Out of the Shadows (Akira and Deane Thriller Series Book 1) (4 page)

Olsen swore to
himself and watched his partner deliberately draw fire away from
his position. Not once did he like being protected, or missing out
on the excitement.

Deane took down
another two but four more lingered at the doorway, providing cover
for a fifth who was using a mobile phone. Sparks sprayed to his
left and he ducked down to gain cover. In that moment he saw a
helicopter in the distance and the fifth attacker ran to the fire
escape staircase. Gritting his teeth in anger, he moved
again.
Nobody’s escaping from me!
The gunfire was relentless but Olsen took his
chance, not about to miss out on all the fun. Several shots came
from his Beretta and he disarmed the men who dropped to the floor
in obvious pain. He barely heard another order from his mentor as
he flashed towards the emergency fire escape staircase in pursuit
of the one who had broken away. Olsen wanted to go after him but
focussed his gaze back to the men who were now writhing in agony on
the floor, to make sure they were no longer a threat.

One of the
attackers tried to move his right hand towards a rifle that was
just inches away. He could hear the MI6 agent drawing closer but
even in the midst of defeat, still felt he could somehow turn the
situation to his favour.

Olsen saw it immediately and
slammed one of his size 11 shoes down on the man’s throat. The
barrel of his silver Beretta loomed over the head of the fallen
attacker as Olsen’s trigger finger lingered. The powerful pistol
almost begged to be fired and dark whispers circled in his
mind.

Seconds passed and the pistol
started to shake in his right hand.

Olsen blinked
several times and seemed to come out of the darkness. He kicked the
rifle away and spoke in a tone full of contempt. ‘Just be lucky
you’re still alive…’

A large rumble
of thunder made him look to the fire escape staircase that was just
metres away. Torrential rain was now pouring down as dark clouds
encased the night sky. With more agents entering the office space,
Olsen rushed out onto the slippery metal as he climbed the stairs
to the roof. Several levels above, his partner could be seen in
pursuit.

Deane felt his
left foot give way below as the rain continued to fall in a
deafening downpour. With his rapid movements, the security lighting
flashed on at the same time, offering much needed illumination.
Despite the threatening clouds that surrounded him, his steely blue
eyes wouldn’t budge from the man who was now stepping onto another
level of the staircase with just one more to go before he reached
the roof.
He’s faster than me; somehow, I
have to slow him down!
With one desperate
move, Deane lunged at his target and grabbed hold of the man’s
right leg.

Both men fell
back onto the staircase and grappled with each other. Ducking a
potential blow, the last remaining attacker glanced up to the
helicopter, which sat on the landing pad waiting to whisk survivors
to safety. Its blades spun frantically, deflecting the constant
rain. His desperate eyes looked behind his attacker, hoping to see
more of his comrades but instead saw the younger agent sprinting up
the lower levels.

Deane couldn’t see his Spitfire
pistol but closed in to take the first step to some sort of
justice.

In one swift
motion, the Middle-Eastern man in his soaked clothes and with an
evil grin on his face, whisked out a large knife from inside his
shirt and swung wildly towards the incoming threat.

The metal
staircase was soaked with water and Deane struggled to move his
feet to avoid the attacks. One came within inches of his belly and
he was forced back towards the edge. Still the knife came towards
him, one swing coming perilously close to his face. He felt his
balance give way. Falling backwards, he reached out with his left
hand and grasped the wet rail, feeling his body cry out in
pain.

Olsen froze in
position two levels below and squinted upwards in the dim light to
see a man closing in on his partner. Raising his Beretta, he fired
off several rounds as best he could and could just make him out,
running away amidst all the sparks.

The terrorist
got to the ladder and started to reach up. He waved his arms
frantically, trying to catch the helicopter pilot’s attention, but
couldn’t believe it when the blades spun faster and faster until
finally it lifted away from the pad and started to climb into the
early morning sky. Standing on the roof, he screamed in Arabic but
never once saw the danger looming behind him.

Deane was a
calculated fighter and knew where and how to attack. He flicked the
knife away and gave several jabs to both temples before smashing
his right fist into the face ahead. Hearing a nose break, he
watched the man drop to the floor and dangle over the edge of the
roof as the rain continued to pound down like crashing ocean waves.
The sight of the fallen attacker intrigued him. It was clear to see
that one slight push would be all that was needed to rid the world
of another threat. Memories of other Government agents past and
present that would take the easy option bubbled away in his mind.
For Deane though, there was never a moment of uncertainty. As he
pulled his prize back from the brink, he looked into the man’s eyes
and wondered how many innocents had died because of his thoughtless
actions.

Olsen stepped
from the rain-slicked metal of the staircase to the roof and
holstered his Beretta. He was completely soaked through to the skin
and another large angry looking cloud hovered above. ‘That was
pretty close.’ He saw his mentor ignore his comment and continue to
secure his prize. Olsen was used to it, he’d yet to meet anyone
else as obsessed with his work. ‘I’ve alerted Operations Command,
they’ve dispatched a chopper in pursuit.’

Deane noted the
puzzled look on his partner’s face but chose not to address it. As
the thundercloud above began to unleash more hell on the city of
London, he dragged his prize back towards shelter but froze when
the man started screaming rapidly in Arabic.

Olsen had taken
enough for one day and pushed past. Shaking the man violently, he
tried to make him stop. He noted the eyes were transfixed on the
side alley of a building that could just be made out from their
position, some forty or fifty feet up. Tears running down the man’s
face accompanied sudden laughter that made the young MI6 agent
jump. Olsen struggled to make out some of the words but translated
‘new world’ and ‘fall of the West’. Repeatedly, he told him to
quiet down until Olsen’s fragile temper broke and he smashed the
back of his Beretta over the man’s head. Grateful of the silence,
he glanced back to his partner. ‘Did you catch all that?’ There was
no sign of Deane, just an angry looking sky and wave after wave of
rain.

The blueprints
of the building he had seen over an hour earlier ran through his
mind like a computer until he found what he was looking for; the
nearest possible exit to the alleyway the Middle-Eastern man had
been referring to. At the sight of a door, well hidden, he stopped
in his tracks and studied the brickwork. It was new. The room was
not on the blueprints. ‘Did you check in here?’ He shouted at a
nearby team leader who immediately looked uncertain.

The door hinges
cried out under the strain as Deane smashed his way into the ground
floor room. Other agents were behind him, awaiting first look at
the room that had been carefully concealed but the veteran agent
wanted to inspect every corner for himself,
uninterrupted.

It was around
ten feet long by eight feet wide, with no electricity and barren
stony walls with damp in the corners. At the far end, a medium
sized window was blowing in the wind.

Someone had
escaped, just like the terrorist had said. He rushed to the window
and looked down. There, in the alleyway, was an MI6 agent slumped
against the wall. For an instant he feared another death had
occurred but on closer inspection saw that not only had the young
man been spared but that it had been done for a reason. Someone was
sending him a message. He caught sight of the investigation team to
his right and spoke in a quiet tone, feeling embarrassed that his
operation had suddenly become so flawed. ‘Dust for prints, look for
D.N.A and report back to me at once.’ He pushed past and walked
towards the exit. One question remained. Was it a loyal follower or
someone he was unaware of who’d been completely
overlooked?

Hours later in
a cramped office at MI6 headquarters in London, Deane, Olsen and
Marraud sat together with the Deputy Chief of MI6, Kevin
Ramsey.

‘There can be
no doubt, then? Someone escaped?’ Ramsey was a towering 6ft 6ins
tall and sat down as he looked for reactions on the faces ahead of
him. His dark skin showed the sweat on his forehead as he leaned
back in the chair and waited for answers.

Deane spoke
first, still struggling with his ego over the operation that had
ended on such a low. ‘There is no doubt about it. I’ve spoken at
length with the agent who was patrolling the alleyway. He was
jumped on and remembers nothing. Someone escaped from that
building.’

‘Do we have any leads?’ Ramsey
asked quickly.

Deane placed a file on the
table. ‘Months ago, Patrice and I identified 14 men operating
within that cell and have tracked their movements ever since. We’ve
now identified the dead and those we captured. We have all 14.’

Ramsey glanced at the file.
‘All of them?’

‘All of them.’ Deane waited for
the news to really sink in.

‘Then the one
that got away was someone we weren’t aware of, on any
level?’

‘That’s right.’
As if sensing the next question, Deane continued. ‘It would either
be another brainwashed follower who joined them, either from abroad
or possibly from the local community, or…’ Everyone in the room
hung on his every word. ‘Someone else of great importance to this
particular cell.’ Deane’s tone was one of dread as he spoke the
words.

Ramsey needed more than
assumptions. ‘I suggest we keep speculation to a minimum. We need
to-’

Deane’s voice
overpowered that of his colleague as he made his point. ‘The room
used for the escape was not on the blueprints of the building. It
was concealed from view and they all drew us away from it
throughout the battle. None of them are talking or have even
admitted to someone escaping, which suggests whoever it was had
their loyalty. I highly doubt they would do that for
anyone.’

Ramsey was in
no mood to debate the point with no evidence to hand. ‘I’ll talk to
the Chief of MI6 about this at my next opportunity.’ Ramsey waited
for silence and then handed separate sheets of paper to the two
agents. ‘Here, I have your new orders. Deane, you’re to be assigned
to Oman in the Middle East and await further instructions. Olsen,
you’ll be based here at HQ for the time being to conclude Operation
Concealment. Good day to you, gentleman.’

Deane stayed in
his chair in a state of shock. Had he just heard Olsen was to
remain in London alone? He tried to focus on the problem at hand.
‘And the one who escaped?’ Before he could finish his question,
Ramsey had already shut the connecting door. Disbelief bubbled away
inside of him as he wondered why the agency wasn’t addressing the
threat. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling
that someone of great importance had escaped and had done so with
considerable ease. What was yet to come?

Chapter 3

1 month later,

Thursday, March 1
^st
09:50,

MI6 Headquarters, London.

The headquarters of MI6 couldn’t be
missed. The modern design and its familiar cream and sea green
colours had been spotted some distance away by Olsen. With every
step along the Albert Embankment, he could feel that slight twinge
of nerves. Or excitement. Whatever it was, Olsen always felt it,
even though it sometimes felt that the building ahead had proven to
be the bane of his life.

Situated in
Vauxhall and on the River Thames, the headquarters of MI6 was in
the very heart of London, the capital of the United Kingdom. A
short boat trip down the river led to the most iconic parts of the
capital. Tower Bridge, Big Ben and even the beating heart of the
country; The Houses Of Parliament were just a stone’s throw away.
Protecting it all from darkness was MI6 and its sister in the
Security Services, MI5.

Olsen had seen
it all before and was deep in thought, which had now turned to
Rachel. Her beautiful image reminded him of the struggle he’d
endured whilst trying to keep his work and personal life separate
over the last two years. Despite the recurring confusion, he knew
what the bottom line was.
When I’m here,
it really feels like I can make a difference, every day brings a
new chance of that.
The 28-year-old
Government agent continued to reassure himself as he confidently
walked through the entrance doors and into an empty Perspex tube.
He placed his ID card into the reader and punched in his unique
four-digit code. A green light lit up and the tube swivelled,
revealing the lobby. Walking quickly across the black and white
marbled floor, he headed for the two large pillars that ran through
the structure. Both housed modern looking lifts.

As he made his
way across the vast space, he passed other agents of all ages. Some
he barely knew but still acknowledged, others he had practiced with
in the combat rooms of HQ where different forms of hand to hand
combat were taught and mastered. His own form of Taekwondo and
Sambo had been tirelessly learnt, day after day, in those same
rooms all those years ago.