Chapter 18
Friday, March 16th 10:00 (1 week later),
MI6 Headquarters, London,
Internal Inquiry - Operation Reprisal.
Drake passed his assistant and walked into his office. Waiting in the room were a man and a woman who were already seated. As Drake sat down behind the large mahogany desk, he didn’t look at them straight away but instead chose to rummage through several files. Then after a few minutes, he initiated eye contact. ‘Thank you for coming today. As you know, you are both to sit on the inquiry committee for…most probably today and tomorrow.’ Drake leaned forward and glared at them both. ‘We’ve all known each other for many years and both of you owe me favours. Just to be clear, I’m calling in those favours today. I have my own agenda and my own desired outcome from this inquiry, neither of you will interfere with that. Is that understood?’
One of them spoke up. ‘What is the outcome you are looking for, Peter?’
‘It’s very simple. I want S.U.C.O. deactivated and consigned to history. I also want the likes of Olsen and Jordan taught a lesson and demoted to menial duties, in the hope that they will leave the service. Now that I’ve returned to MI6, my reign will be trouble free and the quietest time in its history. My desired outcome from this inquiry will certainly achieve that.’
‘Are we to ask any questions of the agents involved? What exactly do you want from us?’
‘Obviously, I want you to ask questions but nothing that will cause any problems or show the accused in a positive light.’ Drake glanced at both of them. ‘I want this inquiry to be seen to be as fair as possible, so both of you need to think hard about what you will ask and when you will ask it. Clear?’ He watched them both agree. ‘You’ll follow my lead at all times and back me up on any matters I choose to concentrate on.’ Drake smiled at the two individuals and sat back in his chair. ‘That will be all for now. I’ll see you both in briefing room three in one hour for the start of the inquiry. Remind yourselves that your careers are in my hands.’ Drake watched them both nod in agreement and leave the office.
‘Exactly what have Olsen and Jordan done to deserve you in this mood?’
The Chief of MI6 showed no sign of annoyance at the tone of voice or line of questioning. ‘I have a mandate for this agency and those two men are incapable of change.’ His dark blue eyes gave a steely glance to the other man. ‘One hour.’ Drake watched him leave and remembered his orders from the Prime Minister. He knew exactly what he was going to do and with an effective inquiry he would be halfway to achieving it. He leaned forward and spoke into the intercom on his desk.
‘Yes, sir? How can I help?’ spoke the assistant in the next room.
‘I want Hal Burton in my office in five minutes. Find him and get him up here, now.’ Drake terminated the link and found Burton’s personal file in his drawer.
French Special Agent Marraud tried his best but couldn’t repress the grin that was spreading across his face. His gamble had paid off. Through the binoculars, he saw Salenko and his ever-present companion exit the black saloon and enter a small bungalow located on the outskirts of Moscow, backing onto Gorky Park.
In the past week, Marraud had worked hard on many things. Staying alive was always his priority but at the same time, he was an effective researcher and planned his work to perfection. Once again, he had proven his talent, and he’d been waiting for Salenko to arrive for close to four hours. Situated just a street away, Marraud crouched behind some heavy fencing and saw the men enter the bungalow. So far, he had learned that Salenko was visiting all the people from his college background that were now in the minefield of Russian politics. In other words, calling in as many favours as possible and from what he had seen, not always in diplomatic fashion. The mystery man had a vicious temper and didn’t seem afraid to use it. The possibility of a biased election in Russia didn’t surprise Marraud, he had half been expecting it but with every passing day he wondered why no other agents from Europe had been dispatched to his location. The Russian threat was either not being taken seriously or perhaps the French Secret Service had been kept out of the loop.
As he jogged down the street, Marraud found himself at the back of the bungalow and used all of his stealth to creep in undetected. As he knelt beside the dining room window, Marraud heard the voice of Salenko and one other, but as ever, he wondered where the mystery visitor was. As he moved centimetres to his left to catch a glimpse of the inside, his heart skipped a beat when there was no sign of Salenko’s ever-present companion. Moving back to the safe haven of his kneeling position, Marraud speculated in his mind as to why he wasn’t there. This is his election, his campaign, he would want to know exactly what was being said. I’ve tracked five other visits and not once did he leave the room. A sense of dread spread through him. Have I been detected? Marraud didn’t want to hang around to find out, so moved away from the bungalow, and took the back route that led back to the car. On his approach, he attempted to calm himself and as ever, went through his safety checks upon reaching the vehicle. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t achieve full focus but persisted with the checks. His eyes scanned the vehicle, its tyres, the boot and bonnet and quickly looked around him before checking underneath the car for any incendiary devices. He casually checked the back seat and the driver’s compartment. As he got in the front and turned the ignition key, sudden anxiety flashed through his body as he jumped up and realised his mistake.
THE BLANKET ON THE BACK SEAT! IT’S NORMALLY IN THE BOOT!
Marraud spun round just in time as the mystery man, masked and shrouded in a black robe, leapt like a cat from the back seat…
Burton felt the sweat run down his back as he came out of the lift and made his way along the corridor to Drake’s office. His mind was a frenzy as to what he had done to deserve a summons. Relax, Hal, just take it one step at a time. Drake probably just wants to introduce himself. Focus! Burton shook his head as he slowly came to the first door. His hand trembled as he swiped his identification card through the reader and watched the green light appear. The door opened slightly, and Burton saw the assistant at her desk. ‘Drake is expecting me. I’m—’
The young assistant looked up from her computer screen. ‘Hal Burton. I know. You can go straight in, sir.’
Burton shut the door and sat down at the nearest chair. He stretched over the desk and offered his hand. ‘I don’t think we’ve met, sir, I’m Hal Burton, S.U.C.O. commander. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’ Burton managed a smile, but Drake didn’t move from his seat. He sat back down and waited. It had been some time since he had last been in the office, and he instantly recognised how well Drake went with the decor. The faded pinstriped suit Drake wore was in stark contrast to Ramsey’s designer clothes.
Drake placed his arms on the large mahogany desk and managed his first smile of the day. ‘Thank you for coming, Burton. Now…you’re in charge of team S.U.C.O. aren’t you?’
Burton swallowed hard as he waited to be sacked. ‘Yes, sir. That’s correct.’
‘I see. These are changing times for MI6, Burton, a fact I’m sure you are well aware of. You’ve come to a crossroad where you can either go forwards or backwards.’
Burton felt his heart sink. I knew it. ‘Well, I would like to go forward, sir. Though I’m not entirely sure what you mean.’ Burton loosened the top button his shirt collar.
Drake opened a folder on his desk. ‘I’ve been looking through your lengthy file. It makes for interesting reading. You’re aware today is the first of the inquiry, aren’t you?’
‘I’m due to give evidence at some stage, yes.’
‘Yes, I know. It’s your evidence I want to talk to you about. It’s going to prove very important, and I want to make sure you say the right thing.’ He watched Burton slowly nod in agreement. ‘Good. The briefing you gave to both S.U.C.O. teams before they left the country. In terms of any hostages, they might have encountered. What did you say on that, at your briefing?’
Burton blinked and tried to remember that far back. He had lost count as to the number of evenings that had been lost at the bottom of a bottle of whisky and his memory wasn’t very accurate. ‘I don’t believe I said anything about hostages at the briefing. It simply wasn’t something we were expecting.’
‘I see.’ Drake got out of his chair and began to walk around the office before he paused behind Burton, who was still seated. He placed both hands on the shoulders of the S.U.C.O. commander. ‘As you know, I’m the chairman of this inquiry but before that begins, I have a favour I need to ask of you. I want you to say on record that you gave direct orders to your team to rescue any hostages. Is that understood?’
‘You want me to lie, sir?’
‘It’s not a lie if it’s standard procedure, now is it? You know you should have reminded the S.U.C.O. agents about this policy at the briefing.’
‘Yes, sir, I can see your point.’
Drake removed his hands from Burton’s shoulders. ‘I have orders from the Prime Minister himself to lower the profile of MI6, so you should console yourself that your actions are supported by the very top. Carry out my order.’
‘Yes, sir, of course I will.’ Burton lowered his head and wondered how things could get any worse.
‘Good.’ Drake began to walk around his office once more. ‘When S.U.C.O. is disbanded, I’ll make sure you have a seat on the new Security Council. I will see you for the inquiry at eleven a.m. Dismissed.’
Burton got up from the chair and felt his trousers and shirt stick to him as he shuffled out the door. He found a tissue in his jacket pocket and wiped his face. The soon to be former S.U.C.O. commander stumbled out into the corridor and saw salvation ahead of him as he made his way to a water cooler several metres away.
Olsen waited in a local café that was a few minutes’ walk from MI6 headquarters. As he sat by the window, he watched people race past and for a moment wondered where each one was heading. He looked back to the counter and saw his fiancée, Rachel, buy two cups of tea. Several days ago, over dinner, he had felt uncomfortable at the news that she had insisted on accompanying him to the gates of MI6. Now, he felt happy the girl he was going to marry was a stubborn one. Olsen felt uneasy as to how the day was going to pan out but was certain of one thing for sure. Drake won’t stop at just a caution, he’s out for blood!
The day before, Olsen had received a phone call from Ramsey, informing him that the inquiry was to be chaired by Drake and that it was to be a closed hearing. In other words, no defence and lambs to the slaughter. He saw Rachel approach the table. ‘Mine’s a strong tea, right?’
Rachel gave him the drink and sat down whilst she tried to adjust her figure-hugging dark blue jacket. ‘Stopped raining?’ she asked casually. She flicked her long dark brown ponytail and studied her fiancé who had a blank look on his face. ‘Hey…’ She put her hands around his waist and moved closer. ‘It’s going to be OK, Sam. Even if this Drake guy does do what you say he will, it’s not the end of the world. We’ll still be together.’ She hoped that would be enough. Since their lunch at Café Uno, they hadn’t really spoken about her fears again. Rachel couldn’t deny she felt horrible for hoping that S.U.C.O. would be decommissioned and he would be forced to take a normal job.
Olsen smiled back at her. ‘I know, Rach, that doesn’t mean Drake should be able to get away with this.’ He held her hand and felt hope the worst might not happen.
Rachel watched Olsen closely and felt more and more convinced that the loss of his career would be the bombshell to their relationship she feared it would be. In all the years she had known him, not once had she seen him look frightened, but he did now. Clearly, he couldn’t do without his job despite his efforts of late to look at other options.
Olsen pushed his drink away. ‘Do you mind if we get moving? I just can’t sit around right now.’
They quickly gathered their things together and left the café. As they walked at pace, Rachel tightened her grip and tried all she could to provide support. ‘I’ve never known you to be anything other than a government agent, Sam. It doesn’t matter what happens today, you’ll always be my knight in shining armour.’
Olsen led her across the road and saw the unmistakable sight of MI6 headquarters not far away. ‘I’ve said it before, but it wasn’t what I wanted to do, it was my dad’s calling. Well, he worked with Deane for years. I met Tom when I was…ooh, about three years old. My dad brought him round to our place one Sunday.’
Rachel listened intently. ‘Did they get on? Your father and Deane?’
Olsen felt a shudder move through him as he recalled the pain of his recent operation in Oman and decided he would tell Rachel all about Deane and his father. One day, just not yet. ‘They did. My dad and Tom were a fantastic team, the very best. Tom used to come around whenever he was in the country. I was always interested in his stories, some of the most amazing stuff you’ll ever hear. Not as amazing as Dad’s tales but there you go. Then years later, Tom stepped in and offered me the chance to join the service. I remember at the time, thinking over whether it was for me. I could never really see myself as a government agent in the world of espionage and terrorism. But then, I remember my dad telling me when I was a kid how important it was to make a difference and help other people whenever I could.’
Olsen looked back at Rachel and put his arm around her as they both approached the gates of MI6. ‘So, I did it. I joined MI6. I was twenty, had left university early, and I really didn’t have a clue as to what I was getting myself into.’ He remembered his life from almost a decade before. ‘I joined MI6 for my father. When he died, it just felt right to me, you know? Despite all the pain and stress, I had seen him endure, there were so many moments where he had helped other people on levels you can only imagine. Before I knew it, I was in Iraq with Tom and there we were, right in the thick of things.’
Rachel closed her eyes and remembered when she had said goodbye to Olsen at the airport, all those years ago. It had been the first time she had felt that raw pain, and it had gotten worse from then on in. ‘I still remember when you left. I didn’t think you were going to come back. I was so scared. It felt so final.’
A warm smile came over Olsen’s face. ‘I don’t think I ever really thought about it. It all happened so fast. Not that I’ve ever told Tom this but there’s no doubt I wouldn’t have come back if it wasn’t for him.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘He was one hell of a teacher.’
Rachel had never heard Sam talk about Deane much and knew they hadn’t always gotten along but she could see the respect in his eyes. ‘When did you last talk to him?’
Olsen lowered his head for a moment and felt regret. ‘When I was in Oman, I was going to get in touch, but it’s just been a bit awkward between us. I wouldn’t really know what to say to him about this inquiry. It’s like a failure. That’s how he would see it.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ said Rachel, who was keen to know more. Previously Olsen had only ever spoken about Deane from a government agent’s point of view, never a lifelong friend or father figure.
Olsen pushed away the nightmare that had tormented him just months before and remembered just what Deane had done for him. ‘Tom’s just always been there for me. As a kid, right through the years to now. In many ways, it was like having a second father.’ Olsen held Rachel close and sighed to himself. ‘I should have called him, Rach…’
‘I’m sure he’d come to this inquiry if he knew about it. Why don’t you call him?’
‘Well, Tom knows everything anyway, no doubt he’s already heard about the inquiry and he’s just waiting for me to call him. First chance I get, I will. Look, I’d better go.’ He gave her a long kiss. ‘Wish me luck, Rach.’
Rachel didn’t want to let go but eventually released her hold and smiled back. ‘Call me as soon as it’s over, I’ll be here as soon as I can,’ she said softly. Rachel pushed away the hope he would be forced to leave and be set free from the world of MI6 that seemed impossible to leave by choice.
Olsen showed his pass at the checkpoint and approached the doors to MI6 headquarters. With every step his anxiety grew stronger, but he tried to settle himself as he came to the entrance. He felt powerless but what could he do?
Marraud floored the accelerator of the Lada and heard the vehicle cry out under the strain of the sudden increase in speed. His life flashed before his eyes for the hundredth time as images of his beloved Martine lingered, the stunning young woman who had captured his heart so many years ago. In the heat of the moment, Marraud remembered the tragedy of her death and felt the raw pain spear his heart once more. Eight years before, he had let her get too close, and she had been killed purely because of who he was and the job that he did. Ever since, a day hadn’t passed without the guilt consuming him.
A sense of urgency came over him, more powerful than any he had ever experienced. There was no time for grief, his own light was in danger of being extinguished forever.
Akira was determined to take Marraud hostage. He was more convinced than ever to reveal himself and give the Frenchman a chance to be saved. He put one arm around Marraud’s neck and tried to move him.
To hell with driving, I’ll take the devil with me if needs be. Marraud struggled to contain the strength of his attacker and couldn’t prevent him from climbing into the adjacent front seat. He focussed all his energy on the fight and lashed out. With the speed of his attack, he caught the mystery man by surprise and made direct contact with his face. The attacker fell back against the passenger door and Marraud took his chance. He grappled with him, and tried to force him out the door.
Akira held on desperately and felt the wind lashing against him. Suddenly the car shuddered and came to a crashing stop.
Marraud hadn’t thought about where they were going, only his own mortality. As he looked up, he saw the car had hit a phone box on the side of the road. Wasting no time, Marraud took his chance. With every ounce of strength, he smashed his head into that of the attacker and kicked him out of the car.
Akira landed on the snow-covered grass and tried to catch his breath. He told himself repeatedly he wasn’t attempting to fight but he couldn’t deny it, even if he was it would still be a struggle. ‘Wait!’ he yelled.
Marraud froze. He hadn’t expected to hear a European accent, he had been convinced he was fighting one of Salenko’s Russian FSB agents.
Akira slowly rose to his feet. His left hand appeared to support him, but it moved the ten-inch knife that was strapped to his back into position, just in case his attempt failed. ‘I have no interest in fighting you.’
Marraud couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘You’re with Salenko, it’s in your nature to fight.’
‘You’re wrong. I am guiding Salenko to bring balance to this world. There must be change to save it. You know that just as much as I do.’
Marraud started to move away from the car and circle his opponent. ‘Absolutely. Do the right thing and stand down from this election. I won’t be the first to come here and stop you.’
‘They will all fail. I have foreseen all of this. Salenko will be the next president and there will be change.’ Akira stepped forward and his voice took on another level of power. ‘Join me.’
The words made Marraud feel sick to his stomach. As he stared in disbelief at the attacker, every bone in his body immediately said no. There was never any chance he would align himself with the enemy. Turn his back on what he’d spent his life protecting? Betray Martine after everything that had happened?
‘You know I’m right, Patrice. You’re nothing more than a drone. You carry out orders with no thought of the consequences. Do you think they care about you? Are they thankful of everything you have done? Never. The West is finished, it cannot be fixed.’ Akira held out his hand and desperately wanted to see a sign to show that his efforts had been worthwhile. His voice was tinged with emotion as he extended his fingertips. ‘Come back with me.’
Marraud was seething now. The attacker knew his name and seemed convinced there was a chance of changing his allegiance. Why? Just how much did he know? There was simply no doubt, he would rather die than join them. Martine was gone and would never return, the inhumane animal ahead of him and all his type were responsible.
‘You know I’m right,’ Akira said again. As the words left his lips, he knew it was pointless. The look of hatred on the Frenchman’s face was unmistakable.
‘I have no idea what this is about but know this, I’m here to stop you and I will never join your cause. Quite simply, I would rather die.’
‘Like Martine?’ Akira asked quietly. His left hand flashed behind him and took hold of the large blade.
‘Who are you?’ Marraud took several steps forward, his face red with anger.
Akira ignored the move and held the blade out in front of him. His voice changed to one of pure evil. ‘So be it.’ He had done all he could do, but Madeline was right, Patrice was too far gone, it was not his fault, but he couldn’t be allowed to interfere any longer.
Marraud dodged away from the first attack that headed for his chest and ducked instinctively from the second. As he moved away, he struggled to focus on what was happening and could barely control the rage inside of him at the attacker for taking Martine’s name in vain. ‘Who are you?’ he screamed.
Akira didn’t hear a word. He was lost in concentration and moved in for the kill once again.
The blade slashed repeatedly around Marraud but still he dodged death and weaved around the attacks. Using his own brand of the Israeli Krav Maga fighting style he gave himself room and found the stance he was looking for. Still the attacks came but with his reactions primed and his own kicks and defensive reposes working well, he slowly started to invade his opponent’s space.
Akira continued to attack with the blade and moved deeper into one of the several fighting styles he was a master of each time coming closer and closer as he swung the blade faster and faster.
Marraud flinched and just got out of the way of one attack, which slashed his jacket. Risk taking was not his usual style, but he was well aware he wouldn’t last long in such a frantic battle. His own weapon was still in his car and that was a long way away. Throughout it all though, he was certain he had faced this man before. The style, the movements, all of it seemed familiar.
Akira had analysed Marraud’s tactics, and it was clear he was slowly invading more and more of his space to launch an attack. Akira had deliberately kept his style and pace on an even keel to fool his opponent that it was working.
With one swift change, it happened.
Akira switched from Taekwondo to the very different Wing Chun form of hand-to-hand combat and straight away it reaped dividends. His swings became shorter and the rapid movement of the blade in a horizontal form proved more effective.
Marraud struggled with the change and felt his footing give way. The blade came closer to his chest and with a last gasp of effort he evaded it and grabbed hold of Akira’s arm.
The two grappled for the blade. Marraud had a desperate look on his face but slowly he started to overpower Akira. Or did he? His focus was on the blade and nothing more, it was all he could do. With every passing moment, he was blinded by the fear that he might not see tomorrow, and it cost him dearly.
Akira’s feet moved away and then twisted back towards Marraud which gave him the initiative and body weight. Straight away, the Frenchman faltered, and the blade was free. Akira spun away from him in one turn and lashed behind him with the knife and made contact.
Marraud felt the cold metal in his side and shuddered with pain. It had penetrated his stomach, and he dared not look down. He felt the weapon snap out of his side and he grabbed the wound with his left hand. The pain was intense. Marraud knew immediately what the odds were of his survival. Despite it all, a powerful determination rose up inside of him that screamed it would prove to be his day. His own stubbornness and sheer refusal to die fuelled the power that took hold of him. Images of Martine came to the forefront of his mind as he smashed the knife against his side and watched it drop into the snow. This man and all of his type were responsible for Martine’s death. I will NOT give in.
Akira stumbled back and felt pain in his wrist. The sudden attack from Marraud had surprised him.
Despite the warm feeling of blood on his shirt, Marraud moved towards Akira and unleashed a battering of blows, all of them focussed with pure skill in his Krav Maga form. The image of Martine’s smile and the sound of her laugh had gone forever. That loss forced him to defy the pain and move himself with an agility that didn’t seem possible.
Akira didn’t have the answers to the attack and surrendered under the barrage until finally a roundhouse kick smashed into his left temple and he flew backwards and landed in a heap in the snow.
Marraud stumbled back to the Lada and for the first time, he glanced downward and saw his shirt was covered in blood. Immediately, the sight sapped the strength from him, and his hands clutched the deep gash in his side.
With the engine still running, he floored the accelerator and guided the car down the hill. The pain from his stomach was unbearable. As his vision began to fade away, he tried to summon up one last effort for Martine and for all the agents who would perish if the Russian election went the mystery man’s way.