Out of the Shadows (Akira and Deane Thriller Series Book 1) (26 page)

The Prime Minister looked back
at Elliott. ‘Is that the latest assumption? Do we have any evidence
to prove this?’

Elliot stood
firm and shot a look at Burton. ‘That is our initial theory. I have
our man in Kraków now; we are awaiting the report. It would
certainly fit the events. It could well be linked to whoever leaked
the story to the paper.’

The Prime
Minister sat back in his chair, glancing at both men with two
sweeping looks. For years he had tried to remove Elliott from
office simply because, in his opinion, he was an old, worn out man
not capable of handling the stress and strain anymore. Was he an
icon? Absolutely, but the man was well past seventy and the time
had come for change. Jacobs had been waiting for his chance and was
not going to waste it. He leaned forward, placing both hands on the
desk. ‘I am not convinced of your theory, Richard. In fact, I’m not
impressed at your lack of control at MI6. You should be running a
far tighter ship to avoid these bungled operations. It’s not over
yet, either; there are still too many unanswered questions.’ The PM
looked at the papers strewn out over the table and thought over his
next words carefully. ‘I want your letter of resignation on the
Defence Minister’s desk by morning. As for you, Burton, I will not
be giving a glowing report about you to the new Chief of
MI6.’

Elliott didn’t
move but looked at the Defence Minister, normally his strongest
supporter, in disbelief. This time, however, a look of pity stared
back at him as the former Chief of MI6 realised he would receive no
help this time around. ‘Wait!’ he shouted, with a weak voice, one
that sounded a far cry from his deep baritone of yesteryear. ‘I’ve
been in this job for close to thirty years, you cannot and will
not, remove me from office!’

Jacobs wouldn’t
budge. ‘You’re 72 years old Richard; you’ve had your time. I
suggest you retire to a quieter life and take things slowly from
now on. We can’t have our icons working too hard now, can
we?’

‘How dare you
patronise me!’ Elliott forced his aching body to rise and
eventually, it responded. ‘A war is looming; this is no time for
change. My agency and the very heart of the West are under
threat!’

Jacobs was now
gesturing for his staff to leave and had barely heard the ranting
from the senile man ahead of him.
I just
hope that doesn’t happen to me.
‘My
decision is final. Good day, Richard.’

Elliott watched
the room empty, his mind going over what had just happened. His
career was, apparently, over; so what was left for him now?
Retirement? The very word made him cringe. He shook his head
violently, furious with his aging body and mind for letting him
down so badly. To his left, Burton could be seen slumped in a chair
with his head in his hands.

The Prime Minister came out of
the conference room and started walking. ‘Peter, I have a favour to
ask of you.’ He led the former Chief of MI6 into a side room and
sat down. ‘I want you to take over at MI6. We have to contain this
situation. I need someone there that I can trust.’

Drake had
missed the prestige and status of his former position and couldn’t
help but smile. ‘Certainly, sir; I’ll have everything under control
by the end of the day.’

The Prime
Minister maintained eye contact with Drake as he continued. ‘These
are changing times and I feel we need to reorganise things at MI6.
I’ve had lengthy discussions with the Defence Minister about this
and we have agreed that MI5 needs to adapt as well. Now, obviously
the service has a mandate and a duty to protect national security
but more than anything, I want you to reduce the profile of MI6 and
keep the risk taking to an absolute minimum. I want a second term
and I will not allow today’s events to happen again. Is that
clear?’

‘I agree
entirely, sir; you can rely on me to create the MI6 you require. Is
that all, sir?’

Prime Minister
Jacobs nodded, shook Drake’s hand and left the room.

Drake was by no
means surprised. The PM’s request for his presence at the emergency
meeting could have only meant one thing.
Elliot’s reckless reign as Chief of MI6 has finally
ended.
Drake made his way to the front door
to organise a car to take him straight to MI6 headquarters and back
to the job he had always regretted leaving.

With his legs crossed on the
floor and his hands apart, Akira sat alone in his quarters at
Salenko’s home. The room had been tailored to his needs and was
sparsely furnished. There was no bed, just an area on the floor
that was his makeshift sleeping area. No furniture was present, no
photographs, nothing that could create a memory or an emotional
response. Nothing that could weaken him.

The meeting had gone well and
the politician in question was now an ally and was already
gathering speed with his recruitment of others to vote for their
cause. All was well. Or so it would seem. For Akira, there was
still the matter of Marraud.

With his eyes
closed, Akira tried to make sense of his thoughts and the fragments
of memories that had returned to him. There was nothing
substantial, just images; snapshots of another time and what felt
like a different life. Again, he tried to slow them down in his
mind. One came and then disappeared again. It was of a younger
looking Marraud happily smiling away. At him or someone else?
Trying harder to focus, another image flashed by but this time it
was of himself, looking so different. Younger, fresher, happier,
even? No, he looked disillusioned. Things were so different back
then, in a way that-

He has to die.

Madeline. Her voice was
unmistakable. She came to him so clearly now, interrupting his
thoughts.

Patrice is here to kill us. He
will stop at nothing until both you and Salenko are dead.

Akira kept his
eyes closed and spoke in a calm but slightly fragile tone. ‘He is
determined. I know he always has been but I can’t remember it all.
When did I meet him? What was-’

It doesn’t matter my love. All
of that is in the past. The future will be the dream we both
envisioned. Do not think of what has gone. Focus on the here and
now.

‘But he could
be saved; Patrice could join us?’

Never. Patrice
Marraud is loyal to the West, he is too far gone; corrupted over
the years. We could never convince him to join our cause. He would
destroy us.

‘But what if-’

He must die my
love. There can be no change of heart. No sympathy. Marraud is like
the rest; they cannot be convinced. None of them see what we do. We
can’t help it if they don’t…

A knock on the door interrupted
everything and Madeline faded away. Akira opened his eyes sharply
and turned towards the opening door in a fit of rage. What was
Madeline going to say? His voice carried every trace of his anger.
‘I ordered no interruptions!’

Denyer
cautiously stepped inside. He was half expecting to see two people,
having heard Akira talking to someone moments before. He couldn’t
hide his surprise when it was just his leader in the room and
nobody else. ‘Sir…I apologise but Mikhail urgently needs you
downstairs. He received a phone call and looks in need of your
guidance.’

Akira looked
absolutely fuming and almost snarled at Denyer. Standing still, he
never took his eyes off the young man until finally, he responded,
talking like he could barely control his anger. ‘Tell him…I will be
down very soon and will deal with his crisis.’ He spat the last
word out, with contempt.

Denyer closed
the door and went to find Salenko. He had never seen Akira look so
angry before and didn’t particularly want to again. His confusion
was justified though; whom had he been talking to?

Akira took a
deep breath and sat back down again, desperately trying to control
his rage and clear his mind to hear the voice of his wife once
more. Minutes passed and he tried so desperately to reach her again
but it was no use. All that was there now were the fragments of
memories again. Nothing but a tangled mess of what had gone before.
Getting to his feet, still angry at Denyer and Salenko, he opened
the door and stepped out into the hallway. As he walked towards the
staircase, something came to him. In pieces at first but then so
clearly, it stopped him in his tracks.

Martine Marraud.

And there it was. That was why
he was unsure about how to act on Marraud. The truth still seemed
lost within his mind but he knew one thing for sure. Martine
Marraud had died a tragic death, just like his beloved Madeline.
How in the world could he kill Patrice when he was probably the
only man who could understand? They were one and the same
surely?

Ramsey read
speedily through the report but his eyes went back to several lines
at the top of the document. His heart missed a beat as the details
of Bedford’s death, otherwise known as POL1, sank in.
Yet another skilled agent is dead. How many more
are we going to lose?
Ramsey had first met
Bedford years before and had trained him initially. It was a heavy
loss with the tally of lost agents on Operation Reprisal now five,
with every chance the number could increase further. He caught the
attention of an aide. ‘Put aside some resources to make sure
Bedford’s wife and daughter are looked after and put some time in
my diary for me to visit them. Put this near the top of the
priority list, please.’

A commotion at
the large double doors of Operations Command caught his eye. Ramsey
did a double take and saw an unwelcome visitor stride confidently
into the area.
I hope he is just a
visitor; that guy’s the last thing we need.

Drake walked
into Operations Command at MI6 and scanned the large display
screens. He gave a long look to the huge area that was the command
centre. It had been a long time since he had been back there. Drake
was 58, 5’10”, with shaven black hair on the side of his head and
bald on top. He had been in charge of MI6 for just over two years
before leaving seven years ago when Elliott had returned for a
second spell, going on to become a top security advisor to the
Defence Minister. Drake thought back to the meeting at Downing
Street just half an hour ago and the look he had received from
Richard Elliott
. A look of blame; Elliott
only had himself at fault because he was too cocky.
Caution and prudence were the key factors in doing
the job well, he reminded himself. There was no place for reckless
decisions and ‘strike teams’. Some of the operations staff stared
hard at him as he walked by. The relatively small Drake approached
a tall, dark and powerful looking figure that stood near several
computer screens. ‘Good evening, Kevin, it’s not surprising to see
you still here.’

Ramsey ignored
the sarcasm, turned around and feigned surprise. ‘Sir! What are you
doing here? Where is Mr. Elliott?’

Drake sniffed
and raised his head, almost in disgust. ‘Heading to the retirement
home, thankfully. The PM has placed me back in command for the
foreseeable future, long may it stay that way, in my opinion.’
Drake visibly straightened, as did his bland looking suit and
suitably drab tie. Black rimmed glasses protruded from his chest
pocket. ‘Status report?’

Ramsey, in his
impressive looking Ralph Lauren suit, towered over his superior,
looked down at Drake and enjoyed doing so. ‘S.U.C.O. is heading
back here as we speak; three agents are down; we’ve lost HQPOL and
moments ago I heard we lost POL1. He was a good man, sir, I knew
him some years ago. It’s been a total hit on all sides.’

Drake moved to
a monitor and inspected the display. ‘Indeed.’ He stopped briefly
as a report was handed to Ramsey. Drake took hold of the envelope.
‘If you don’t mind, Ramsey?’ He put on his glasses and read the
information slowly. ‘There might be something here…’ His forehead
wrinkled slightly as he read further. ‘Oh my god…here, read
this.’

Ramsey took the
report and read several key statements. ‘Three dead MI6 team
members…what’s this? Three Polish women and two Polish men found
dead in the back room of the house. All bodies riddled with bullets
from a Colt M16A2 rifle.’ The MI6 number two looked up from the
report, his boss’s glare fixed in his direction.

‘What rifles
were the S.U.C.O. teams using on Operation Reprisal?’ Drake’s eyes
asked the same question through the thick lenses of his
glasses.

‘All team
members were assigned Colt M16A2 rifles sir. It’s possible the
terrorists planted-’

‘Spare me your
theories, Ramsey. When S.U.C.O. arrives, I want them taken to
briefing room one straightaway. Make sure they don’t speak to
anyone else. Is that understood?’ Before the younger of the two
could answer, one of the technicians came to his side.

‘The S.U.C.O.
agents have just arrived, sir. Would you like me to bring them
up?’

Ramsey made his
way to the exit door of Operations Command, looking at Drake as he
walked. ‘That’s fine. I’ll bring them up to briefing room one.’
With every step, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the return of
Drake was the biggest mistake the Prime Minister could ever make.
In his opinion, Richard Elliott had been the finest leader the
agency had ever known and with a war looming, the last thing needed
was a cautious approach.