Rise of the Enemy (21 page)

I’d been dreaming about Angela. We were staying together in a hotel in Paris. On an assignment of some sort, but that wasn’t important. We were both tired out from an exhausting day, lying fully clothed in each other’s arms on the soft quilt of the oversized bed. Gazing longingly into each other’s eyes.

It was definitely Angela I was with, no doubt about it. The way she moved, acted, spoke. Just the way we were with each other – so natural.

But it wasn’t her face.

It was Mary’s.

And when I woke up out of the dream with a start, I immediately felt guilty. Felt betrayal. Mary was attractive, but I simply didn’t want to have those kinds of feelings for her. And yet, in my dream, it had been her face that I’d kissed and cherished.

‘Bad dream?’ Mary said.

Her voice shook me from my thoughts. I realised then that I was panting and sweating.

‘Kind of,’ I said.

I was still in the chair, Mary on the bed. She was in the same position as when I’d shut my eyes. We’d each
been sleeping on and off for a good few hours. I wondered whether Mary had been sitting there like that the whole time I’d been asleep, just watching me, not sure what to do next. I didn’t bother to ask.

Many years ago I’d become accustomed to sleeping in unusual places, unusual positions. And I’d also become used to sleeping with a gun. I’d had my hand in my pocket, feeling the hard steel, the whole time I’d slept on the train – almost like a child uses a comforter.

I hadn’t worried about whether Mary might try to grasp it from me whilst I slept. Not only did I not think she had it in her, but I trusted myself to have woken up if she’d even moved off the bed. What can I say? I’m a light sleeper.

Morning had broken some hours before. The sun shone in through the cabin window. The clouds had cleared, leaving a bright-blue sky once more, but not before they’d despatched a heavy covering of new snow.

Neither of us had eaten since coming onto the train and now that I was awake my belly was starting to grumble incessantly. As I stood up to stretch it let out a long growl.

‘You sound as hungry as I feel,’ Mary said, laughing.

‘Tell me about it,’ I said.

‘Why doesn’t one of us just go down to the restaurant and grab something?’ she said. ‘There’s a restaurant car at each end of the train so I can’t see us bumping into Chris, presuming he’s at the other end to us, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘I’m not worried about Chris,’ I said. ‘But there’s no point in drawing attention to ourselves. Let’s just sit and wait.’

I took the crackers and crisps out of my coat, the ones I’d taken from the safe house the day before, and tossed them down onto the bed. They were crushed to pieces but they were still food.

‘We can eat these,’ I said.

Mary flapped her arms and huffed but I didn’t care. As much as I wanted to eat a full meal, the risk was too high. We were in a good position. No point in jeopardising it.

We ate the paltry food then sat for a good while longer, not much left to say to each other. I nodded off a couple more times from boredom as much as anything else. It wasn’t until well into the following evening, when darkness had once again returned, that I finally felt the urge to move.

‘I’m going to take a shower,’ I said.

I got up and walked into the shoebox bathroom and shut the door. The room was freezing compared with the main cabin and I shivered and my skin goose-pimpled as I stripped off my clothing. The shower cubicle was so small that I barely fitted inside and I found it almost impossible to turn around. But the hot water soothed my sore skin and aching bones, and after a couple of minutes I was feeling revitalised. I washed with the soap from the wall-hung dispenser and then just stood, enjoying the water for a few minutes more.

When I was done I stepped out of the shower and dried off with the threadbare and too-small towel. I looked at myself in the mirror. I had a large bruise on the side of my forehead from the car accident the previous day. It was visibly raised and a deep-purple colour, the edges yellowing. Other marks covered my torso and arms, both from the crash and the various other scrapes I’d been in recently.

The sores on my feet were healing well. I had no open wounds there now. They were still painful to the touch but in another couple of days the sores would be gone.

All in all, I felt in good shape again. Certainly better than I had been a few weeks before, during that initial period in captivity.

I was just getting my clothes back on when I heard a knock on the door to the cabin. I stopped what I was doing and listened.

‘Who is it?’ Mary said in Russian.

I heard a man’s voice in response but the sound was too muffled to make out the words. I willed Mary to sit tight and do nothing, but I heard her get up off the bed. And then came the sound of the door unlocking.

I knew that it could easily be a ticket inspector or something else entirely innocent, but I’m a born sceptic. I quickly threw on the rest of my clothes and picked up the Glock, which I’d placed on the floor. I heard the door close and the lock click again.

‘Mary?’ I said. ‘Who was that?’

‘Just checking tickets again,’ she said.

Sometimes you get a feeling that something isn’t quite right. Was it the way Mary had spoken? I kept the gun held in my hand, close to my chest, as I opened the door, not wanting to take any chances.

As I took a half-step out of the bathroom, I noticed the gleaming metal first. The overhead light caught on it, shining a bright beam into my eyes. Only when the metal object was turned slightly could my eyes focus properly. And then I knew what it was. The blade of a hunting knife.

Held up against Mary’s throat.

Mary was across the cabin, almost within touching distance in the confined space. A man stood behind her. One of his arms was wrapped around her body, holding down her arms. The other was across her right shoulder, an oversized hand with thick fingers holding the knife in place.

I looked into Mary’s pleading eyes. A trickle of blood ran down her neck, onto her clothes, where the knife had nicked her. The man rose tall behind her. She looked entirely helpless. And the sorry look on her face only confirmed it.

I didn’t know the man. A different man from the one I’d seen Chris with on the station platform. But I wasn’t overly surprised when I knew the voice that I heard next. It came just as the cold metal of a gun barrel was pushed against my temple.

‘Drop it,’ Chris said.

I didn’t look to where the voice had come from. I didn’t need to. Out of the corner of my eye I could easily make out the figure of a man standing off to my right, towards the cabin door. His arm was outstretched, pushing the handgun into my head.

‘Or what?’ I said.

‘What do you think?’ Chris replied.

‘I think you haven’t got the balls,’ I said, directing my words to the man holding Mary.

His eyes flicked over to where Chris was standing.

Did he really have the appetite to cut Mary’s throat? I doubted it. The nervous glance over to his leader suggested he didn’t. But it didn’t matter to me either way. He was already a dead man. He’d signed his own death warrant the second he’d walked over the threshold into my space.

I caressed the grip of the Glock in my left hand. Relaxed my shoulders. Exhaled slowly, then inhaled deeply. Readied myself for action.

In an instant I swung my right hand up and grabbed Chris’s gun. I pushed it away from my face, behind me. At the same time, I swung my left arm up and fired a single shot, the sound heavily cushioned by the deep rumble of the train. The bullet hit the man behind Mary in his right eye, jolting his head backwards. Blood, bone and lumpy brain matter spattered out behind him and streaked down the wall of the cabin as his body dropped to the floor. Mary cupped her face with both hands, whimpering.

Chris was reeling, trying to free his arm. He hadn’t fired in haste as I thought he might. As I tried to reposition to take him on, he threw a fist into my side. The power of his punch surprised me and I winced in pain, letting go of his gun. Before I knew it he’d crashed the butt into the side of my head and I felt a searing pain in my ear. I fell to my knees, my vision blurry. The blow to the head had disorientated me.

‘Chris, no!’ Mary screamed.

I heard a shot fired. But I’d sensed what was coming and had already begun to move. I jumped forward, into his legs, taking him down to the ground in a heap with me. His head smacked off the cabin door.

I’d already dropped my gun and so now had both of my
hands free. I arced a fist into his jaw with my right hand. Then went for a left. But he shifted his head in time and grabbed hold of my wrist with his right hand. He was much stronger than I’d anticipated and I writhed, trying to free my arm.

He hit me with his gun again, right across the side of my face. I felt my cheek open up, both on the inside and outside of my mouth. Blood began to pour, filling my throat. But the force of the shot had also taken the gun out of Chris’s hand and it clattered to the floor off to my left.

His hands and arms were grappling at my torso, jabbing, scraping, trying to get me off him. I reached out to get his gun. I couldn’t. It lay just too far out of my reach. My head was thick and everything spinning. The two blows to the head had taken their toll on me.

But I couldn’t let him get the upper hand. I thrust my head down, aiming for the crown of his nose. I heard a crack and knew that I’d made good contact, probably breaking his nose. But the impact had also shaken me, sending a shudder right through my body. The last thing my already concussed brain needed.

Chris managed to manoeuvre a leg free and bent his knee up into his chest, then kicked out, pushing me off him. I lurched backwards, and got back to my feet. But before I could react Chris was already up, rushing at me. He crushed me up against the cabin’s window, knocking the wind out of me. The window seemed to bend outwards as I made contact with it as though it were made of elastic. It cushioned some of the blow. I was still on my feet at least, but Chris was driving into me, his arms wrapped around my waist.

I raised and threw down my right elbow, catching him just below his neck. Then I used all my weight and the
strength in my legs to push him back, away from me. He released his grip and stood off from me, just half a yard away. His face was snarling like an angry dog. We faced each other off. Hands out and ready, like oversized wrestlers in a miniature ring.

He came for me again, but this time I was ready. I ducked to my right. He tried to shift his feet to follow my move but couldn’t. I reached out to him and used the strength in my arms to further his momentum, slamming him into the window. Before he made contact he managed to get one arm up in front of him but his head still took most of the impact as he crashed into the glass. The window bent and cracked but didn’t shatter.

Chris fell into a heap on the ground.

I got to my knees and used my right arm to scoop him up. He was still conscious, still alert, but much of his strength had now gone. I wrapped my thick right arm around his neck, pulling on my right hand with my left to squeeze the vice tight. Chris began to rake at my arm and my hands with his nails. But I didn’t relax the grip, I squeezed tighter.

‘Logan,’ I heard Mary say. ‘Logan?’

I looked up at her. She was cowering away on the bed, the pleading look still in her eyes.

‘You can’t kill him,’ she said.

After what he’d just done to her? I kept on pulling on my right arm, squeezing as hard as I could. Chris was becoming frantic, clawing away to try to get me to release him.

But I’d misunderstood Mary’s words.

‘You can’t kill him,’ she said again. ‘We have to know what’s going on.’

I closed my eyes in frustration, her words resonating in my head. I knew she was right. As much as I wanted to squeeze the life out of Chris, we had to figure out what was
happening. The chances were Chris would tell us nothing. I knew, though, that we had to at least try.

‘Get the gun,’ I said to Mary, nodding over to Chris’s weapon, which lay by the cabin door. I hadn’t seen where mine had landed.

Mary did as she was told and sat back on the bed, toying with the weapon. After a few seconds she lifted it up, pointing it at Chris’s head. I relaxed the grip around his neck enough to let him breathe, but didn’t let go. He coughed and spluttered, his flailing arms becoming calm as he filled his starved lungs with air.

‘What did you do, Chris?’ Mary said. ‘Just tell us what you did.’

Chris was breathing deeply, panting. He didn’t say a word.

‘Who are you working for?’ I shouted.

Chris just huffed and coughed out a mouthful of phlegm.

‘Chris, what have you done?’ Mary said again, her voice calm and sincere, willing him to speak. ‘I know you’ve been meeting with the CIA.’

‘You don’t know anything,’ he said, sounding pleased with himself. ‘You’re nothing, Mary. Just another puppet.’

‘I’m not a puppet,’ Mary refuted. ‘I just can’t help but feel loyalty to the people I work for. I would never betray my own people like you have.’

Chris spat and laughed. ‘And neither have I,’ he said.

‘Then tell us why you’re working with the CIA. What have you given them?’

Chris laughed again. A detached and unfeeling laugh. ‘I’m not working
with
the CIA, you stupid girl. I am CIA. I always have been.’

I didn’t like the way he’d spoken to Mary and I tugged on my right arm again until he began to squirm, reminding
him of the situation he was in. His words had caught me by surprise, though, and my mind got busy trying to process the consequences.

Mary looked angry. I thought for her it would probably be more at the personal betrayal of someone she’d been paired up with than anything else.

‘You tricked us?’ she said.

I relaxed the grip on Chris’s neck again, affording him an opportunity to respond.

‘No. You’re just not big enough to have known,’ Chris said. ‘Mackie knew. Mackie brought me into this knowing I was CIA. Everyone knew.’

‘But why?’ Mary said. ‘Why are the CIA involved here at all?’

‘Why wouldn’t we be?’ he said.

‘And why are you trying to kill us?’ Mary added.

Her questions were heartfelt and carried a personal weight to them. But it was hardly an interrogation. Mary’s questions were born of frustration and hurt and were personal. Chris wasn’t going to tell us anything more than he had to. He’d only spoken at all to add confusion to the situation and to rub salt into open wounds. Chris understood the predicament he was in. No matter what talking he did, only two of us were going to be walking away from the cabin alive. He’d come into the cabin to kill me and Mary. And nothing he could say would change that fact.

And knowing that, I was ready for his move when it came.

His arms were down by his sides. He used his legs to push back on me and with his right arm reached down to his boots, trying to recover a stashed pocket knife. But he wasn’t going to get the upper hand over me again. I pulled up on his neck, fast and hard. He desperately tried to grab for the
sheathed blade but the jarring of his head had brought his shoulders up, away from his legs, and he couldn’t reach.

I kept him in the hold, pulling the grip as tightly as I could. He tried desperately to reach his knife. I gave him no chance. When he finally realised his predicament he began to claw away at my arms and wrists once more.

‘Logan, no!’ Mary shouted. ‘We have to find out what’s going on!’

She was right. But we weren’t going to find out from Chris. I kept the grip firm, pumping away with my arms to squeeze it as tight as I could. Chris scraped and scrabbled frantically. His nails tore at the skin on my arms and dug deep into my flesh. But I couldn’t feel the pain at all. I was focused entirely on the grip, on pulling as hard as I could.

My eyes were fixed on Mary. She was speaking, shouting at me, but I couldn’t hear the words. I just carried on pulling, squeezing the life out of Chris.

His attempts became weaker, more futile. Eventually they stopped altogether and his arms flopped to the ground.

Tears rolled down Mary’s cheeks. But she should have been thanking me. I’d just saved her life.

I finally released the grip from around Chris’s neck and threw him off me. Mary jumped at the sight as Chris’s head rolled, his bulging but lifeless eyes staring up at her.

I got to my feet and retrieved the Glock I’d dropped, which lay back by the bathroom entrance. I placed it into the waistband of my trousers.

‘You just don’t know when to stop,’ Mary said, sobbing, looking away from Chris, turning her head as far away as she could.

‘You need to start to get real on this,’ I said. ‘People are trying to kill me. To kill you too. You’ll pardon the lack of apology but hopefully you can see now why I didn’t react too kindly to your friends before in the café.’

‘It doesn’t mean you have to try to kill everyone who comes your way! And I’m not just saying that because I’m some soft bimbo, which is clearly what you think of me. Just stop and think for a minute before you do things. Chris was talking. We had him, and now what use is he to anyone?’

I fished through Chris’s pockets and found what I was looking for.

‘He was only telling us what he wanted to,’ I said.

‘You don’t know that. You didn’t give him a chance.’

‘I gave him more of a chance than he deserved.’

‘But what are you left with now? Just more unanswered questions.’

‘Maybe. But things are starting to fall into place.’

I opened up the phone I’d taken from Chris’s pocket and quickly confirmed what I suspected.

I stood up and strode over to Mary who cowered away from me. I held the phone out to her, showing her the screen.

‘What?’ she said, her voice small and meek.

‘GPS tracking. Chris was following
you
,’

Mary took the phone out of my hand and stared at the blinking dot on the screen. I hauled Mary to her feet, grabbed the phone back off her and began to pat her down, feeling across the material of her clothes, along the creases and seams. Mary was sobbing, I ignored her.

‘Here,’ I said, holding up the tail of her coat. ‘It’s in here.’

I ripped the seam and carefully took out the receiver. It was smaller than a penny. Nothing more than a microchip with a sticky coating. A simple app on the phone was all that was needed to show the receiver’s precise location.

‘He knew where we were,’ Mary said.

I wasn’t sure if her words were a statement or a question. She took the chip from my hand and inspected it as though she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

‘Why?’ Mary said. ‘Why was he tracking me?’

‘I don’t know. But I’m not sitting here waiting any longer.’

I picked up my coat and strode over to the cabin door.

‘Where are you going?’ Mary shouted, jumping up off the bed.

I turned to face her. ‘I’m going to find out why the CIA had Mackie killed,’ I said.