Out of the Shadows (Akira and Deane Thriller Series Book 1) (21 page)

‘Preparations
for Operation Reprisal hmm?’ asked the Chief of the service.
Elliott looked better than he did, much to Burton’s disgust.
Didn’t this guy ever get tired?
He thought to himself. ‘Uh…yes sir, I have the
satellite images of Kraków. All looks good. Team S.U.C.O. are just
finishing up their preparation and will be reassembling soon. Has
POL1’s report come over yet?’ Burton steadied himself as he leant
against the desk. To his dismay, the top of the Whiskey bottle
could just be seen above the drawer of the filing cabinet. Burton
looked back to his superior straight away, who showed no sign of
detection.

‘Not yet.’ He replied sharply.
‘By the end of the morning, we shall have it. That was the
scheduled time. Our profiles suggest the Kiprich brothers will
linkup with a Libyan group in the next couple of days. I’ve just
finished a conference call with the PM and The Defence Minister.
The termination order has been given. I’ll be in Operations
Command. Make sure the teams are dispatched quickly. I want you
there in one hour.’ Elliott moved away but then lingered near the
door. ‘One more thing, Ramsey reported some financial problems
you’ve been having of late or something of that ilk. Sorted now I
hope?’

Burton replied quickly, making
sure of no doubts. ‘Oh that. Yes sir, everything’s fine now. My
family…are just fine.’

Elliott smiled faintly and
thought of his wife Corina for the tenth time that day. ‘Well…that
is good, you can’t put a price on your family. And your son? How is
he?’

Burton could feel himself
welling up, but pushed it away. ‘Just fine sir, just fine.’ As he
watched his boss leave, an air of pressure was left in the office.
Burton rubbed his head and sunk in his chair, trying to focus and
think straight. From the other side of the office, the Whiskey
bottle began to call to him again.

Bedford felt
the tears run down his face as his captors opened the door to his
flat and dropped him by the far corner in the living room.
Throughout the car journey every ounce of pain had been felt, each
time a failed attempt to push it away and perform his duty to his
country. His mind continued to spin out of control as the more
sinister of the two men approached him.
I
don’t have a choice!

Jozef walked into the main
living room and gave a sweeping glance to the flat. It consisted of
a large open spaced room, with an on-suite bathroom, bedroom, and
kitchen. It was small and cold, with light streaming in from a
solitary window. Jozef knelt down to face his hostage. ‘Now that
we’ve established you work for MI6, I think it’s time we finished
this don’t you?’ He raised his left hand and pointed to Bedford’s
laptop on the nearby table. ‘Your clearance codes.’ His eyes locked
onto the fallen protector. ‘Give them to me.’ He said in a deadly
tone.

Bedford tried to move but
couldn’t. The feelings were beginning to leave his lower body as
the steely eyes continued to bear on him. He spoke faintly to his
captors. ‘For what…purpose?’

Jozef screwed
his face in a fit of rage and lashed out, kicking the Government
agent violently on the left knee. ‘That is my business and not
yours, now give me the codes!’ He grabbed the laptop and dragged it
down onto the floor. Displayed on the screen was the locked
screensaver, which required three character codes and a ten-digit
identity code. Jozef knew all too well, they could manipulate MI6
with the data he so desperately wanted. His mind began to work once
more as the defiance of his hostage refused to break down. ‘Do you
think this was all a coincidence? We just happened to have this
encounter and it’s been worked out as we go along? I am no fool.
For the past week, we’ve been well aware of your presence. We
expected it after Oman.’

Bedford raised his head slowly.
‘What are you saying?’

Jozef continued his attempt to
bluff. ‘Your family in London. One of my men is with them. They
will die tonight if a phone call isn’t made by me.’ A ruthless
smile came over his features. ‘Your destiny may be sealed my friend
but your family can still live on.’

Bedford closed his eyes for a
moment in an attempt to draw strength from somewhere. He opened
them to see both men close to him, waiting for his answer. ‘You’re
lying. I don’t believe you.’ He said weakly.

‘Are you willing to take that
chance? It would be such a waste now wouldn’t it? Giving your life
for your country is one thing, but sacrificing others? Come now.’
Jozef saw the expression change on the face of the hostage and
leaned in closer. ‘I am a man of my word. Whatever else I may be,
if you give me your clearance codes, I swear to you your family
will not be harmed.’

Bedford tried
to swallow but the pain wouldn’t allow it. His whole body was
beginning to feel heavier by the second, well aware of the serious
injuries he had sustained. His thoughts reached out to his family
in London.
I can’t take a chance on my
family, they never asked for any of this…

Jozef flipped open his mobile
phone and exchanged a look with Ferec who was sitting at the desk.
‘The codes. Give them to me.’

Bedford stayed silent and
closed his eyes, desperate for something, someone to give him a
chance to get away. What never went away were the thoughts of his
family, suffering, because of who he was.

Ferec stepped forward once more
and stamped his right foot on Bedford’s head as he swore repeatedly
in the face of such defiance. Again, and again, Ferec lashed out
until finally he lifted his hostage from the ground and threw him
across the wall.

Bedford came crashing to the
floor and felt every bone in his body ache. The pain was on a
totally different level to what he had ever felt before but it
seemed secondary to the welfare of his loved ones. His body was
broken, but his mind was still active and consumed with the choices
ahead of him. Yes, he could die here and hope that his family would
be spared, or take the only chance he had available and trust the
word of a madman. Anything to save those he held so dear. But what
of his other family, the MI6 family, was he not devoted to them
too? A dizzying wave came over him, time was running out. As much
as he hated himself, he would have to break his oath to MI6.

Ferec whipped out his gun and
closed in.

Jozef spoke slowly as his
comrade came closer. ‘The codes. I won’t ask again.’

Bedford sent out a silent
prayer of forgiveness to Richard Elliott and slowly opened his
mouth. ‘P….O…L…126…722…3411.’

Jozef listened
to the magic he had obtained and slowly began to smile back at the
hostage.
Akira will be most pleased when I
inform him of this development! He won’t see me as a nobody for
much longer!
He looked to the table where
Ferec had entered the data and was now staring at the official MI6
linkup screens. A sick laugh was exchanged with his friend. Nearby,
he heard the hostage mumble some words. Jozef placed a hand on
Ferec’s shoulder and spoke calmly, despite struggling to contain
himself with the achievement they had managed with the clearance
codes. ‘Our friend is getting tired Zoltan. Take him to the bedroom
for a sleep will you?’

Ferec dragged him into the
bedroom. He tapped the pistol on Bedford’s head and spoke in a
flippant tone. ‘Last requests?’ A sick joy spread through Ferec,
knowing that his next kill was going to come very soon. The cold
steel of the pistol was pressed against the head of his hostage as
a toothy grin spread across Ferec’s face, who savoured the moment
and smiled uncontrollably as the bullets put Bedford out of his
misery.

Chapter 15

Thursday, March 8
^th
18:15,

Moscow, Russia.

Akira, with Salenko in tow, left the
Kremlin area and passed the towering structure of Borovitskaya Gata
Tower. As they crossed over Moscow River, another gale force wind
came in, together with its chilling bite and thick snow for good
measure. Akira, far more used to the humid weather of the Middle
East raised his scarf closer to his face and pulled out several
keys from his coat pocket.

Just on the edges of the
riverbank were old, dilapidated buildings that were falling away
with the passing of time. All of them were two storey’s high, with
the occasional boarded up window, and sight of rotting
brickwork.

Akira stopped at the doorway of
the third building along and looked at every corner of his vision,
to make sure they had not been followed or had any unwelcome
visitors. His eyes immediately locked onto a figure on the other
side of the Moscow River. Akira turned to obtain a better look but
the individual had disappeared. He committed what little he had
seen to memory, turned the key in the door, and led Salenko
upstairs to a small meeting room.

Salenko had been there many
times before, and sat down at the nearest chair. ‘Did you finish
the plan for the run up to the Polls?’

Akira dropped
several documents onto the table and stood by the window, as he
continued to watch the scene from outside, not willing to take any
risks. ‘Read through it.’ He said nonchalantly. ‘This will be your
schedule for the next four months. After that you will be the next
President of Russia.’ His thoughts trailed off for a moment as
images of the Kiprich brothers, and the talented Ferec took hold.
Akira had just moments before approved the plan the brothers had
put in motion.
If they make any dents in
MI6, it will all be a bonus. Let them have their petty feud, the
upcoming war is the key.

Salenko glanced at the
documents and couldn’t repress a raise of his eyebrows. ‘You talk
like this is all just a formality Akira.’

Akira surveyed the view from
the window one last time; still unable to locate the individual he
had seen. Speculation circled in his mind as to who it could be. A
local who just happened to be in the wrong place was a definite
possibility but Akira didn’t believe it. His mind recalled Martin
Braga who had been the MI6 agent assigned to Russia for the last
decade. One of the first things he had done when he came to Russia
was hunt that man down and ensure he would never be a threat again.
Could it be his replacement? He made a mental note to have Denyer,
an assassin from the fearsome Russian Black Knights to investigate
the matter further.

Turning around to face his
ally, his tone was one of frustration, as if being questioned on
the election result was an insult in itself. At the same time,
Akira put emphasis on every word. ‘I will make it a formality.’

A smile spread over his
features, as the attitude of Akira began to wash over him. Anything
was possible. President Salenko of Russia! He looked up and studied
his ally. Once I am in power, I have your word now, we will move
against the West?’

Akira’s expression never once
changed as he spoke with that same passionless tone. ‘With
everything we have.’

Agent Patrice Marraud, a highly
respected and experienced member of the French Secret Service,
continued his journey away from the Moscow River and back towards
the safe haven of his small flat a few streets away from the GUM
Department store not far from his position. The dismal weather,
together with Marraud’s constant state of cold, was beginning to
get him down, but what he had just seen had confirmed what he had
always suspected. Salenko was not the powerful force he had been
made out to be in the press and political circles. Over several
months, Salenko had been presented as an iron man, the saviour of
Russia, and the only one who could lead them back to power. Marraud
had always been sceptical, and after what he had just observed, was
even more so.

Someone else was involved.

Marraud
adjusted his black woolly hat and fluffed his thick blonde hair as
his vibrant blue eyes took in his position as he walked through the
Alexandrovsky Gardens. Looking younger than his forty years the
senior French agent, who had been posted to Russia straight after
his work with Deane in London, wondered just how deep the mystery
man was involved.
Could it just be
Salenko’s personal assistant? Or his potential Chief of
Staff?

Marraud was very much aware of
his location and knew of every individual nearby as he sat down on
a nearby bench, whilst dusting off some thick snow. The picture
ahead of him could easily have been taken straight out of a
Christmas card the beauty was so striking. The green lawns were
completely covered in a careful dusting of thick white snow, with
every flowerbed and tree just adding to the splendour. Marraud
scanned every corner of the area, noting anyone or anything that
could be taken as a threat to his safety.

The constant silence eased any
fears he had as the legendary French agent sat alone in the gardens
remembering the briefing he had received just days before. His
memory recalled standing in a plush office in Paris, as the Head of
the French Secret Service had ordered Marraud to Moscow in the
belief that the growing uncertainty to the future of Russia could
prove to have devastating consequences to the future of the West.
Salenko’s popularity was soaring, as he based his campaign solely
around reviving the patriotism of Russia and its power in the
world.

Marraud
distinctly recalled the worried look on his superior’s face as they
had both spoken about the continuous aggressive nature of not only
Salenko, but his followers as well. He remembered his orders
clearly in his mind.
‘Provide us with
first rate reconnaissance of Salenko and his movements, we must
know more of what is happening there!’