BLOOD GURKHA: Prophesy (James Pace novels Book 5) (16 page)

17

McEntire was fully back in control, albeit from his bed. Under strict medical orders not to exert himself, he had summoned his personal assistant to his bedside, complete with secure laptop and encrypted satellite phone.

It had only been a couple of days since his surgery and he remained on a high dose of pain medication. He also found that he could only work for twenty minutes at a time before getting out of breath and needing a sleep. Even this level of work was discouraged by his surgeon but McEntire was determined to get back in the saddle.

The McEntire Corporation was his baby and only he knew every aspect of its dark activities. He was happy to leave the vast commercial operation, which he normally also ran himself, down to his wealth of directors and managers, worldwide for the moment. The Corporation's vital role in keeping the United Kingdom safe from harm was too important to stay away from.

Baker, as his trusted second in command, knew most of it but he was an old soldier, who still liked to tangle personally in some of the more dangerous operations the Corporation undertook. Ex-SAS, he possessed a rare blend of ruthless efficiency and intelligence. Despite his more than middle-aged status, McEntire would pit him against anyone and know any money bet would be in safe hands.

In an ideal world, the woman seated by his bedside would have been one of the Corporation's most valuable security. Interestingly enough, she should have been dead. The cuts and bruises she had suffered in her epic fight with Barbara Balvenie were now well healed. He had allowed her to step down as his assistant after she had been discovered to be a spy for ARC ad been responsible for the death of a dozen McEntire crew aboard the lost yacht,
Sea Otter
. Sarah had stepped back into the role but, with her incapacitated for the moment, McEntire had summoned the traitor back to his side.

She wore a peach, chiffon neck scarf that matched her smart business trouser-suit. Hair pulled back in a high bun, flat shoes and the barest hint of make up, she was the epitome of an efficient secretary. The scarf was not an item she wanted to wear; she was too young for such accessorising, yet it was needed to hide the pink, scar tissue at the base of her throat where Barbara had performed an emergency tracheotomy, using a letter opener and a plastic biro, a few weeks earlier.

It had saved her life but looked like someone had shot her in the neck. It would take many more months to fade to the point that a good dab of covering cream would make it vanish.

Uncovered as a mole in the organisation, who had fed information back to ARC via her love interest, it had been Barbara Balvenie's intention to dispose of her. That was the lot of traitors and the only way that the McEntire Corporation could ensure total secrecy.

Execution of both internal and external threats had maintained the Corporation's anonymity for over thirty years, even from the pressing intelligence gathering of Britain's own security services. MI6 and GCHQ had no idea that Britain had its own dark service; unbound by the law or accountability; answerable only to a couple of shadowy figures in government who never revealed their identity.

Operating under the genuine flag of a successful international company, Doyle McEntire's small team of experts made sure that any threat to Britain's security was dealt with swiftly, and permanently.

This made it even more surprising that McEntire, in a late night phone call with Barbara, had agreed to spare her life. Barbara had been so impressed by the woman's fighting skills and determination to survive; perhaps even seeing a little of herself in her defeated opponent, that she had convinced McEntire to give her a second chance.

It was a risk that broke the unwritten protocol but Barbara sensed Rachel Crown could be turned back to their side and would fight for them harder than anyone else in the future, especially for McEntire himself. She was also not getting any younger, despite still being better than everyone she had ever yet encountered, and had eyes on grooming her successor.

As Rachel twisted in her seat slightly, she turned her head just a little too fast to compensate and a shadow of pain darkened her otherwise flawless features. McEntire, in the middle of dictating a new message for the
Vixen
's commander, spotted it out of the corner of one eye.

'Do you need a minute, my dear? Perhaps you should go and grab a coffee? Take a break.'

'No, sir. I am fine. I just keep forgetting myself and the injury,' she explained. 'My fault, I'm just not a very patient victim.' She was being truthful.

'Just like me,' McEntire said, knowing better than to try and move without a nurse's helpful hands. 'I've never been very good at lying around, waiting for anything. It isn't our way.' He was, of course, referring to the Corporation. Both in its legal and very illegal operations, it was a force to be reckoned with; employing some of the finest minds on the planet to make sure it stayed ahead of its rivals.

With legitimate business interests ranging from food, sustainable energy, nano-technology, satellite and space development and nuclear research, to name a few, it was a financial powerhouse. Rachel was not aware of how much money the British government had secretly paid to McEntire, in those very early years, to ensure the Corporation's success. Some insider dealing, secret investment, offshore accounts and, hey presto, the Corporation had bucked every financial downturn to rise to the top of the tree.

'Shall I read it back to you?' she asked. 'Just to make sure you're happy with it?'

'No need,' McEntire brushed her off. 'I may be laid up in bed but my mind's as sharp as ever.' He tipped her a sly wink. 'You go off and take a break, Rachel. I need to rest for a while anyway. Be back here in a couple of hours and we will carry on.'

'Of course, Mr McEntire.' She rose to leave, placing the laptop down carefully on her newly-vacated seat. As she headed across the room, for the door, she turned back. 'Thank you again, sir.' A pause. 'For letting me live. I won't ever let you down again.'

'I know you won't,' McEntire replied evenly. 'But you are the first person who's worked against me, from the inside, who has been given a second chance. Don't waste it,' he warned.'

'I won't,' she promised firmly. 'I owe you my life and I will die before ever failing you again.'

'Let's both hope that isn't necessary. Anyway, when you do come back,' he added, signalling an end to their conversation, 'I'll need an update on the Nepal situation. Make sure it's the very latest intelligence, understood?'

'I will have everything you need, sir. Have a good sleep.'

Then she was gone and McEntire was left alone with his thoughts. The room had been fitted with a voice-activated computer, allowing him to control lighting without having to move or summon a nurse. He ordered the lights to dim, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep. With the constant pain in his chest and all down his legs, sleep was elusive. He tried in vain for half an hour before finally having to call a nurse, who infused a sedative into him. After the medication, he drifted off and actually slept for five hours before waking, feeling groggy but refreshed.

Rachel dutifully returned after two hours, as instructed, and had been patiently waiting for her boss to awaken, seated at his bedside. If she had been minded to remain a danger to him, or had even contemplated taking the opportunity of harming him while he slept, she would not have succeeded. Just outside the door, monitoring the entire room on a large screen in the passageway, three armed guards were a permanent feature of Doyle's personal security detail.

Seasoned soldiers; hand-picked by Baker himself, any hint of her behaving dangerously, or even getting in too close to McEntire while he slept, would have probably ended up with her being shot dead right then and there. Rachel correctly suspected they had been briefed of her past failures and were as vigilant with her as they would have been with any visitor to McEntire's side.

When he was ready, she fired up the laptop again and got straight to the point.

'I have checked everything we have from Barbara.' Only Rachel, McEntire, Baker and Barbara herself were aware of her identity as the McEntire enforcer, code name The Janitor. 'Her most recent report is from nearly two days ago.' McEntire did not like the sound of that. 'Her phone is no longer emitting a signal and her tracking unit has also stopped working.'

'Barbara would never allow herself to get into a situation where she could not make contact with me. Something has gone wrong down there. What was her last update?'

Rachel scanned down her screen quickly. 'Just that she was continuing to monitor an old mining facility, a few miles inside China, along its Nepalese border. Her informants had led her there during the weeks she's been over there,' she added helpfully. 'Barbara reported limited activity but had observed several high-ranking scientists visiting the mine head; some more than once, helicoptered in each time. They vanished inside and did not come out for several days.'

'I sent her down there because intelligence was pointing worryingly at a concentration of their top scientific minds, specifically related to nuclear fusion, being involved in some kind of project out in the mountains. Well away from main areas of habitation but also very close to the border with Nepal. The Chinese are up to something, that much we know, but it is almost impossible to get good intelligence from within the Party. Most officials are well paid, and well bribed at times, so there is little stomach to become a traitor to the cause.'

'We do have people inside though, I am assuming? You mentioned intelligence leading us there in the first place?'

McEntire smiled though his discomfort. 'Of course. It is my business to infiltrate all key threats and, actually, China's own version of the Corporation; unaccountable and covert, has worked with us very effectively to counter some joint threats in the past. Our best intelligence comes from this relationship, which has nothing to do with communism or the current government.'

'Do you think she's been compromised?' Rachel asked bluntly.

'By that, I guess you're asking me if I think that she's dead?' Rachel nodded slowly, mindful not to pull at her neck. 'I have never known Barbara to be out of contact without a pre-arrangement. It is highly likely that she can't talk to us because she's been caught. Possibly, killed.'

'What are your instructions, sir?' Rachel felt a surprising sense of anger towards anyone who might have hurt Barbara, despite the woman having beaten her to within an inch of her life barely a month earlier. 'Would you like me to go down there and look for her? I have been one of your field agents for several years and Barbara herself would tell you that I'm very capable.'

McEntire laughed softly, trying not to strain the many stitches that currently held his throat to crotch incision together. 'She was very clear on that front,' he agreed. 'Barbara felt you were far too good to kill.' He looked her in the eyes, fixing her intently. 'Was she right? Were her instincts right or are you still working against us from the shadows?'

Rachel held his gaze, her eyes flaming angrily. 'If you have any doubts, you should put a bullet in my head,' she snapped. 'I've given you my word that I will never betray you or this organisation again. Barbara believed me and I want to help. Send me to Nepal,' she pleaded, her voice suddenly softer and searching. 'I know where she was last based. I will track down her movements and get an answer. Hopefully, it all ends up just being a communication glitch and she is alive and well. If she's dead, at least you'll know why, and by whom.'

'You are needed here, my dear, with me. Sorry.'

'I can help, sir. Please let me do this. If she is in trouble, I owe it to her to help. I
need
to.' Her tone was simpering now, her eyes begging.

Doyle McEntire regarded her for a moment, seeing the vaguest hints of wetness in her eyes. He knew she was hurting and how desperately she wanted to prove herself to him; that she could once again be trusted. She also wanted to atone for her treachery, especially to Barbara Balvenie.

'If I let you go,' he began, spotting the lurch of hope in her shoulders, 'whatever fate has befallen Barbara will be waiting for you too. You realise that you would have to go alone. If the Chinese have rumbled her, she would never talk. The likelihood of her being dead is greater than her being a captive for too long. Whoever has her, or whoever has disposed of her, will expect a response. They will be looking for her replacement to arrive. You will be in great danger from the moment you get there.'

'I understand, sir. I still want to go. If she is alive, I will get her out.' Rachel stood up, as though believing the decision had now been made. She sat back down sharply at McEntire's warning glare. 'Sorry, sir. Please go on.'

'Finding her, however important that is,' conceded McEntire, 'is not the reason for sending you. Barbara was clearly onto something important; important enough for someone to kill her. You will need to infiltrate the mine, as she was planning to. You won't have the luxury of the weeks she spent on surveillance. I need results pretty damned quickly.'

'I won't waste any time, sir. I…...'

McEntire held up a hand to cut her off in mid-sentence. 'And I can't take the risk of another of my people being compromised. You are not to come back unless it is safe to do so, are we clear? Get what I need, fast. Find out what's going on and get the information back to me. The details are more important than your life. I'm sorry to be blunt.'