Deception Game (5 page)

Hollywood would have people believe that they could use some kind of tranquiliser gun to immobilise their target within seconds, but if such a weapon existed then Drake had yet to hear about it. Even the best sedatives designed to bring down big-game animals took several minutes to kick in; minutes during which Fayed could scream, call for help, grab for a concealed weapon or do any one of a hundred things to completely ruin their day.

No, the only reliable methods of taking someone down quickly were either to shoot them or tase them. Since they’d been instructed to return Fayed alive, their choice for this job was obvious.

‘Copy, One. Ready when you are.’

Mason gave a nod to confirm the taser was primed and ready to fire. Gripping the bolt cutters and checking that his foot was just touching the brick, Drake reached out and knocked on the door. Not loud or aggressive; just the simple knock of a new arrival announcing their presence.

A few seconds of strained silence passed.

‘He’s moving, One,’ Frost announced. ‘Heading for the door.’

Drake paused, readying himself. When it happened, he would have to act fast. A mistake from either himself or Mason might give Fayed time to barricade himself into his apartment, forcing them to use a far louder and more dangerous method of entry. Since their briefing had been to effect a covert extraction of the target, that would not be a good thing. It would also drastically increase their chances of being apprehended by the local gendarme, which would be an even worse thing.

Shepherd teams were by their nature deniable operators, meaning they could expect no support from the Agency, the State Department or anyone else in the US government if they were captured. Drake had little desire to sit out the rest of his career in a French prison.

The next several seconds passed in silence, save for the loud thumping of Drake’s heart as he gripped the bolt cutters, ready to spring into action. The waiting was always the hardest part of any op like this. Danger and problems he could deal with, but waiting for something to happen was enough to test anyone’s nerves.

‘He’s at the door.’

The seconds stretched out, yet Fayed gave no sign of opening up.

Drake caught Mason’s eye, the simple look conveying everything he needed to say. What was Fayed waiting for?

‘Target’s on the move, heading back to the living room,’ Frost reported.

Drake glanced up at the door, taking note of the spy hole mounted in the centre. Likely Fayed had glanced out into the corridor, seen nobody and assumed it had simply been a prank.

Fortunately the solution to this kind of stubbornness was simple
.
If at first you don
’
t succeed
, Drake thought, knocking again.

‘Target’s on the move again,’ Frost advised. ‘Watch yourself, One. He could be armed.’

Drake almost smiled. In situations like this, the power of frustration is never to be underestimated. It usually doesn’t take much to annoy most people into dropping their guard, even if they’re not aware of it.

‘Almost at the door.’

Their limited intel on Fayed suggested he had travelled alone, and had neither a wife nor a girlfriend, but there was no telling who might be here. For all they knew, the nominees for lovers of the year that they’d heard from the stairwell earlier could have been Fayed and a local lady of the night.

Drake tensed and flexed his fingers as he heard the click of a lock being undone. A moment later, the door moved inward a couple of inches before stopping on its security chain. In the gap, Drake saw a fleshy, unshaven face staring out into the hallway.

It happened fast, just as they had rehearsed. Kicking his foot out, Drake shoved the brick into the gap between the door and the frame, preventing it from closing, while at the same moment, Mason tilted the taser upward and fired.

That was when things stopped going to plan.

There was a pop as the pair of spring-loaded prongs mounted at the front of the weapon were propelled forward, followed a moment later by a loud, almost mechanical clicking sound as the weapon delivered its incapacitating charge.

But instead of embedding themselves in the muscle of Fayed’s thigh, the conducting prongs sailed right past to strike the wall beyond. Fayed had ducked back out of the way, causing Mason’s shot to miss him by mere inches.

How had he known? Was he ready for them?

There was a crunch of splintering wood as Fayed shoved the door from the other side, trying to close it on them only to find the gap blocked by the solid concrete brick. No way was he getting it closed as long as that brick was wedged against the frame.

In any case, Drake wasn’t about to let him try again. He was moving even before Fayed tried to lock them out, jumping to his feet and gripping the security chain in the blades of the bolt cutters. A single, powerful yank was all it took to snap the chain.

Realizing the door was compromised and that he couldn’t hope to hold it closed against two men, Fayed abandoned his efforts and sprinted away even as Drake shouldered his way into the apartment, dropping the bolt cutters and reaching for his concealed sidearm.

‘Two, on me,’ he called out.

The prospect of a calm, orderly takedown was rapidly fading into the distance. He was firmly in damage-control mode now, trying to regain control of the situation before it turned into a complete fuck-up.

Advancing into the narrow main hallway with the weapon up and ready, he found himself facing out into the apartment's cramped living room. Sure enough, he caught the flickering glow of a computer screen - probably a laptop - off to his left.

He was also just in time to see Fayed launch himself at the living-room window, throwing up his arms to protect himself. There was an audible bang, followed by the tinkle of shattered glass as the window gave way beneath the impact, and suddenly Fayed had disappeared into the darkness beyond.

‘Shit!’ Drake hissed, sprinting forward to witness what he expected to be Fayed’s broken body lying on the street thirty feet below. Had the man just thrown himself to his death to avoid being captured?

Leaning out, he found that the window faced out onto an alleyway running between this building and another residential block right next to it. However, his view of the alleyway below was partially blocked by the steel grating of a fire escape, now covered with broken glass. Fayed must have launched himself out onto it.

Sure enough, the man was stumbling down the stairs one level below, heading for ground level.

‘Unit One. Target heading for the alleyway on the north side,’ Drake spoke into his radio even as he vaulted over the broken window frame. ‘I’m going after him.’

‘Negative, One,’ McKnight countered. ‘I’m en route. Wait for backup.’

‘No time. He’ll be gone.’ Even as he said this, he was leaping down the first set of steps, taking them two at a time. ‘Two, secure the apartment, grab any intel you can find and evac now!’

The laptop he'd spotted while making entry, plus any cell phones, electronic storage devices and even printed documents scattered around the apartment could be a potential gold mine of information in the right hands.

‘On it,’ Mason replied.

Drake was hot on Fayed’s heels, but the target had a head start on him. Disengaging the safety latch that held the lowermost fire ladder in place, he waited a moment while it extended to ground level, gripped the rungs and allowed himself to slide down.

Drake knew right then that he’d never catch the man if he descended in similar fashion. Leaning out over the rail, he surveyed the darkened alley below. A number of steel dumpsters had been pushed up against the walls on both sides, all heavily filled with plastic bags of trash, including one almost directly below.

With no time to think about other options, Drake took aim, drew a breath and launched himself over the railing.

What followed was a second or two of tumbling, sickening weightlessness as he plummeted through the air, powerless to do anything about his trajectory now. If he’d misjudged his leap by a mere foot or two, he was going to slam into the pavement or the side of the dumpster. Either way, he was looking at broken bones and a failed mission, neither of which appealed to him.

His thoughts were cut short by a violent, jarring impact as he made contact. He braced himself, expecting to feel the faint pop as bone snapped followed by the first wave of pain, but none came. Instead he felt himself enveloped by a lumpy, yielding softness, while his nostrils were suddenly filled with the nauseating stench of rotting garbage.

His aim had proved true. Twisting around, he reached for the edge of the dumpster and used it to heave himself out, leaping down onto firm ground and drawing his weapon once more.

The narrow space between the two buildings was occupied by half a dozen containers just like the one he’d leapt into, all overflowing with garbage as if nobody bothered to empty them. The smell of it was overpowering despite the rain. More plastic bags were scattered haphazardly around, some ripped open by scavenging animals. Miniature waterfalls cascaded down from the broken guttering above, adding to the ambient noise and making footing treacherous. There were no working lights in the area; what little illumination there was came from the street lights on the nearby road.

It was into this dark, rain-slicked world that Drake advanced, weapon at the ready. Fayed was here somewhere with him, waiting to make his move.

‘Unit One, Overwatch,’ he whispered into his radio unit. ‘I’m in the alley. Any sign of him?’

‘I’m looking, One,’ came Frost’s reply. ‘Stand by.’

He could hear the faint buzz of the drone’s electric motors moving overhead, but the low ambient light made it impossible to see the little aircraft itself. Hopefully Fayed couldn’t see it either.

‘Got him, One!’ Frost called out. ‘He’s hiding in an alcove. Twenty yards, on your right.’

Drake was moving before she’d even finished speaking, heading straight to where she’d indicated. Their eyes in the sky might well have made the difference between success or failure on this mission.

Hearing the splash of boots in the puddles up ahead, he looked up in time to see a figure suddenly leap from behind cover, bolting through the shadows towards the far end of the alley. He must have heard Drake’s approach and guessed that retreat was the only option. Swearing under his breath, Drake gave chase.

‘Stop or I’ll fire!’ he warned, though he knew it was almost impossible to fire accurately while running, never mind in questionable lighting conditions against a target he’d been ordered to bring home alive. Fayed perhaps knew it too, and paid him no heed.

In a moment, he had disappeared around a corner.

Drake hit his radio pressel even as he sprinted to catch up. ‘Target heading down the north alleyway. One is in pursuit.’

‘I’m almost on you, One,’ McKnight replied, breathless from running.

‘No time. He’ll be gone before you get here.’ Exerting himself, Drake rushed to catch up. But no sooner had he rounded the corner than a dark figure leapt at him from an alcove to his right.

He knew right away that he’d made a mistake by rushing in without thinking. It went against everything he’d been trained to do, but excitement and eagerness to take down the target had overridden his judgement.

Fayed wasn’t running after all. He was fighting.

He whirled right and brought the pistol to bear, finger tightening on the trigger. He might have been ordered to bring the man in alive, but when his own life was at stake he had no choice but to defend himself.

However, before he could fire, Fayed’s arm swept up and knocked the pistol from his grasp. The weapon flew through the air to land several yards away, skittering across the slick ground before coming to rest next to a pile of sodden cardboard boxes.

Seeing Fayed draw back his arm to take a swing at him, Drake dodged aside and struck out, feeling his fist connect hard with the man’s jaw. The hit barely seemed to faze his opponent however, and a moment later Drake grunted as Fayed landed a solid blow to the side of his head, followed a second later by a right hook that left his ears ringing.

Dazed, he staggered back as Fayed launched himself forward, tackling Drake around the waist like a football player and slamming him into a dumpster with bruising force. Fayed’s dossier had listed his weight as 220 pounds, and every one of them was now being directed at Drake. The metal container shuddered under the powerful impact, bags of rubbish dislodged from their delicate balance to fall around the two men.

Drake had fought guys bigger and stronger than himself before, and it was never fun at the best of times. His training had taught him to use their size against them, keep his distance, capitalize on their lack of agility to wear them down. That was the theory, at least. The reality now was that Fayed was all over him, swarming in close so that Drake couldn’t get away, couldn’t use his superior speed to his advantage.

Now it was a slugging match, pure and simple. They were both hurting; it was just a question of who buckled first. He raised his elbow up and drove it into Fayed’s back. The man grunted in pain, and Drake struck again with all the force he could summon. Adrenaline was coursing thick in his veins now, lending a desperate strength to his efforts, but the blows barely seemed to register. It was like trying to pound an anvil with his bare hands. Drake meanwhile was already feeling the effects of his crushing impact against the dumpster.

Fayed let go and pulled back to throw another punch so as to capitalise on his opponent's apparent lack of resillience. But just as he swung, Drake ducked aside to avoid the blow. The dumpster shuddered again as Fayed’s fist slammed into the metal shell with bone-breaking force.

That was the moment. The tipping point when the momentum shifted from one fighter to the other, and the outcome of their contest became a foregone conclusion.

As Fayed backed off, clutching his injured hand, Drake seized him by the shoulder and gave him a knee to the chest that knocked the air from his lungs, followed by two vicious right hooks to the face. Shaken by the blows, his opponent staggered back and collapsed into a pile of garbage bags.