Ken Follett - Code to Zero (2000)

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12 MIDNIGHT

Four whip antennae, protruding from the satellite cylinder, broadcast radio signals to receiving stations around the globe. Explorer will broadcast on a frequency of 108 MHz.

Anthony had to get out of Alabama. The action was in Florida now. Everything he had worked towards for twenty years would be decided at Cape Canaveral in the next twenty-four hours, and he had to be there.

Huntsville Airport was still open, lights blazing on the runway. That meant there was at least one more plane in or out tonight. He parked his army Ford at the roadside in front of the terminal building, behind a limousine and a couple of taxicabs. The place seemed deserted. He did not trouble to lock the car but hurried inside.

The place was quiet but not empty. One girl sat behind an airline counter writing in a book, and two black women in overalls were mopping the floor. Three men stood around waiting, one in chauffeur uniform and the others in the creased clothes and peaked caps of cab drivers. Pete was sitting on a bench.

Anthony had to get rid of Pete, for the man's own sake. The scene in the Engineering Building at Redstone Arsenal had been witnessed by Billie and Marigold, and one of them would soon report it. The army would complain to the CIA. George Cooperman had already said he could not shield Anthony any longer. Anthony had to give up the pretence that he was on a legitimate CIA mission. The game was up, and Pete had better go home before he got hurt.

Pete might have been bored after twelve hours waiting at the airport, but instead he seemed excited and tense as he jumped to his feet 'At last!' he said.

'What's flying out of here tonight?' Anthony said abruptly.

'Nothing. One more flight is due in, from Washington, but nothing is leaving before seven a.m.'

'Damn. I have to get to Florida.'

'There's a MATS flight from Redstone at five-thirty going to Patrick Air Force Base, near Cape Canaveral.'

'That'll have to do.'

Pete looked embarrassed. Seeming to- force the words out, he said: You can't go to Florida.'

So that was why he was so tense. Anthony said coolly: 'How so?'

'I talked to Washington. Carl Hobart spoke to me himself. We have to go back - and no argument, to quote him.'

Anthony felt wild with rage, but he pretended to be merely frustrated. 'Those assholes,' Anthony said. You can't run a field operation from headquarters!'

Pete was not buying this. 'Mr. Hobart says we have to accept there is no operation now. The army is handling this from here on.'

'We can't let them. Army security is totally incompetent.'

'I know, but I don't think we have a choice, sir.'

Anthony made an effort to breathe calmly. This had to happen sooner or later. The CIA did not yet believe he was a double agent, but they knew he had gone rogue, and they wanted to put him out of action as quietly as possible.

However, Anthony had carefully cultivated the loyalty of his men over the years, and he should still have some credit left. 'Here's what we'll do,' he said to Pete. You go back to Washington. Tell them I refused to obey orders. You're out of it - this is my responsibility now. He half turned away, as if taking Pete's consent for granted.

'Okay,' Pete said. 'I guessed you would say that and they can't expect me to kidnap you.'

'That's right,' Anthony said casually, concealing his relief that Pete was not going to argue.

'But there's something else,' Pete said.

Anthony rounded on him, letting his irritation show. 'What now?'

Pete blushed, and the birthmark on his face turned purple. 'They told me to take your gun.'

Anthony began to fear he might not be able to get out of this situation easily. There was no way he was giving up his weapon. He forced a smile and said: 'So you'll tell them I refused.'

I'm sorry, sir, I can't tell you how sorry I am. But Mr. Hobart was very specific. If you won't hand it over, I have to call the local police.'

Anthony realized then that he had to kill Pete.

For a moment he was swamped by grief. What depths of treachery he had been led into. It hardly seemed possible that this was the logical conclusion of his commitment, made two decades ago, to dedicate his life to a noble cause. Then a deadly calm descended on him. He had learned about hard choices in the war. This was a different war, but the imperatives were the same. Once you were in, you had to win, whatever it took. 'In that case, I guess it's all over,' he said with a sigh that was genuine. 'I think it's a dumb decision, but I believe I've done all I can.'

Pete made no attempt to conceal his relief. 'Thank you,' he said. 'I'm so glad you're taking it this way,'

'Don't you worry. I won't hold this against you I know you have to follow a direct order from Hobart'

Pete's face took on a determined expression. 'So, do you want to give me the firearm now?'

'Sure.' The gun was in Anthony's coat pocket, but he said: 'It's in my trunk.' He wanted Pete to go with him to the car, but he pretended the opposite. 'Wait here, I'll get it'

As he had expected, Pete feared he was trying to escape. 'I'll come with you,' Pete said hastily.

Anthony pretended to hesitate and then give in. 'Whatever.' He walked through the door, with Pete following. The car was parked at the kerb, thirty yards from the airport entrance. There was no one in sight Anthony thumbed the trunk lid and threw it open. 'There you go/he said-

Pete bent over to look in the trunk.

Anthony drew the gun, silencer attached, from inside his coat. For a moment, he was tempted by a mad impulse to put the barrel in his own mouth and pull the trigger, bringing the nightmare to an end.

That moment of delay was a crucial mistake.

Pete said: 'I don't see any gun,' and he turned around.

He reacted fast. Before Anthony could level his gun with its cumbersome silencer, Pete stepped sideways, away from the muzzle, and swung a fist He caught Anthony with a bonejarring blow to the side of the head. Anthony staggered. Pete hit him with the other fist, connecting with his jaw, and Anthony stumbled backwards and fell; but as he hit the ground he brought the gun up. Pete saw what was going to happen. His face twisted in fear and he lifted his hands, as if they could protect him from a bullet; then Anthony pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession.

All three bullets found their target on Pete's chest, and blood spurted from three holes in his grey mohair suit He fell to the road with a thud. -.- Anthony scrambled to his feet and pocketed the gun. He looked up and down. No one was arriving at the airport, and no one had come out of the building. He bent over Pete's body.

Pete looked at him. He was not dead.

Fighting down nausea, Anthony picked up the bleeding body and tumbled it into the open trunk of the car. Then he drew his gun again. Pete lay in the trunk, twisted in pain, staring at him with terrified eyes. Chest wounds were not always fatal: Pete could live if he were treated in hospital soon. Anthony pointed the gun at Pete's head. Pete tried to speak, and blood came out of his mouth. Anthony pulled the trigger.

Pete slumped, and his eyes closed.

Anthony slammed the trunk lid and collapsed onto it He had been hit seriously hard for the second time in a day, and his head was swimming; but worse than the physical damage was the knowledge of what he had done.

A voke said: 'Are you okay, buddy?'

Anthony came upright, stuffing1 the gun inside his coat, and turned around. A taxi had pulled up behind and the driver walked up, looking concerned. He was a black man with greying hair. :, ::

How much had the man seen? Anthony did not know if he had the heart to kill him, tool The cabbie said: 'Whatever you were loading into your trunk, looks like it was heavy.'