before opening the main doors.
As they exited the chopper, a man in civilian clothes strode confidently forward to meet them. Late-fifties, medium height, thinning brown hair, and with a noticeable gut straining against his shirt.
‘Ms Powell,’ he began, shaking her hand. ‘I’m Tom Deans, the director of this facility. It’s a pleasure to have you here.’
‘Likewise.’ Powell’s thin smile indicated the feeling wasn’t mutual. ‘You’ve been briefed on the package we brought?’
Hawkins was escorting the hooded prisoner none too gently out of the Black Hawk.
‘Yes, ma’am. There’s an interrogation suite prepped and ready.’
‘Good. Get her processed and set up. I’ll be in there to start the interrogation shortly.’
The director hesitated. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather our team handle this? It’s… not exactly a lab environment down there.’
Powell’s look told him everything he needed to know. ‘Just get her processed.’
He complied, knowing better than to push.
‘Now, I assume you have secure satellite communications?’ Powell went on. ‘I need to put a call through to Langley.’
She was already moving towards the facility entrance. Drake followed, staying by her side just as she’d instructed. ‘Jason, take the prisoner downstairs. And have both choppers refuelled and ready. I want you and your team standing by to deploy as soon as you get the word.’
Drake could feel himself being watched as they left the courtyard, and turned to look back. Sure enough, Hawkins was observing him, his expression wary, hostile and, to Drake’s satisfaction, jealous.
He gave his former comrade a wink before following Powell inside.
Deans led them down a short corridor, where they passed a couple of offices and smaller meeting rooms, all modern and meticulously maintained, before passing through an electronically locked door into what was clearly the heart of the facility.
Drake had seen a lot of ops rooms in his time, from improvised field set-ups that were little more than a cluster of laptops tied to a satellite uplink, all the way up to the mammoth operations centre at Langley, which put NASA’s mission control to shame. This, though, was a serious set-up.
Technicians worked diligently at computer terminals, their monitors displaying everything from camera feeds to thermal- and motion-sensor networks beyond the perimeter walls, to the remotely operated turrets and the facility’s internal security systems. The surveillance feeds also extended down to the lower levels of the facility, which functioned as a prison and interrogation centre.
He caught a glimpse of Hawkins leading Anya along a narrow corridor with two armed guards in tow. She wasn’t resisting, which was as well for her since Hawkins wouldn’t hesitate to use force again. The small group carried on before disappearing off the edge of the screen.
‘Our comms suite is over here,’ Deans said, leading the way into a private conference room set away from this hive of activity. ‘Satellite uplink is live and good to go. It’s completely encrypted and soundproofed.’
A long table ran down the centre of the modest room, with a communications and data terminal installed in the middle, allowing users to connect quickly to the facility’s secure network.
‘Thank you,’ Powell said after surveying the room. ‘See to it that we’re undisturbed until further notice.’
As Deans departed, Powell closed and locked the door behind him. She turned towards Drake and gratefully shed the jacket she’d worn since their reunion in the mountains earlier, tossing it idly onto one of the chairs.
‘You’re going to report in to Cain?’ Drake said.
‘Someone has to tell him what a good job you’ve done.’
Drake smiled. He was standing close now, so close she could smell his scent, almost feel the warmth of his body. There was a different look in his eyes now, a look he’d been careful to keep hidden thus far. A look of excitement, of anticipation, of desire.
Powell could also clearly see the changes that seven years of active and dangerous living had wrought on Ryan Drake. Always a handsome man, his features were harder now, more definite, etched with fine lines around the eyes and mouth, his skin roughened and marked with small cuts and bruises, but it didn’t matter to her. If anything, it added to what she already felt about him, knew about him.
She reached up and caressed his stubbled jaw, delighting in the feel of it. Drake had never been a pampered and preened pretty boy, but a tough, coarse and uncompromising man. A man she’d been drawn to right from the first, whose strength had set him apart from the others, whose potential she had understood and nurtured, and whose life she had protected.
‘Well, there’s no rush, is there?’ he whispered, leaning in and kissing her neck, drawing a shiver of delight.
Allowing her hand to stray behind his head, Powell gripped his hair and pulled his head back, kissing him forcefully, passionately. She felt his response right away, hard and urgent against her. She pressed herself into him, pushing him backwards onto the table, her hands already working to undo his belt.
Yes, she’d waited a long time to get Drake back, to have him the way she used to have him, body and mind and soul utterly bound to her. A man who had fought, killed, betrayed everything for her.
Drake was hers now, and she wouldn’t lose him again.
Chapter 80
CIA headquarters, Langley
Marcus Cain’s phone was ringing, the call coming through the encrypted Agency network. He had a feeling he knew who it was, and felt his pulse quicken as he lifted the receiver.
‘Cain.’
‘Hello, Marcus.’ Powell’s voice was smooth, relaxed and, he thought, just a little out of breath. ‘I thought you might want to hear my report.’
‘Depends what you have to tell me.’
A silence stretched out. Not because of some encryption error, but because she chose to make it so. She was making him wait. She was enjoying this.
‘You’ll be pleased to know I’ve solved our little problem.’
Cain froze, struck as much by the nonchalant way she’d delivered her news as he was by the realization that the woman he’d pursued for so long had finally been captured. It didn’t seem possible. It couldn’t be possible.
‘You have her alive?’ he heard himself ask.
‘She’s in one of our interrogation rooms right now.’
‘And Drake?’
She chuckled, enjoying her chance to toy with him. ‘Who do you think delivered her to us, Marcus?’
Cain couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Ryan Drake, the man who had become almost as much of a thorn in his side as Anya herself, who had derailed plans, defeated strategies and risked his life on countless occasions for her. Drake had simply handed her over to Powell?
His silence was telling, and she was quick to pick up on it. ‘Oh, Marcus. You and your Agency with all your schemes and your plans, and the one thing you never understood was the people you were fighting. You should be grateful I was around to clean up your mess.’
Cain didn’t appreciate being patronized at the best of times, never mind by someone like Powell who had never sacrificed a single thing in her entire life, who had never had to make the choices he’d been forced to make.
‘I want Drake out of the picture as soon as you’re finished.’
‘Not going to happen.’
‘That wasn’t a request, Elizabeth.’
‘Neither is this,’ she fired back. ‘Ryan knows where his loyalties lie now.’
‘He didn’t before,’ Cain pointed out.
‘That was an error, easily corrected. We have Anya because of him, and him alone. I’m not going to hand him over to you so you can put him down like some rabid dog.’
