Out of the Shadows (Akira and Deane Thriller Series Book 1) (23 page)

‘Are you
feeling all right? You look a little tired.’

‘Nothing that a
good night’s sleep won’t cure, sir. Anyway, I need to get back to
my office and then down to Operations Command. Our mutual boss is
expecting me.’ Burton managed a weak looking smile.

Ramsey wasn’t convinced about
Burton at all. ‘He’s expecting me too. See you there in ten
minutes?’

‘Sounds just
fine to me, sir.’ He hurried out of the briefing room and into the
nearest lift, heading towards the nearest restaurant.

Minutes later,
he paid for a grease ridden Cornish pasty and took a hefty bite.
Burton didn’t notice the thousands of crumbs that dropped down his
shirt; his mind was far away as he once again contemplated where
Kate and Oscar were at that very moment and whether they were
thinking about him. Burton decided to try his wife’s mobile for the
hundredth time, desperately hoping he might get one more chance to
speak to her.

Elliott sat back in his black
leather chair and authorised an operation with a C, in green ink,
as his signature.

It was a time honoured
tradition, keeping in line with the first Chief of MI6, Captain Sir
Mansfield Smith Cumming RN, who always went by the name of C and
signed everything in green ink. To this day, all his predecessors
do the same to honour the great man.

Pushing the
document away, his eyes came to a list of figures his deputy had
given him. Elliott, in his second spell as Chief, had been in his
position for seven years and, in that time, had never seen things
look so bleak. Years before, the number of agents at his disposal
had been at its highest level. Elliott regarded all of his trusted
agents as highly trained and supremely talented with skills in so
many areas; the loss of one was a huge blow not only to the agency
and service but also to the national security of his beloved United
Kingdom and Europe.

In the last
year alone, over 45 agents, most of which Elliott had known and in
some rare cases even trained, had been lost in the line of duty.
His eyes ran over the ‘Cause of death’ column. Some had perished in
what had been classed as ‘Operation Accidents’, but what deeply
worried him was that a large number had been assassinated. In some
reports, the evidence appeared to suggest that they had been hunted
down and killed.
By whom, and why these
agents? Or was it the locations they occupied?
He looked again, desperate to see something that could suggest
a pattern but found nothing, as he glanced to his
deputy.

Ramsey could
see the worried look in his eyes. ‘The numbers don’t get any better
with a second look, you can take my word on that one.’

Elliott grunted
in response and shook his head. ‘Forty-five, Kevin, forty-five of
my knights! The names…have you seen them?’ He ran a finger down the
page and read in a slow and sombre tone. ‘Agent Martin Braga killed
in his flat at 11:15pm, September last year in Moscow. I knew him,
had done for over a decade, he’d been our man in Russia for all
that time and was one of our best.’ He threw his glasses onto the
desk and rubbed his eyes, feeling the strain and weariness of the
plight of MI6 and the West in general. ‘Braga was one of the most
intuitive men I’ve ever known, he could read people so well.’ The
thick black rings around his eyes seemed to turn a darker shade as
he bowed his head and mumbled ‘He can’t have died for
nothing.’

‘All the agents
in that report were good people, sir; they all put themselves on
the line. I wish I had better news.’

Elliott knew
his deputy well and noted the expression. ‘Something else you want
to tell me, Kevin?’

Another file
was placed on the desk. ‘MI5 report another 20 agents have been
killed this year. I took the liberty of contacting the C.I.A. who
have lost a staggering 70 agents in the past year. Pakistan and
France report similar totals, with a pattern across the board for
our other Western allies.’

To Elliott the
fact that agents had been lost was not a surprise but the numbers
were. Over the last three years, the number of agent fatalities had
been rising but he had never expected it to reach levels that were
now causing extreme concern and worry for the West and it’s valued
protectors. ‘A pattern…how many men do we have? For my own peace of
mind, I need a number.’

Ramsey found
another report. ‘We currently have just over 300 agents available
to us, sir. Unfortunately, the number of those that are graded
highly skilled and experienced has dropped by another 20%.’ He
found another sheet from a different folder. ‘Seven years ago we
had over 650 agents available, with MI5 reporting very similar
figures.’

Elliott rose
from his seat with a grimace and stumbled over to the window,
passing several mahogany book cabinets. The office was quiet and
with its low lighting and peaceful ticking of the grandfather
clock, he felt completely at ease. Outside, the streets of London
looked as normal and as undisturbed as they ever did. His thoughts
turned to the innocent public as he watched the cars speed by in
the distance, most of which were probably occupied by family men
and women rushing home to be with their loved ones. ‘Sometimes I
wonder whether the PM is right to shield them. Sometimes I
wonder…’

Ramsey looked up from his seat
and walked over to join his superior. ‘Sir?’

‘My heart,
Kevin, I’m thinking with my heart. One of my weaknesses, mmm?’ His
blue eyes gave a slight sparkle and then faded. ‘It is right to
keep it from them but our situation is grim. It’ll get worse; we
must prepare. A war is looming but it’s not one that we’ve ever
faced before.’

Ramsey’s
massive frame lingered behind the frail 5’ 8” of Elliott, his fiery
eyes conveying everything that MI6 and the West represented;
freedom, defiance, professionalism and sheer determination. ‘We’ve
lost a lot of agents, sir, I won’t deny it but we can come through
this, no matter how long it takes.’ He shifted his position for a
moment and considered his next move. ‘Perhaps it’s time to look at
bringing back as many agents as we can, sir. Those that have
retired or left for whatever reason.’

‘Re-activation?’ Asked Elliott quickly, his brow furrowing as
he considered the option.

A long silence
lingered between two of the most powerful men in the United Kingdom
before Elliott spoke again. ‘I will give it some thought. In our
current situation, numbers are the key. It’s a path we may have to
choose. I have faith in my knights, Kevin. Nevertheless, with the
losses we’ve all suffered, I feel we’re missing something. Or maybe
even someone.’

Chapter 16

Friday, March 9
^th
01:00,

Kraków, Poland,

Operation Reprisal.

Jordan pulled up the handbrake and the
van came to a halt on the thick grassy verge of a small wooded
area. He gave an order to two of the agents to cover the van, so it
would merge with the undergrowth. Stepping out of the van, Jordan
began to assemble his urban assault combat gear.

It consisted of
a waist length tactical vest and a Kevlar helmet. Both were capable
of stopping high power pistol rounds. Each unit member had been
armed with their chosen pistols, a Colt M16A2 rifle and several
flash bang capsules. These would prove useful when storming the
closely guarded areas. The cartridge would provide seconds worth of
blinding light, which could be the difference between life and
death.

Olsen tightened
his level III tactical vest and loaded his Colt M16A2 rifle,
checking the sights several times. At that very moment, he thought
of Rachel and straight away felt guilty, knowing her reaction if
she saw him dressed in such a way and loading a deadly rifle with
bullets. He gave his head a quick shake and gave several orders as
team S.U.C.O. set off in single file into the woods.

The darkness covered every
corner of their vision, with no lights of any kind visible in the
distance. A scything cold wind could be heard and felt all around.
The team came out of the dense woods and into an area with more
open grass.

Olsen noted the signal from
Jordan at the front of the group and lowered to his knees, whilst
rushing to join his colleague. With his back to a large tree, he
caught the attention of Jordan. ‘Problem?’ He whispered.

‘We got some company. Seven
o’clock.’ Jordan gave a point of his head in that direction.

Olsen followed
his deputy’s gaze and caught sight of a slim man in his fifties who
was walking through the open area and heading to the dense forest.
Olsen flicked a switch on his Kevlar-plated helmet and studied the
target in more detail through the green display of his night
vision. ‘It’s a negative, just a local.’

Jordan looked
again and shook his head. ‘Not a chance; that guy is one of
Kiprich’s men, I can feel it. I’m moving to-’

Olsen grabbed
his deputy by the neck and pulled him back. ‘I’m in command here;
you either do what I say or you stay in the van! Are we clear on
that?’

Jordan shrugged off his
leader’s hand and got to his feet. ‘Crystal.’

As team
S.U.C.O. separated into two units, Olsen made a point of making
firm eye contact with Jordan. ‘Let’s finish this and get out of
here. We’ve got a job to do.’ Olsen, with Carter and the other
agents behind him, set off towards the storage area that was two
and a half miles away.

Jordan watched
them go and exchanged a look with Gibbs, his deputy. Frustration
boiled away inside of him. Jordan was the senior agent, having 14
years of experience over Olsen. For the first time in too long, he
had been given the chance to lead a team and he wanted to make it
count more than ever. He gave a signal to the four agents under his
command and led them through the undergrowth, passing a redundant
water tower as the house appeared in sight. Taking cover behind the
trees, Jordan flicked a switch on his vest and was instantly in
communication between not only his team, but Olsen’s as well. ‘Team
B be aware, we have now reached our target residence. Repeat your
status?’

Two and a half
miles away, Olsen heard Jordan’s voice and saw the outlines of the
Kiprich brother’s storage facility ahead. It appeared to be half
the size of a football pitch and was on the edge of the surrounding
woods. A side road was not far from their position. Olsen noted two
men standing guard. He felt mildly surprised, as he’d been
expecting more outside resistance. The switch on the front of his
vest was set to ‘Send’. ‘Acknowledged, Team A. Have reached our
target; enemy presence has been identified. Going in.’

Almost three
miles away, Jordan did not receive the message. The house ahead
looked empty on first impression. No guards could be seen around
the perimeter; the area was in darkness and appeared
deserted.
Are they asleep? Or, are the
Kiprich brothers more worried about the storage facility?
he thought to himself. He gave a hand signal and
led his team towards the target. As they closed in, there was still
no sign of life.

Ferec stood
completely still next to the Kiprich brothers in the dark, dense
undergrowth that was opposite the house. Since sending the report
to MI6, all three men, together with several armed guards, had been
waiting in the forest for over three hours. Ferec looked over at
Jozef, the more dominant brother. ‘Everything is in place, Jozef?’
He whispered.

Jozef watched
the MI6 strike team sprint towards the house through his night
vision goggles. He felt like laughing uncontrollably at the ease at
which he had lured the enemy.
Even Akira
couldn’t accomplish this.
‘They won’t know
what hit them. The hostages are there as well.’

Ferec looked round to face his
friend. ‘Hostages? Who?’

‘Oh…just some
locals I happened to see in the market square. They will serve
their purpose.’ Jozef’s dark green eyes intensified as he continued
to watch the MI6 team. He looked behind, to the rest of the group.
‘Load your weapons and take position.’

Jordan
positioned a small charge on the front door, moved back and gave a
sharp nod of the head as the door blew clean off its hinges. His
deputy threw a Flashbang cartridge into the first room and stormed
in with another team member. Jordan moved into the living room,
seeing no sign of the Kiprich brothers or the rest of the group. He
kept his rifle out in front of him at all times as he looked at two
of his agents. ‘Check the bedroom, storm it!’ As the two men moved
off, Jordan and his deputy burst into the kitchen, weapons at the
ready. They lowered them slightly at the sign of another empty
room. Jordan studied his surroundings and could see no sign of
recent use, the kitchen tap looked frozen over from either the
weather or lack of use.

Another team
member came in, looking puzzled. ‘No sign of anyone in the bedroom
or the other rooms sir. Is it possible they are all at the storage
unit?’

Jordan looked away for a
moment. ‘All of them? I don’t think so. Unless they really are
storing something lethal at that place.’

‘SIR!’

Jordan swivelled around at the
sound of the shout and rushed into the back room. His eyes turned
wide at the sight ahead of him. Several adults were tied up and
gagged. ‘What the hell?!?’

Gibbs stepped
forward and removed the gags from the mouths of two of the five
adults. He began to speak in fluent Polish.