Black List (20 page)

Despite the twisted and crumpled doors lying strewn across the ground outside, the house’s integral garage was a neat, well-ordered work space, with rows of tools hanging from racks along the walls. There were no real hiding places in there, so Mitchell was content to bypass it as she closed in on the door leading into the house itself.

Backing up next to it, she checked her weapon and hit the radio transmitter at her throat. ‘Charlie in position.’

‘Bravo good to go,’ Argento replied a second later.

Taking a breath, Mitchell nodded to herself. ‘In three, two, one… go!’

One look at the solid door barring her way was enough to forestall any notions of kicking it in. Without a breaching shotgun, it would be both messy and time-consuming to make a forced entry. In any case, Yates or his companion must have come through this door to start the car up, which meant it was unlikely to be locked.

Reaching out, Mitchell gripped the handle and turned it. As expected, there was a click as the lock disengaged. Now free to enter, she shoved the door open and advanced inside.

The open-plan kitchen facing her looked like it had come straight out of a catalogue; all expensive granite worktops, polished floors and stainless-steel units. However, this particular kitchen bore the scars of a recent firefight. Several of the units had been punctured by high-velocity rounds fired from the chopper, and a wall-mounted television had been reduced to so much broken scrap by another hit.

Jesus, what the fuck had Hawkins been thinking?

She could see something in her peripheral vision, and turned right to survey the living room. There she caught sight of the first casualty, and moved closer to investigate.

One look was enough to tell her it was a fatality. He’d taken a direct hit to the head, the catastrophic damage rendering him almost unidentifiable. For a moment she wondered if it might be Yates, but his overweight frame bore no relation to the lightly built young man she was hunting for.

She could see no weapons on or near the body, suggesting he’d been caught in the crossfire somehow. He must have been a civilian, perhaps a resident of the house.

Catching movement in the corridor directly ahead, Mitchell raised her weapon and tightened her grip on the trigger, but relaxed a little as Argento crept into view. His expression was focussed and alert, but also tight with anticipation. This was his first house assault, and he was nervous.

It had been the same for her the first time.

‘Hallway clear,’ he hissed. She saw his eyes linger on the dead body.

‘Check the other rooms,’ she instructed, knowing she needed to keep him focussed. ‘I’ll take upstairs.’

As Argento moved deeper into the house, Mitchell hurried forward, heading for the stairs leading to the upper level.

She hadn’t covered more than a few paces before a blur of movement erupted in the corridor. Turning right, she caught sight of a figure emerging from one of the bedrooms with something small and red clutched in one hand.

There was a sudden loud whoosh, and in a flash Argento was consumed in a cloud of white smoke. His startled cry was cut off abruptly by a loud metallic clang, followed by the soft thump of a body hitting the floor. Belatedly Mitchell realized her companion had just had the contents of a fire extinguisher sprayed in his face, before being beaten unconscious by the unit itself.

She had no idea how seriously he was hurt, and in an instant she knew there was no time to think about it. With her senses now painfully sharp and the brief smoke screen beginning to clear, Mitchell sighted their attacker and raised her submachine gun to open fire, her lips drawing back in a snarl as her finger tightened on the trigger.

At the same moment, her enemy turned and hurled the small extinguisher straight at her. Reacting instinctively, Mitchell twisted aside to avoid the improvised missile as it whirled through the air, though doing so forced her to turn the weapon away as well, disrupting her aim.

Exploiting the opening, the lone attacker rushed straight at her, covering the five or six yards separating them with terrifying speed. Knowing she would have no time to bring the weapon into the fight again, Mitchell let go of the submachine gun and allowed it to clatter to the floor, raising her fists to defend herself against the sudden onslaught.

She barely had time to block a hard strike aimed at her vulnerable windpipe, and her attempt to retaliate with a knee to the stomach was easily deflected. Anger and adrenaline surging through her veins, she lashed out with a stinging right cross, but her opponent twisted aside with such graceful ease that it was as if they had known what she was going to do before she’d even thought of it.

A heartbeat later she felt her outstretched arm seized in an iron grip, and suddenly her adversary had used their momentum to twist it behind her back. She could feel muscles and sinew straining beyond their limits. Instantly she knew what they were trying to do, and in desperation she lashed out with her elbow, feeling it make contact, with a satisfying thump that jarred her arm but nonetheless caused the grip to slacken.

Tearing herself out of the hold, she turned away, spotted a knife block on the kitchen counter and drew the first blade she could get her hands on. Thus armed, she whirled to face her enemy once more, swinging the knife around in a wild swipe.

But her attacker was ready again, and before the blade could find a target, her wrist was once again seized in a brutally strong grip. Mitchell had at last come face to face with her enemy, the tip of the knife poised mere inches from their throat.

For a heartbeat, the two enemies remained locked in that silent battle for dominance, their muscles straining, their strength perfectly balanced. Their eyes met during that brief moment, and Mitchell found herself staring into two infinite pools of ice, their depths unknowable, the will behind them indomitable.

The moment passed and her enemy’s weight suddenly shifted, twisted down and away, pulling her with it so that she was pitched forward, landing hard on her back, the knife stolen from her grasp. Through bleary eyes she looked up to see her opponent looming over her, the knife now raised to finish her off, her face betraying no hint of emotion.

‘Anya!’ another voice called out. ‘Stop!’

From the corner of her eye, Mitchell saw a young man standing a few yards away. A young man she recognized straight away as Yates. He was holding one of the MP5s that had been dropped during the confrontation, and to Mitchell’s disbelief seemed to be pointing it at Anya.

Her attacker hesitated, apparently weighing up how seriously to take his implied threat.

‘Don’t kill her,’ Yates went on. ‘Please.’

Glancing back down at her, Anya let out a breath. Mitchell saw her booted foot rise up, then come rushing down towards her. There was an explosion of light followed by gathering darkness as her consciousness departed.

Once more the house lurched into view as the damaged chopper swung and pitched its way across the lake in sluggish rolls that barely stopped short of completely stalling it.

‘Lower!’ Hawkins called out, gripping his harness tight. Strapped across his back was an MP5 submachine gun that he’d taken up in favour of the heavy and cumbersome sniper rifle he’d tried to use earlier. He wouldn’t be able to unfasten the weapon until he was on the ground, but he intended to put it to good use when he did.

With the nerve that only a direct threat to his life could impart, the pilot brought them in closer to the surface of the water, so close that spray from the engine downwash rose around them like an artificial cloud.

The shoreline was approaching rapidly, the pilot lacking enough control to slow their velocity. The landing was going to be rough, but Hawkins was prepared for that.

Another slow roll brought the lake into full view, and he knew this was the best chance he’d get. Unclipping his safety harness, Hawkins threw himself out the open doorway without hesitation.

Several seconds of tumbling, sickening weightlessness followed as he plummeted through the air towards the lake. Clearly the pilot hadn’t brought them in as low as he’d instructed.

This thought was followed a heartbeat later by a thundering, crushing impact as he slammed into the water and disappeared beneath the surface. With a million icy pinpricks assailing him as the cold seeped into his muscles, Hawkins quickly recovered his sense of orientation and kicked for the shimmering light above him.

Emerging with a gasp and a spray of chill water, he found himself about twenty yards out from the rocky shore, the sound of the stricken chopper already receding into the distance. Wasting no time, he strove towards it with sure, powerful strokes, and soon felt stony ground beneath his boots.

Tossing the knife aside, Anya knelt down beside the unconscious woman and began to undo the clips holding her body armour in place.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Alex asked, puzzled by her behaviour.

‘They may have air assets watching this area. They’ll see us the moment we try to leave,’ she explained, deftly removing the armour, followed by Mitchell’s radio unit. ‘These vests have transponders that let them tell friends from enemies, so put this on.’

Tossing the vest to him, she rose to her feet. The look in her eyes was enough to make him back off a pace. ‘And unless you intend to pull the trigger,
never
point a weapon at me again.’

With that she brushed past him to retrieve the second vest, snatching the MP5 out of his grasp as she went. Alex knew better than to protest.

Donning the unfamiliar Kevlar vest, Alex followed Anya as she headed for the front door. She had armed herself with the MP5 taken from her erstwhile adversary, and quickly swept the open area beyond with the weapon.

‘It’s clear,’ she judged after a few moments, leading him outside.

They hadn’t made it more than ten yards before the radio earpiece she was wearing sparked up with an incoming transmission. ‘Overlord to Charlie. Sitrep.’

Anya was very familiar with such devices, and immediately hit the transmit button strapped around her neck. ‘Charlie copies. House is clear, no sign of tangos. Moving outside.’

Alex stared at her, startled by the sudden shift in her voice. She’d managed to perfectly replicate the accent, and even the timbre of Mitchell’s voice. Heard over the pop and crackle of a radio network, it was unlikely anyone would be able to tell the difference.

‘Roger that. Be advised you have police units inbound. ETA seven or eight minutes.’

Anya smiled at their good fortune. ‘Copy. Recommend Overlord withdraws. We’re moving to evac.’

‘It’s your call, Charlie. Good luck. Out.’

Switching off the radio, Anya looked down towards the lake. There was no sign of the remaining team members, but it was likely they were still in the area. ‘They will realize their mistake soon. We must hurry.’

‘Where do we go?’

‘Anywhere but here.’

With Anya leading the way, they took off through the woods, running as only people fleeing for their lives can run. Adrenaline and fear charging through his veins, Alex sprinted through the shadows beneath the dense evergreen canopy, paying little heed to the direction they were heading. His only concerns were putting as much distance as possible between himself and the house, and keeping pace with his companion.

To her credit, Anya did at least slow down occasionally and glance over her shoulder, though he couldn’t say for sure whether she was checking on him or looking for signs they were being followed.

Alex made it a few hundred yards before shock and exhaustion caught up with him. Stumbling against a tree, he doubled over, coughing and retching and clutching at the trunk for support.

Coming to a stop, Anya undid the tabs holding her Kevlar vest closed and tossed it aside. The GPS identification system built into the vest had served them well during their escape from the house, but it wouldn’t take long for the Agency to figure out what had happened and turn that same technology against them.

This done, she turned to look at Alex. ‘Get rid of your vest. We must keep moving.’

Moving was the last thing on his mind at that moment. Over and over he saw that image of Landvik falling to the floor, his head blasted apart by the powerful sniper round. His friend; a man who had allowed them in his home, who had agreed to help them (albeit reluctantly) and who had paid for it with his life.

‘I killed him,’ Alex whispered, tears stinging his eyes. ‘Jesus Christ. He’s dead because of me.’

It was one thing to have ruined what was left of his own life and put himself in danger, but this was completely different. An innocent man had died today because of Alex’s stupidity and arrogance.

‘We don’t have time for this.’

He sank to his knees, staring down at the muddy ground as despair and grief pressed down on him like a physical weight. ‘What’s the point in running? We lost the download. We’re fucked.’

Suddenly he felt himself seized by a strong grip, and looked up to find Anya kneeling beside him, her eyes locked with his. ‘Alex, listen to me. I know he was your friend, but his death was not your fault. He killed himself when he triggered that alarm. You can grieve for him later if you must, but for now we have to leave this place. Now get up!’

Her words had done little to assuage his guilt, but they did at least kindle a small fire of resolve within him. Wearily he pulled himself to his feet and fumbled to undo the tabs on his vest. Gratefully shedding the cumbersome and restrictive body armour, he allowed Anya to lead the way once more. She was still moving quickly, but at a more measured pace than before, to give him more of a chance to keep up.

Their course ran parallel to a small stream at the base of a shallow creek for the next hundred yards or so, allowing them to remain more or less hidden from view as they retreated. Only when Anya spotted a trail winding through the woodland up ahead did they change direction.

She halted for a moment and knelt down to examine some markings in the ground. It had clearly been raining since the tracks were made, but even Alex was able to discern tyre marks in the dirt. The nature of the vehicle that had left them was lost on him however.

‘This way,’ Anya said, leading him down the trail.

‘Olivia! Olivia, wake up!’

Mitchell’s eyes opened a crack, her conscious mind struggling to reassert itself as confused thoughts and images whirled through her head. Then suddenly she saw an image of the woman named Anya standing over her, saw her boot come crashing down, followed by an explosion of light and a great gulf of darkness that seemed to swallow her up.

In that moment, her eyes flew open and she sat upright, almost knocking Argento off his feet. ‘Woah! Easy,’ he cautioned, taking her by the shoulder and easing her back. ‘You took a blow to head. I was starting to wonder if you’d come round.’

She was starting to wish she hadn’t. Waves of pain radiated through her head like ripples in a pond, and she had to swallow hard as a surge of nausea threatened to overwhelm her. Gingerly she reached up and touched her left temple, which seemed to be throbbing in time to her pulse. A swelling the size of a boiled egg seemed to have risen beneath the skin.

‘How long was I out?’ she managed to say.

Argento made a face. ‘Search me. I’ve been out a while myself.’

It was only then that she noticed his dishevelled state. Bruising and cuts marked one side of his face, and his hair was matted with congealed blood. Then again, taking a fire extinguisher to the head was likely to cause a fair amount of damage.

‘You okay?’ she asked, ashamed for not noticing before now.

‘I doubt I’ll be doing any modelling for a while, but I’ll live.’

‘Any sign of Yates and the woman?’

He shook his head. ‘They must’ve split after they took us down.’

‘Shit.’ The rest of her team needed to know about this. Reaching up, she felt around for the radio transmitter that linked her into the other ground units, then frowned when she realized it was gone.

‘Mine too,’ Argento confirmed. ‘And our vests and weapons.’

‘God damn it.’ Mitchell could hardly believe that one unarmed woman had taken them both down and escaped with such brutal ease. It was as if they’d presented no obstacle to her.

‘Listen, there’s something you need to see,’ the young man went on. ‘I swept the house after I came round. They’ve got some kind of computer terminal set up in—’

‘Quiet!’ Mitchell hissed, straining to listen.

She could hear something outside; something above the persistent ringing in her ears and the pounding of her heart. A long, sustained wailing sound, rising and falling in pitch. Police sirens.

Argento heard it too, and immediately reached the same conclusion.

‘We need to evac,’ he said. Whatever he had to tell her could wait for now. ‘Can you walk?’

‘Can
you
?’ she fired back, struggling to get to her feet. The world seemed to be spinning around her and the nausea was back with a vengeance.

‘Guess we’ll find out,’ he said, helping her up.

In the woods not far away, Hawkins was busy following the trail left by the two fugitives in their desperate bid to flee the area. His clothes and hair were still soaking from his recent plunge into the lake, but the cold barely troubled him as he pushed relentlessly forward.

Anya, well trained as she was at escape and evasion, left a barely discernible trail amidst the pine needles and damp soil of the forest floor. The same could not be said of her companion however. Even an untrained eye could have followed his deep and uncoordinated trail with ease, and Hawkins was far from untrained.

Spotting something on the ground up ahead, Hawkins gripped the submachine gun tighter. As he approached, he reached up and pressed his radio.

‘Alpha to all units. Possible contact in the forest west of the house,’ he whispered. ‘Anyone copy?’

Nothing. Not even static.

‘Fuck.’

He’d suspected his dive into the lake wouldn’t do his tactical radio unit any favours, but there had been little choice at the time if he still expected to play a meaningful part in this action. In any case, he had little faith in Mitchell and her fellow agents to do anything except absorb bullets for him.

Keeping a wary eye on the quiet woodland around him, he knelt to examine the pair of Kevlar vests that had been seemingly discarded at the base of a tree. These vests had come from his own assault team, and it didn’t take long for him to guess why.

Anya had proven herself a worthy adversary once again, taking out two armed operatives and using their identification tags to clear the area without arousing the attention of the Reaper drone overhead. Leaving the body armour where he found it, Hawkins rose to his feet and prepared to pick up the trail.

She had done well to make it this far. But she would definitely pay for it.