True Conviction (25 page)

I’m confused... Normally, the threat of being blown up doesn’t prompt laughter and amusement.

Natalia places her gun on the ground and walks over toward me. I move my gun slightly, aiming at her. She’s walking casually, almost sauntering, like she has all the time in world. She walks right up to me, pausing momentarily in front of me and fixing me with a curious look that feels slightly flirtatious, but mostly threatening, before walking on past me toward the large covered rectangles.

I sigh with reluctance and frustration. Let’s face it—I’m past the point where anything I do will impact the outcome of this situation, at least for now. I lower my gun and turn to see where she’s going.

She stops in between the two large boxes and turns to face me. She smiles a smile of pure evil. And coming from me, that’s bordering on complimentary…

She grabs both pieces of tarpaulin, one in each hand, and walks forward again, taking the covers with her in a wholly unnecessary, theatrical gesture. By the time she reaches where I’m standing, the boxes are completely uncovered. She drops the tarpaulin on the ground next to me and walks back over to stand with Ketranovich, picking up her gun without giving me a second glance.

I’m genuinely stunned. I can feel my jaw physically drop open in surprise, but I’ve not got the awareness right now to close my mouth and stop myself from looking like an idiot.

“As you can see, Adrian Hell,” says Ketranovich. “Your military does not concern me. In fact, I’m rather looking forward to their attempted intervention.”

Underneath the tarpaulin, hidden from satellites by the camouflage tent are two MIM-23 mobile surface-to-air missile launchers.

They’re more commonly referred to as SAM sites. They’re mobile launchers primarily used for defense against airstrikes. The MIM-23’s payload is three mounted Hawk missiles, each around five meters in length and weighing a hundred and twenty pounds. They travel at two thousand meters per second, using radar-assisted tracking to target and destroy enemy aircraft up to sixteen miles away.

The airstrike isn’t going to get anywhere near us...

I turn to face Ketranovich. I knew Dark Rain was well funded, but this kind of hardware is on a whole other level.

“You know about the airstrike...” I say. It’s more of a statement than a question. I’m thinking out loud, piecing it all together, as the full gravity of the predicament I’m in starts to dawn on me.

He smiles back, smugly.

“We got a lot of useful information from our Clara,” he says, turning to her. “Didn’t we, my dear?”

He grabs her chin between his thumb and index finger in a condescending gesture, like he’s addressing a small child or a pet. She snatches her face away from him and spits at his feet. He laughs and turns back to me.

“We are Dark Rain,” he says, holding his arms out to the side, gesturing to the entire compound. “And soon the world will know what we’re capable of.”

I raise my gun again, aiming at him.

“You’re just like every other crazy ex-soldier with delusions of grandeur,” I say, stubbornly. “You think you’re the next big thing and that your idea of a new world order is so much better than the one the last fucking idiot thought of. But the truth of the matter is you’re nothing. And you’ll never be more than that. You’ll get squashed like everyone else does, and the world will go on having never heard of you. You’ll die and you’ll take your hollow legacy with you.”

“You have it all figured out, don’t you, Adrian Hell?” he replies. “Well, you know nothing! You think you’re this smart, unstoppable killer. But the truth is,
you’re
just like everyone else. You’re small and you fight battles you have no hope of winning, fuelled by nothing but pride and a misplaced sense of right and wrong. I know everything about you, your little computer friend, those cowardly, treacherous, backstabbing bastards at GlobaTech Industries and your government, with all their plans for saving the day!”

He turns to Clara, who’s still staring at the floor. He puts his hand on her arm and shoves her forward. As she stumbles front and center, she looks up at me. Her eyes are full of apology, full of regret. I feel so sorry for her. She wouldn’t have had any choice but to tell them what she knows, and in a way I’m glad she did. At least she spared herself any torture.

“Clara, it’s okay,” I say. “As long as you’re not hurt, that’s all that matters, alright? But I need to know, how much did you tell them?”

She takes a deep breath.

She moves her arms from behind her to her sides.

What? I thought she was tied up…

There’s a gun in her right hand. She raises it slowly and takes aim at me.

I don’t understand what’s happening… Nothing makes any sense. I look into her eyes, searching for answers and see a void—a black hole where humanity had once been. A smile creeps across her face. I just saw the same smile on Natalia’s face a moment ago.

When she speaks, her voice sounds more Russian than it has done previously, and the hatred in her tone is obvious.

“Oh, I told them
everything
.”

I FEEL LIKE someone’s punched me in the stomach.

I’m genuinely speechless. And that
never
happens to me. Ask Josh. I have an answer for everything. But not right now. Even after the mother of all shitty weeks, which left me feeling incapable of experiencing shock ever again, this is one helluva curveball.

My head’s spinning, and I feel sick. My body gives up and I drop my gun, sinking to my knees. I’m unable to take my eyes off Clara, much in the way you can’t drive past a car crash without slowing down to look at the carnage with sick fascination.

“I don’t understand,” I say. “I don’t... I just... What the fuck is going on?”

Clara laughs. “Poor Adrian,” she says, patronizingly. “Finally lost for words?”

Behind her, Ketranovich and the Salikovs start laughing. She walks toward me, aiming her gun at my head unwaveringly. My eyes flick between the barrel of her gun and her venomous green eyes.

“This has been the
longest
week of my life!” she continues. “Having to listen to you go
on
and
on
with yourself. Watching you skate around what’s going on right in front of you, too stupid to figure anything out yourself. I almost
wanted
you to work out our plans sooner—at least then I’d have an ounce of respect for you as I watch you die.”

I can’t honestly describe how I feel right now.

Heartbroken? Maybe.

Betrayed? Definitely.

An idiot? Arguably.

My mind’s working overtime, not just playing out every outcome ahead of me, but also piecing together everything that’s happened, that’s led me to this very moment.

Clara’s been playing me right from the start... That much is now clear. But how? And why? I grimace at my own ignorance. I hate not knowing everything.

I see her watching me struggle to put it all together in my head.

“Get up,” she says, laughing. “You pathetic little man. The
mighty
Adrian Hell, helpless in front of me.”

I slowly get to my feet, brushing the dust off my knees. I bend down to retrieve my gun, but I don’t get chance to pick it up.

“Ah, ah, ah,” says Clara. “Don’t even think about it. In fact, you can toss the other one down as well.”

I don’t move.

She takes a step closer, re-emphasizing the gun she has pointed at my head. “Now.”

I sigh and reach behind me to un-holster my other Beretta. I look at it in my hand for a moment. I reckon I could get three shots off before she fires at me. I wouldn’t be able to move, as accuracy would be the priority, so it’s almost certain that she’ll shoot me. But… I could put one between her eyes and two in Ketranovich before I hit the ground. That would be enough.

But, what use am I dead? The Salikovs could potentially carry out their endgame on their own, in which case I’ll have died for nothing.

Fuck.

I’m not happy.

I throw it to the ground and it lands next to its counterpart.

We stand in silence for a moment, regarding one another. Her eyes show no sign of the person I believed I knew well only a few hours ago. A gust of wind picks up and swirls dust around us. It feels like there’s nothing except her and me. My gaze shifts from her eyes to her gun, then back again. My anger is rising quickly, bubbling away at the surface.

When I look back on this in years to come, I’ll know it was this moment right here, right now when I decided Clara was going to die. She was going to suffer, and she was going to know that death would be a welcome, sweet reprieve compared to the pain I’d make her experience.

“Walk,” she says, gesturing with her gun.

We walk over to Ketranovich, who’s smiling from ear to ear. A smug look of triumph on his face that says he knew all along it would end like this, and that I was a fool for not realizing it.

Maybe he’s right.

Bastard.

He turns and nods to Salikov, who runs over to the MIM-23s and starts the activation process. The loud whirring of machinery sounds throughout the deserted compound as the SAM sites configure themselves and move into position, preparing to take aim.

The airstrike will be close. The squadron of jets will be zooming toward us right now at nearly sixteen hundred miles per hour, which means in less than ten minutes, those F-22s will be going down in flames. I have to find a way of warning Josh. But as things stand, like Clara pointed out, I’m helpless.

“How are your SAM sites going to target the F-22s?” I ask, trying to focus. “They’re stealth fighters.”

“Adrian Hell,” says Ketranovich in a patronizing tone. “You worry too much and know too little. Our low-frequency radar easily bypasses the stealth capabilities of your fighter jets. Now come—we have much to discuss, and such little time.”

He laughs out loud at nothing in particular and walks off toward the concrete bunker with the metal door. Natalia turns to follow him, but stops in her tracks. She looks back at me, then turns and walks toward me. She stands in front of me, fixing me with her trademark evil death gaze of hatred and contempt. I figure I should say something to antagonize her, but I don’t get the chance. She plants a straight right fist squarely on my jaw. She’s only a slight little thing, but she has some force behind her punches. I rock backward, momentarily losing my balance and eventually dropping to one knee. I shake my head in a gesture to clear the cobwebs and look up at her. She has a wicked smile on her face. She holds my gaze for a moment longer, then turns back and follows Ketranovich.

I stand up and look at Clara.

“So, everything was a lie?” I ask. “You were playing me from day one?”

She smiles. “Don’t take it too personally,” she replies. “You’re not the first person I’ve manipulated, and you won’t be the last. Everything was going exactly to plan until that idiot Pellaggio brought you in to kill Jackson. Once we knew of your involvement, our plans had to change drastically. We needed to keep a close eye on you, so you didn’t screw things up any more than you already had.”

She prods me in the back with her gun, and we both set off after the others. I can still hear Salikov behind me, fiddling with the controls for the SAM sites.

I sigh. I’ve been played. Spectacularly. I’m angry with myself for not realizing it before. I should’ve spotted it days ago, but my emotions blinded me. Something I’ve spent half my life training not to do…

Goddammit!

I push those thoughts out of my head. The only thing that matters now is stopping Dark Rain doing whatever they’re planning to do… Then I’ll look at getting my revenge.

We enter the main bunker. Inside is a large, open plan maze of walkways and pipe work and containers, all dimly lit by the lights overhead. Ahead of us is a narrow, metal stairwell that descends down into the bowels of the bunker. We walk down six flights of stairs before emerging into a long, much brighter corridor. The walls are old brick, mottled with damp patches—the result of years of neglect. Cobwebs and pipes line the top of the walls, both attached to the ceiling, which has fluorescent lights flickering and buzzing all the way along.

At the far end is a set of doors, which are a lot newer than their surroundings. Ketranovich and Natalia have just gone through them as Clara and I approach.

“So is this your little command center?” I ask, as we make our way toward the doors.

“You’ll see,” she replies with a smirk.

With her gun in my back, I push open the doors and walk into a large, circular room full of computers and large monitors. The room seems to be some kind of hub for the entire underground network beneath the compound. There are three doors leading off to other rooms—one across from where I’m standing, and one on either side, like points on a compass.

There are two men sitting at a bank of computers in the middle of the room, working feverishly on their keyboards. Ketranovich is standing over one of them, looking at his screen. Natalia is a short distance away, staring daggers at me.

Or is she staring at Clara?

Hmmm, I can’t be sure, but it looked for a brief moment like she flicked her evil gaze over to Clara momentarily.

Interesting. And duly noted.

Ketranovich looks over at me as I enter.

“Welcome to Dark Rain, Adrian Hell,” he says, gesturing to the large, empty room and smiling.

“Oooo, I’m impressed,” I reply, sarcastically. Josh would be proud.

Clara hits me on the back of my head with her elbow. It wasn’t too hard, just a little tap to tell me to stop being cheeky, I think.

“Everything will soon become painfully clear,” says Ketranovich, cryptically.

He turns back to the two men at the computers and starts chattering away to them in Russian. I turn to face Clara.

“Okay, so, forgive me if this is a stupid question, but where is everyone? I thought you guys numbered in the thousands?”

She smiles that smile people show when they know something you don’t and want to rub your face in it.

“Patience, Adrian. All shall be revealed.”

I really don’t like not knowing what’s going on, and this entire situation is getting weirder by the second. I also don’t like being helpless, and right now I can’t do anything besides stand and watch with my thumb up my ass as three fighter jets are about to get blown to bits...

Behind me, the doors open and Salikov walks in, heading straight over to Ketranovich. He whispers something to him, and the Colonel smiles.

“Excellent news,” he says. “You have done well, Comrade.” He turns to me. “We are ready,” he announces, gesturing to a huge monitor on the right hand wall that suddenly flickers into life, revealing a large radar screen and a topographical view of the compound and surrounding area. “As you can see, we’ve just picked up your F-22s on radar, about twenty-five miles away. As you know, they’re on their way here to drop many bombs on us, to wipe the nasty terrorists off the face of the earth!”

He bursts out laughing, prompting Clara and the Salikovs to do the same.

My God, this is excruciating to watch. Not just because of how smug these Russian bastards are, but because they’re forcing me to watch innocent soldiers die in someone else’s war.

“Missiles are primed and ready for launch,” says one of the men at the computers. “Targets will be in range in thirty seconds.”

I turn to Clara. “How did you even know about the airstrike?” I ask.

“I spoke to Robert Clark just before he spoke to your annoying British friend and he told me,” she replies with a casual shrug.

I shake my head in disbelief. She managed to get everyone believing she wasn’t a deceptive piece of shit, not just me. That’s a small comfort, I guess.

“Arm the SAMs,” says Ketranovich. “Let the American death machines work their ironic magic!”

The other man taps away on his keyboard for a moment.

“Missiles armed and locking on, sir. Firing in ten seconds,” he confirms.

I instinctively move to take a step toward them, but I feel the barrel of Clara’s gun on the back of my head, and I restrain myself. I raise my hands slightly in frustrated resignation.

I look up as I hear the faint whooshing sound of the first Hawk missile launching, quickly followed by the second and third.

Shit, I’m too late!

On the radar screen, I can see the small red objects on the left gradually approaching the three small green images of aircraft coming over from the right.

“You bastards!” I yell, the anger rising inside me. “Call them off!”

“Don’t you see, Adrian Hell?” replies Ketranovich. “You caused this! Those men will die in flames because of
you
!”

I stand paralyzed by anger, watching the screen as the missiles creep on toward the F-22s—closer and closer with each blip of the radar.

I have to do something. But what? They’ve got me at gunpoint, trapped underground, fifteen miles away with no means of communication. I’m desperate, and I hate myself for resorting to begging, but I have no other choice.

“Please, just call off the missiles!” I implore. “If you’re pissed at me, take it out on me. But don’t kill innocent people just to prove a point!”

I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than I want those missiles to explode right now, sparing the lives of the pilots of those fighter jets. I stare at the screen, horrified and seething at my own uselessness, as the methodical beeps of the images on the radar sound out in the deathly silence.

Beep…

Beep…

Beep…

The images collide, and the screen is empty one more.

Silence descends on the large room. I hold my breath as I stare at the blank screen, overcome with emotion.

Suddenly, the Salikovs cheer loudly and touch foreheads in celebration. Ketranovich smiles at Clara, who looks both relieved and satisfied with what’s just happened.

I’m desperately trying to find a way to get out of here so I can warn Josh, but I’ve got nothing.

I keep staring at the large screen, willing the blips of the aircraft to re-appear. But they don’t. I look over at Ketranovich, who’s smiling at me, seemingly savoring my torment.