Out of the Shadows (Akira and Deane Thriller Series Book 1) (3 page)

Akira didn’t
stop, pushing himself that extra yard as he came onto St. Thomas
Street surrounded by the shadows and a bitterly cold wind. He gave
a quick glance behind him. There! The surviving MI5 agent had
appeared at the entrance of London Bridge station and was now
frantically looking around.

The will of
Akira was stronger than any other man, and it became even more
resilient when he saw the sign he had been praying for. It read
‘STAMFORD STREET, 5 MINS’. He would soon be back at base and able
to co-ordinate his escape and another victory over the looming
British Security Services. As he continued running, a nearby shop
window blew out under the force of gunfire and Akira immediately
darted behind a parked car for cover. His eyes surveyed his
surroundings and found hope in a group of youths who were standing
on the corner ahead, wondering what was going on.

Cunningham
fired again at the parked car, certain his target was hiding there.
Keeping his Browning HP 9mm pistol out in front of him the whole
time, he slowly made his way down the deserted road. All the time,
he could hear Deane relaying information to him regarding Unit
Two’s location. Cunningham ducked down as gunfire rained in and he
saw his target sprint for the group of youths further down the
road. He set off in pursuit.

Akira made it in one piece and
smashed the butt of his pistol in the face of the largest boy
amongst the group, knowing it would give him more cover. The rest
screamed in panic and moved away quickly. Akira took his prize down
the road and ignored the constant begging he could hear.

Cunningham
swore loudly and took aim, crouching next to a green Ford Escort.
In his sights he saw that the eyes of the young man were white with
fear. Crucial moments passed and then he lowered his pistol. After
seeing his partner die just minutes before, he was determined not
to take another life that night, no matter what.

Akira came onto
Blackfriars Road and deliberately dropped the motionless body,
which must have fainted, into the middle of the junction. What cars
were around screeched to a halt, causing a standstill that gave him
more time. He shoved his way through a small crowd that had come
out of the nearest nightclub, not caring if some were pushed into
the moving traffic.

His dream was
what mattered, a world that wasn’t led by the West. For what seemed
like an eternity, he had waited for it to arrive and now there was
no one that would stand in his way. Since creating his identity and
leaving his past life behind him so long ago, Akira had been forced
to deal with several individuals from all walks of life that had
stood in his way. The Security Service agent on his tail would be
no different.

Pumping his
legs harder and harder, his head snapped back for an instant and he
saw his pursuer fighting through the panic-stricken scene he had
left in his wake. Just before turning away, he caught sight of the
agent’s face. Aside from the obvious determination, there was
something else that he instantly identified with: desperation. It
was etched on his face. Time was running out, not only to complete
his operation, but to rid the world of a terrible
danger.

Did the agent
have a clue as to who he really was? Out of the question.
Nevertheless, Akira was looked upon as another dangerous visitor to
the UK and couldn’t help but feel the irony. As he continued to
run, his thoughts and beliefs seemed so much clearer now than they
had ever done. Even back in Russia, only weeks ago, he hadn’t seen
the world as clearly as he was seeing it now. There was not a doubt
in his mind that the West could not be saved. The corruption and
the endless red tape that had drowned it year after year had
destroyed it beyond repair. It could never be saved. The changes
would be devastating and it would start now. Akira gritted his
teeth and stepped up the pace, determined to find that extra level
of speed to make sure he would have time to end the
pursuit.

Cunningham
heard Deane bellow continuously in his ear but ignored it for the
time being as he had to focus on the target ahead. As he turned
into Paris Gardens on a freezing January night, the sight ahead
made him stop in his tracks. The suspect had gone. Keeping his
pistol out in front of him, he slowly began to walk along the path
that was lined with trees and bushes.

Akira stayed
still and put every muscle on alert, remembering his experience at
the station. This agent was a threat. Closing his eyes, he waited
several minutes. Akira could feel anger all through his body and he
recalled patchy memories from his previous life, when he might have
held some deep reluctance for what he was about to do. But the
years had changed him and there was no turning back. Everything was
so clear. He could feel Madeline inside of him and with her the
confidence that readied him for the final act.

Cunningham
moved past several oak trees, his eyes wide and his trigger finger
waiting for that snap. Not for one moment did he realise that he’d
passed his target seconds ago.

Akira slowly
rose from the shadows and then leapt forwards towards the threat.
His hands wrapped around Cunningham’s body and flicked the Browning
pistol away like a toy. A feeling of raw power consumed him as he
held the man’s life in his hands. That feeling was now all that
Akira lived for. Seizing Cunningham’s neck with such ruthless
force, there was never any chance of a cry for help from his soon
to be victim. His dark eyes surveyed the surrounding area with a
cold look, knowing it was time to finish things. Akira took hold of
the man’s windpipe and prepared for the crushing twist. Unlike in
Russia, there was no doubt, just clinical efficiency.

Seconds passed,
then he dropped the body to the ground and ran to the gate. Within
moments, he was mixing with several partygoers and gave no look
back to the scene he had just caused.

Already in his
conscience, his actions had been warranted. In the years to come
when the West had fallen and the world had changed, all the
sacrifices that had already occurred and would take place in the
future would go down as something that simply had to be done. He
picked up the pace and headed to Stamford Street. Despite the
scare, his arrogance and belief in his dream remained. MI5 and MI6
were close but they would be no match for him and his
followers.

Back in
Operations Command, Deane waited silently to hear again from his
friend. Minutes had passed and his heart was starting to beat
faster. He exchanged a look with Olsen, who was looking
increasingly agitated.

‘Ron, come in
please.’ Still there was no reply. ‘Report!’

The radio
crackled to life but it wasn’t Cunningham. The lead agent of Unit
Two came on the line with a grim tone. ‘We’re too late, sir.
Cunningham is dead and there’s no trace of the target.’

Deane’s blue eyes were alight
with determination as he looked to one of the technicians who had
been tracking the signal. ‘Location?’

A nearby
technician studied the statistics on her screen for a moment and
then made eye contact with her superior. ‘Paris Gardens sir, it’s
just minutes from the building we’ve been monitoring.’

‘Then that’s
where we’re heading now.’ Deane turned to his partner. ‘I’ll clear
it with the management. Load your weapons and make sure you’re
ready. This Operation is a go.’

Chapter 2

Wednesday, February 1
^st
07:45,

Empty office building, Stamford
Street,

Central London.

The deafening noise of a gun battle
could be heard all around the Blackfriars and Waterloo area. From
the iconic red and white Blackfriars Bridge, the famous Savoy
Hotel, or even the stunningly beautiful St Paul’s Cathedral itself.
There was no denying it.

The threat of terrorism had
arrived in London.

Olsen and
Deane, the very best that MI6 had to offer, stood firm as the
battle continued. Both men were crouched low behind upturned tables
but their attacks were forcing the terrorists back. The two agents,
when working side by side, were an experienced and highly effective
partnership.

Several of the
remaining attackers broke away from the reception area and sprinted
down the corridor towards the stairs, in a damp and murky office
block in Stamford Street.

Deane, a man
who regularly defied his four decades had seen it all many times
before. In one quick motion, he loaded a fresh cartridge into his
choice of weapon, a British made Spitfire G1 silver pistol and
looked back to his partner. ‘Hold this position, I can handle them
from here!’

Olsen, in his late twenties and
far more headstrong, saw his partner clear the table and give chase
but wasn’t about to miss out on the glory. He reloaded his silver
Beretta 92G and joined Deane as they both continued the gunfight
down the corridor.

Taking cover at
the bottom of a silver steel staircase, Olsen remembered the last
couple of hours, which had caused Operation Concealment to pick up
pace. When the news came in that MI5 agent Ron Cunningham and his
partner had been murdered, they had mobilised the team and attacked
the known location, despite the disagreement of MI6 HQ in the
decision.

‘If we wait a moment
more, this opportunity will disappear and those men will have died
for nothing. I’m mobilising the team, right now!’

Deane had said
those words to his superior just twenty minutes ago, before
slamming the phone down.

Now, Olsen
knelt close to his mentor and waited for the next move. Behind him,
a mixture of MI5, MI6 and French agents spread out into the winding
corridors to flush out any remaining threats.

Deane didn’t
take his eyes off the men at the top of the stairs and was
confident he could make the shot and storm the staircase to prevent
their escape. How they were planning on leaving he didn’t know but
one thing was certain, none of them would escape. He could feel his
partner’s presence behind him and wasn’t surprised at all. To his
right was Marraud, his old friend from the French Secret Service.
‘Take charge down here, Patrice. Olsen and I will head
upstairs.’

Maraud agreed and mobilized the
men to continue their sweep of the ground floor.

Deane’s left hand went up to
signal his young charge to standby. Seconds passed as he waited.
Suddenly, he snapped his hand down and moved off. ‘NOW!’

The thunderous noise of gunfire
filled the building as sparks flew and screams of pain emerged from
the darkness.

Akira, on the ground floor and
barricaded into a room, looked up as another attack could be heard
from above. His thoughts turned to his loyal followers who were no
doubt sacrificing their lives to guarantee his escape. It couldn’t
be helped; it was vital that he got away. The diversion that was
taking place would keep the attackers busy so he could leave.

His hands
fumbled around his neck and found what they were looking for. A
quaint looking silver locket captivated Akira as he studied it
carefully. Holding it tightly in his right hand, Akira closed his
eyes and could almost feel himself growing in strength. At the same
time, the voice of his lost wife Madeline came to him once more and
he opened the locket to see them both together in happier times. He
himself, smiling away, looked unrecognisable but Madeline looked
positively glowing. He missed her so much, every hour felt lonesome
and empty without her. A dark memory came back to him and he winced
in pain at the power of it. Trying desperately to push it away, he
almost succeeded but still saw glimpses of the hospital bed and the
repetitive beep of the life support machine. Akira opened his eyes
and they burned brightly. Madeline was gone and there was much to
do.

Putting the
locket away, he covered his face with a black balaclava and took
great care to open the nearby window. Escape was not going to be
easy. It didn’t surprise him to see a man patrolling the side alley
of the building. He would have felt uneasy if it had been deserted;
anyone from MI6 always followed protocol.

Wasting no
time, he leapt out of the window and dropped his considerable
weight onto the man’s shoulders. Instantly, the agent fell to the
ground in a heap. Akira considered dealing with him permanently but
decided to let him live to tell the tale that someone had escaped.
It was a risk but the thought of leaving a clear message that the
operation had not been a complete success appealed to him. Toying
with the likes of MI6 made Akira feel even more powerful.
Maybe then they will realise this was just a
small battle. The war is on its way.
Clearing the nearby fence with ease, Akira disappeared into
the darkness.

Deane could feel the blood on
his left arm but told himself to ignore it and get the job done. He
took cover behind a wooden beam and assessed the situation.

The odds were not in their
favour.

Behind the
adjacent beam, Olsen had made that same assessment but, as ever,
was defiant in his belief he would succeed as another round blasted
out of the chamber of his pistol.

At the sight of
such a precarious scene ahead, all Deane could think about was his
partner. They had been together for almost a decade and he loved
him as the son he’d never had. Every mission together was a joy,
despite the inevitable disagreements. The thought of losing Olsen,
as he had lost other partners before, terrified him to his soul.
Just the thought of his past partners made him feel that floodgate
of emotion lingering inside. All the decisions he had made and
possibly the ones that, if reversed, could have saved their lives.
Loading his pistol with another click of a magazine and snapping
himself back to the present, he fired a round and moved off whilst
shouting out an order. ‘Stay here!’