Matthew Dunn - Spycatcher

“Fuck.” Will pressed his foot hard on the accelerator. He knew that his target was aware that something was wrong. They could have spotted him, but Will thought it was unlikely, as a pair of headlights behind a car in Zagreb suggested nothing. More likely, he decided, the occupants of the car had concluded that they were in severe potential threat from anything around them. He took the turn onto Aleja Bologne at high speed and knew that he would now be seen as a visible threat to the car ahead of him. He cursed again.

His quarry was dashing along the Aleja Bologne toward the epicenter of Croatia and one of the most heavily armed police districts in Central Europe. His target was drawing him toward a place where an attack would be futile. But Will knew that he was still eight kilometers away from that place, and therefore he had time to make a decision to abort his quest or to continue and commit to the attack before it was too late. He made his decision.

Judging by the speed of his own vehicle, Will believed that his target was now traveling at nearly 190 kilometers an hour. He dearly hoped that the vehicle he was driving was faster than the car ahead of him. He pressed the BMW’s accelerator down to the floor and watched the road-straddling lamps beside him blur into one continuous line of light. He changed lanes so that he was driving on the left-hand side of the road, heading straight toward oncoming traffic. He careered up to his target and yanked his steering wheel down to the right, causing his car to collide with the Iranians’ vehicle. Both cars immediately veered away from the road toward buildings. Will swung his wheel left and accelerated again before braking hard. He looked in his rearview mirror and saw his target perform what must have been a handbrake turn in order to face the opposite direction. Will swore. Whoever the men were, they were clearly well trained and most likely Qods Force.

He stopped his car, grabbed his rifle, and got out. A loud screech accompanied the spinning tires of the target car as it sped away. He raised the C8 and shot twice at both rear wheels. The car slumped and spun slightly left and right before stopping. It was about a hundred meters away from him. Will lifted his carbine’s sight toward the rear window of the vehicle. A door immediately opened, and one of the men shot in his direction six times. Will ignored the bullets and stepped forward to send three rapid rounds toward the shooter. They hit the man in the chest and face and dropped him to the ground. The other men jumped out of the vehicle and moved back to shelter behind their car. Will sent further controlled bursts of fire toward them. He heard them shouting, but in a measured and disciplined manner. Then they became silent. Will stopped in the road, moving his gun’s sight to the left and right of the vehicle ahead of him. Another car drove toward the stationary target car and slowed suddenly. It was clearly not hostile, but Will couldn’t afford his targets to have any more shields to use as cover when firing back at him. He sent a long burst of bullets into the second car’s engine block, which immediately stopped the vehicle a sufficient distance from his opponents. The men remained static behind their vehicle.

Will took another step forward and fired again at nothing to the left and right of the vehicle, then quickly replaced the gun’s magazine clip. The action must have been anticipated or heard by his opponents, since one of the men momentarily showed himself just as Will jammed tight his new clip of bullets. Will instantly fired his fresh rounds at the man, causing him to fall away from the vehicle. The man was not dead, and he lifted his own handgun toward his assailant. Will hesitated for the tiniest of moments, then shot him in the head.

One of the remaining two men aimed his handgun in Will’s direction without exposing any of his body. He fired once. The bullet was easily wide of its mark, but Will fired back. Cars were braking to a standstill behind him, and he hoped they were innocent bystanders rather than armed police-response vehicles. He could not dare to look, though, as the men before him would use even a split second to kill him. He decided he had a maximum of one minute left to resolve the standoff. He heard sirens in the distance and from different locations. He decided he now had seconds.

He took measured side steps to the left while holding the rear of the vehicle in his sight. The new angle exposed one of the men, who was looking straight at Will with his handgun leveled directly at Will’s body. Will moved slightly as he and the man simultaneously fired at each other. Will felt a bullet brush over his shoulder and saw the man who had fired it slump down dead. He sprinted forward and reached the target vehicle just as the last man rolled out before him, ready to engage in combat. It was an extremely brave act, since the man would have known that he could be exposing himself to a hail of automatic gunfire. But Will was now right by him and instead swung the butt of his rifle upward into the man’s face. He immediately jabbed the rifle’s muzzle into the man’s ribs. The man was incapacitated but conscious. Will looked at him and raised his gun. For the briefest of moments, he wanted to leave the brave man alive, just turn and walk away. But he knew he could not allow the man to live.

He shot him.

Will stood on the hillside looking down at Zagreb. It was nearly midday, and a bright blue sky shone over the snow-clad city.

Roger walked up to him and stood by his side. “I got in this morning.”

Will nodded but did not look at the man. “You’ve received an update from Laith?”

“I have. He told me what you did to the remaining members of the hit squad.”

Will rubbed a hand over facial stubble. “Has Laith disposed of the vehicle and weapon?”

“Don’t worry about that. None of us can be linked to what happened. But we’ve got to tread very carefully now. The Croatian police will be on high alert, and in all probability they’ll soon link what happened here with what happened in Austria.”

Will exhaled slowly. “Megiddo should have Lana’s letter now. It should give him a new perspective on her. It should stop him from making extreme attempts against me.” He studied Roger. The man looked exhausted. “But that does not mean we can slow down. I need one of your men to go to Sarajevo and watch the Human Benevolence Foundation building and the movements of its occupants.”

“Sure. I’ll send Julian Garces. The man can be a ghost when it comes to surveillance.”

“Good. Julian’s got twenty-four hours to understand everything about the exterior of that building, because tomorrow night he’s going to watch my back while I burgle the HBF place.”

At 1:00 A.M. Will was on rue Sainte-Croix-de-la-Bretonnerie in Paris. He turned into the side street containing Lana’s house and pulled out an envelope while standing at her front door. He knew that he could have mailed the envelope or sent it by courier, but he’d wanted to deliver it in person. He took out a pen and addressed the envelope to Lana’s mother, then pushed the package containing thirty thousand CIA dollars and nothing else through the mail slot.

He stepped back and looked at the house door. All around him was silent.

He thought about Lana’s mother. He wondered if she was sleeping. Or maybe she was lying awake, hoping for her daughter’s return.

He closed his eyes and allowed his worst recollection to come searing into his mind.

The teenage Will Cochrane threw his school bag onto the kitchen table, smiled nervously, and called to his mother. No response. He heard nothing.

He kept going as he wondered if his mother would hug him when she read his school report and saw that his exam grades would take him to England and Cambridge University. He wondered if she would cook him his favorite meal of roast chicken. He wondered if she would even allow him a small glass of wine as she sometimes did these days.