Assassins Rogue Read online

  Cameras were positioned on top of one of the lighting gantries outside the loading bays, and she was sure there would be more fixed to the sides of the buildings to cover all angles.

  The theft of chemicals was becoming a lucrative industry on the black market, and it was evident that the owners of this complex were taking no chances, especially when a vehicle was leaving with a full load on board.

  Eva glanced over her shoulder to make sure Nathan and Marie stayed amongst the shadows in her wake, then pointed to the exit road snaking away from the complex when they caught up with her.

  ‘We’re going to head down there. See the landscaping that’s been put in? Those shrubs and whatever? When I say run, you go – keep low, in a crouch – and head for those. On your hands and knees and keep going when you get there, understand?’

  They mumbled their agreement, and she turned back to the industrial site.

  The searchlight was approaching again.

  Holding up her hand, she counted down the seconds, then hissed a command.

  ‘Go!’

  She didn’t wait to see if they were following or whether they were keeping up. She kept her focus on the landscaped border of the exit road and forced another burst of energy from her tired legs, then launched herself into the shrubbery.

  Eva rolled to break her fall and began crawling.

  Behind her, she heard a soft crunch followed by another as Nathan and Marie joined her, and she shot them a grim smile over her shoulder.

  Despite her misgivings about the intelligence officer, she was proving to be as good as her brother when it came to taking orders.

  Thank Christ the woman hadn’t been in a civilian role like Nathan had been when they first met.

  Two non-combatants would have been one hell of a risk to escape with.

  She swivelled on her toes as they caught up with her. ‘Okay?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nathan.

  Marie nodded, then peered over her shoulder at the sound of the truck approaching from the direction of the industrial estate.

  Eva peered over the low hedge in time to see it winding its way between the buildings, then turned back to the exit.

  ‘Okay, pay attention,’ she whispered. ‘We’ve got a camera to our right up there on that lamp post at the end of the exit road. When that truck gets here, it’s got to turn right at the junction – it’s a one-way system here, look. As soon as I give the command, we’re heading left as fast as we can, got it?’

  She didn’t wait for their response, but turned to face the street beyond their position.

  She briefly wondered if they should wait another hour – maybe it would be safer, maybe there were other security patrols wandering the industrial estate, maybe––

  The truck bore down on them, engine rumbling, and then she heard it slow as it approached the junction.

  One last look each way.

  No movement.

  No-one waiting to pounce the moment they broke cover.

  ‘Now!’

  The truck was turning, executing a slow curve as the driver guided it to the right.

  She hoped his attention was taken by steering the large load, and that he would be busy watching his mirrors rather than the three people who were now running away from the complex.

  No alarms sounded in the distance, and she slowed to a fast walk, feeling the strain in her leg muscles now.

  ‘How much farther?’ said Nathan, catching up with her, panting from the exertion.

  She winked, then pointed at a single redbrick building behind a crumbling wall.

  ‘We’re here.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Miles rubbed at tired eyes, then reached out for the desk lamp and angled it onto the reports strewn across his desk.

  The bright glow created a halo over his work and cast a sheen across the silver-framed photograph of him and his wife on their honeymoon.

  The grim realisation that the lines on his face were deeper than back then and a reflection of the stress caused by his job rather than laughter wasn’t wasted on him as he tried to concentrate on the myriad of information he held in his hands.

  He turned the page of the latest report from Prague, and sighed.

  Czech police were blaming the slaying of four unknown men on a drugs deal gone wrong, the suggestion fed to them by one of the Section’s tactical disinformation groups currently based in Hungary.

  Miles was wondering what had been used to grease the palms of who when he heard a noise out in the corridor.

  He glanced up at a knock on the open door to see Greg hovering at the threshold.

  The analyst held up a handful of stapled pages and a manila folder. ‘I’ve got the information you were after about Marie Weston and the rest of our drone crew.’

  ‘Come on in.’ Miles waved him to one of the seats opposite his desk. ‘That was quick.’

  Greg grimaced. ‘One of the few benefits of being a small agency, I guess. Besides, Knox was in his office and ran off the résumés for me. It saved me working through layers of security in the database instead.’

  ‘Good thinking. How’s it going out there with regard to finding out who the driver was who picked them up in Lincoln?’

  ‘Nothing so far.’ The analyst wrinkled his nose. ‘Something – or someone – fucked up the CCTV coverage in the town centre where the restaurant is, so we’ve got no footage of the actual grab.’

  ‘Shit.’ Miles threw his pen on the desk. ‘Any idea who?’

  ‘Not yet. Jason’s working through that at the moment to see if he can find a trace in the system to find out how it was hacked.’

  ‘Keep me posted on that.’

  ‘Will do. There is one thing, though – whoever tampered with the CCTV footage only removed the images from that night.’ Greg tried, and failed to suppress a grin like the Cheshire cat. ‘I think I might have something from the last time the crew went there, though.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah. I sent a message through to Nathan and asked him if his sister could confirm whether the restaurant was a favourite of theirs, and if so when they last went there.’ He flipped open the folder in his lap and handed over a blown-up black and white photograph. ‘I checked, and that car was parked outside six weeks ago, which correlates with the date Marie gave to Nathan.’

  Miles sat forward and held the photograph closer under the lamp’s beam. ‘Registration number?’

  ‘Stolen plates.’

  ‘What about the driver? Any clearer shots than this?’

  ‘None, but I’m not giving up yet. Now that we have a date, I’ve tasked Emily with running surveillance on all cameras in the area that night to see if we can spot the car and get a better image of the driver.’ Greg took back the photograph Miles held out and tucked it into the file. ‘Once we have that, we’ll run him through the system.’

  ‘That’s great work, Greg.’

  ‘We got lucky, that’s all.’

  Miles wasn’t going to argue with the man. Anyone who could coerce three aircrew into a strange vehicle and then have them fly a stolen drone under the impression it was a sanctioned flight didn’t plan for mistakes like that.

  ‘What about Jeffrey Dukes? What’ve you managed to find out about him?’

  Greg sighed and tossed the manila folder onto the desk between them. ‘That’s where things get weird.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Well, obviously there’s everything you’d expect on the FCO system about him – role, who he reports to, achievements and all of that – but when I started to do some digging, it turns out no-one can remember what he was doing prior to joining the department. I can’t even find out when he applied for the role.’

  Miles frowned, pulled his keyboard across the desk towards him and typed in search string. He leaned back in his chair, his jaw set.

  Greg was right.

  No-one known as Jeffrey Dukes had applied for a role with the Foreign and Commonwealth Office.

  Ever.<
br />
  ‘Universities?’ he suggested. ‘Recruitment agency databases?’

  ‘No, nothing there either.’

  ‘What about a wider search?’ Miles asked the analyst. ‘National crime databases, MI6, GCHQ––’

  ‘I already looked,’ said Greg. ‘Discreetly, of course. None of them will ever know I was there.’

  ‘And?’

  The analyst shrugged, his brow creased. ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. There was nothing in any of the systems about him. Nothing at all.’

  ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘That’s what I said to Emily, but I’ve checked all the data. Outside of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, Jeffrey Dukes never existed.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Eva leaned against the chipped plasterwork wall and released the magazine from her gun, running her thumb over the remaining bullets.

  Shooting two of their pursuers in Prague had been a necessity, but she frowned at the memory.

  She would much rather have killed them quietly, without raising the alarm or highlighting their position to their enemies.

  At least the other two men were dispatched with little fuss.

  Grabbing the knife from the kitchen drawer before leaving the flat had been a last-minute decision, a gut feeling, that was all – but it may have saved their lives.

  Given that Miles and his team of analysts had managed to track them so easily through the city using CCTV cameras, she had no doubt that others would have been watching as well.

  But who did the four gunmen report to?

  Who was controlling all of this?

  And, why?

  Sighing, she rested her head against the cool wall, closing her eyes for a moment.

  Nathan and Marie had found four canvas cots at the back of the building in a store cupboard and now slept while she took the last watch for the night.

  Both of them had been exhausted by the time they entered the disused telephone exchange, the security panel hidden on a metal post a few metres away yielding to the six digit code she’d entered on Decker’s advice.

  She didn’t trust either of them to stay alert after the trek through the woods and so had remained on guard through to the early hours of the morning.

  This was the dead time – the time when any attack on their position was most likely. The time when people naturally let down their defences and succumbed to REM sleep and deep dreams.

  She opened her eyes as Nathan snuffled in his sleep and rolled over in the narrow cot, before she bit back a yawn and wandered across to a low desk set against one wall under a flight of concrete steps.

  The basement wasn’t ideal – there were damp patches up the walls and a distinct smell of mould from one of the vents in the corner – but it was out of sight and the upstairs level remained deserted, the original exchange equipment abandoned and dusty. The basement itself was only accessible through a heavy steel door, no doubt retrofitted by Decker at some point in recent years.

  The older assassin had also installed a suite of powerful computer servers that hummed in the corner, providing a constant white noise to accompany Nathan’s gentle snoring.

  Four screens provided 24/7 coverage of the area around the telephone exchange, recording and storing the footage to an encrypted cloud-based drive for future reference.

  Eva ran her gaze across the images, taking in the weed-covered and cracked concrete apron outside the building, and the road winding past on its way to the inner core of the industrial estate, then concentrated on the three buildings surrounding the old exchange in a C-shape.

  Every now and again, an articulated truck would rumble past on its way to the chemical plant up the road but none of them had seen any other activity since their arrival.

  She pulled out her encrypted mobile phone and peered at the screen, willing Decker to call.

  She didn’t want to do this on her own.

  It was too much, with too many unknown factors.

  Too risky.

  She spun around and raised the gun at movement behind her, then swallowed as Nathan’s eyes widened, his hands raised.

  ‘It’s only me.’

  ‘Shit, sorry.’ Eva lowered the gun. ‘I thought you were asleep.’

  ‘I was. I could hear you thinking, though.’

  She gave him a gentle push and held her breath as the sound of another truck reached her ears.

  Turning to the screens, she watched as the cab entered the screen first, then the long trailer it pulled, the headlights piercing a fine mist clinging to the road.

  She choked out a gasp as something moved at the back of the truck – a fleeting silhouette that emerged from the rear and rolled to the floor before disappearing into the shadows.

  Beside her, Nathan reached out for the keyboard and hit the pause button while the live recording continued on another screen. ‘Did you see that?’

  ‘Yeah. Someone was hitching a ride.’ Eva was already heading towards the steps. ‘Marie, rise and shine – we’re about to have company, and it might not be friendly.’

  The intelligence officer rolled over and rubbed at her eyes before sitting up and throwing back the covers, tugging her boots on as Eva’s words sank in.

  Eva flipped off the light switch at the bottom of the steps. ‘Keep your voices down.’

  ‘Is it Decker?’ Nathan hissed.

  Eva hugged the wall, keeping her gun lowered in a two-handed grip as she ascended. ‘I bloody hope so. Otherwise, we’re really in the shit.’

  Reaching the top of the steps, she entered the security code and pressed her hand against the cold surface.

  It swung open on well-oiled hinges and she blinked to counteract the final effects of the darkness enveloping her.

  A tiny square window in the ceiling of the exchange provided some light, a pale early morning hue beginning to illuminate the old desks and electronics left behind by the telephone company – perhaps the CIA. Dust motes hung in the air as she gently pushed the door shut behind her and then dropped to a crouch.

  Crawling over the concrete floor, using her elbows rather than her hands for fear of slicing them open on broken glass, she edged closer to the door.

  There was only one way in, and one way out.

  If someone had found their location, if someone was determined to silence Marie, then they were cornered.

  Eva swallowed.

  It was up to her to protect them.

  She thumbed off the safety catch on the gun, and waited.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Robert Nivens grimaced as he raised his chin and eyed the blue silk tie he knotted at the base of his neck.

  ‘Darling? Your car will be here in twenty minutes.’

  His wife’s voice carried up the stairs over the dulcet tones of the Radio 4 morning broadcasters, prickling at his conscience.

  ‘I know.’ He peered at the pale reflection in the mirror and in that moment swore he would never agree to drinks with Marcus Trescothick again.

  The Home Secretary had a reputation as a hard drinker and Robert’s headache was bearing testimony to that, despite the two painkillers he had swallowed dry an hour ago upon waking.

  Turning from the en suite sink, he padded into the bedroom and blinked in the cool sunlight beginning to stream through the floor-to-ceiling window at the far end.

  Beyond the net curtain, a small balcony hung over secluded gardens surrounded by tall poplar trees. A squirrel bounded across the lawn, scampered past the children’s croquet set and shot up a trellis beside a bird bath.

  ‘Do you want another coffee?’

  God, yes.

  ‘Please, love.’

  ‘Up there?’

  ‘I’ll be down in a second.’

  Reaching down to loosen his belt buckle a notch, Robert crossed to the wardrobe and pulled a dark grey jacket from a hanger before lacing up his shoes and heading downstairs.

  Deborah stood at the granite worktop next to the toaster, a glass of orange
juice in her hand. She cocked an eyebrow when she saw him and turned down the volume on the digital radio.

  ‘Best tell them you think you’re coming down with a cold.’

  ‘It could be.’ He shot her a wan smile, placed the jacket on the back of one of the bar stools surrounding the central worktop and sank into one next to it.

  ‘Plenty of water this morning – you’ll feel fine by noon.’ She pushed a steaming mug of coffee towards him, along with a plate on which two slices of marmalade-laden toast sat. ‘What time’s your meeting with the PM?’

  ‘Ten.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Indeed.’ He took a sip of coffee, relishing the bitter taste that mingled with a satisfying sugar hit that smacked his back teeth. ‘Remind me next time not to agree to drinks mid-week.’

  ‘I did, after the last time. You never listen to me.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  She slapped his arm as she passed with the tea towel in her hand, and leaned against the kitchen doorframe. ‘You two better be getting up,’ she called. ‘I’m leaving in half an hour.’

  Robert raised his gaze to the ceiling as feet thumped on the floorboards above, and shook his head. ‘One of these days, both of them will make it out of bed without being yelled at.’

  ‘I wonder.’ Deborah returned to the worktop and pulled out a chair beside him, reaching for his hand. ‘Have you heard anything from Jeffrey yet?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I’m beginning to worry, to be honest. The meetings he was scheduled to have were over and done with four days ago. He called the office and we spoke about the amended agenda for the talks next month, and he said he was getting a flight back two days ago.’

  ‘And nothing since?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What is the office doing about it?’

  ‘As much as they can, in the circumstances.’ He grimaced. ‘The problem is of course, he’s in the middle of bloody nowhere. Crap phone signal, little by way of internet connection…’