Ryan, Chris - Zero 22

His mind churned. Events were happening quickly. An operation like this, to take out such a sensitive target, would usually be weeks in the planning. It would require a substantial team of guys. This wasn’t the first time that Danny had felt he was taking on the work of more than one man, but he understood why it was necessary. It wasn’t just the covert nature of the op. It was the difficulty of dealing with the other person involved.

Bethany White.

She was the most complicated person Danny had ever met. A mother and a killer. A grieving widow and a psychopath. A high-level MI6 operator and MI6’s worst nightmare. She was poison and honey. Light and dark. In his experience, the security services attracted many psychotic types, highly manipulative and able to kill without a flicker of fellow feeling. But Bethany White was an extreme case. She had manipulated Danny with skill and apparent ease. Danny would be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to her, but she repelled him too. He’d never hoped or expected to see her again and the thought that they were to come face to face in a couple of hours made him apprehensive. Funny, he thought to himself, how calmly he could deal with whatever threats the life of an SAS soldier threw at him, but the thought of meeting a beautiful, blonde thirty-year-old woman again dumped acid in his gut.

The journey to Brize Norton took two hours. It gave him time to examine the target pack they’d given him back in Hereford. He committed to memory details of the forthcoming HALO drop, maps of the area and plans Hereford had put in place to get them out of the desert into Amman and close to the General. Hereford’s strategy was good, but it relied on a single, scarcely knowable factor: Bethany White’s compliance. Danny suspected it would be unwillingly delivered.

A Globemaster was taking off as they arrived at their destination. The deafening roar of its engines made the unmarked van shake as the driver flashed some ID at a security point that led straight on to the airfield. They slalomed around fuel lorries and military trucks as they crossed to the far side of the airfield, where a long solitary Portakabin was manned by a couple of armed guys in camouflage gear. It was a hot day, unusually hot for the UK, and the airfield shimmered in the heat haze. A couple of hundred metres away, a Hercules was taxiing across the tarmac. Once Danny had alighted, carrying a grey sports bag stuffed with clothes, the van headed up in the direction of the Herc. Danny approached the Portakabin. Blackout linings covered the inside of the windows. The two armed guards were young and pimply. Danny could tell they were nervous. He smiled to put them at ease, but then realised he wasn’t the reason they were on edge.

‘Is it locked?’ he asked them, dumping the sports bag on the ground.

They nodded.

‘Give me the key.’

One of the guys handed it over.

‘Has she been searched?’ Danny asked.

‘Yeah,’ said the guy. ‘Three times. But keep your distance, if I was you. When we was bringing her in, she had a blade in the lining of her top that we missed. Cut my mate’s face something nasty. Took three of us to get it off her.’

Danny nodded. That sounded like her. He felt for his Glock and made sure it was secure in its holster. He walked up the steps to the Portakabin door, unlocked it, then kicked it. The door clattered as it swung open. Danny entered.

There were a couple of tables. Chairs scattered around, some on their sides as if there had been a fight in here. White boards on the wall. The blackout linings on the windows were fixed with layers of brown tape.

And there was Bethany White.

She was huddled in a corner, clutching her knees. There was a table between them, but it didn’t block his view. Her blonde hair was matted and dirty. There were mascara streaks on her cheeks that partially covered the golden freckles underneath. Her eyes were red. She was breathing heavily. And she was staring at him.

The Bethany that Danny knew had always shown the world a smart, confident face. This pale creature, her face bleached both by the overhead light and her own distress, was wretched. Her shoulders shook. Her left eye twitched. There was an unpleasant smell in the Portakabin. Danny was pretty sure it came from her. There was a smear of blood on her cheek and Danny remembered what the guy outside had said about the blade. He looked around the room, searching for anything that might present itself as an incidental weapon. There was nothing, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t located any dangerous items before his arrival.

‘Stand up,’ he said.

She stared at him without moving.

‘You heard me, I said—’

‘Yeah, I heard you,’ she rasped. Her voice was hoarse, but that didn’t hide her faint West Country burr.

They locked gazes. Bethany pushed herself to her feet, her back sliding up against the wall. She was wearing what Danny supposed were the clothes she had on when she was brought in. Tatty jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. The sweatshirt was streaked with blood. So were her hands. They were clawed, as though she was ready to scratch someone’s eyes out. ‘I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again,’ she said.

‘Makes two of us. I hear you’ve been getting handy with a razor blade.’

She managed to make an insouciant shrug. ‘He got too close.’ A smile crossed her lips and, despite her feral appearance, Danny saw a hint of her dazzling good looks. ‘I seem to remember you trying to get quite close too, Danny. What is it? Have you gone off me?’ He saw her clawed fingers relax.

‘I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here,’ Danny replied.

‘Did I say that?’ said Bethany. She moved a strand of matted hair from her face. ‘They took my son,’ she said.

‘I know. He’s safe.’

‘You want to know what I’m going to do when I find the people who took him?’

‘You’ll never find them,’ he said.

‘You want to bet?’

‘You’re too smart, Bethany. You know what they’ll do to you if you start going after people again. You won’t give them any option, and Danny won’t have his mother.’

‘He doesn’t have his mother now.’

‘But he will do. If you do what you’re told, he will do. You have my word on that.’

She laughed scornfully. ‘Your word? What’s that worth?’

Danny stared her down. ‘Something,’ he said. ‘Your boy stopped you from killing me, remember? Maybe I owe him one.’

Bethany watched him uncertainly. She clearly didn’t know if she believed him. But Danny was telling the truth. No matter what he thought of Bethany, he liked her kid. He tried not to think too hard about his instruction to make him an orphan. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I don’t have any great love for the spooks. They’ve lied to me more times than I can count, and I don’t like the way they’ve played this. I’ve got a kid too. I get it. I want yours to go back home. No matter what I think of you.’

‘What a pretty speech.’ She slow-clapped sarcastically and gazed around. ‘So do we get to leave this room? Those two boys outside looked like they might soil themselves.’

‘This room is secure,’ said Danny. ‘I can brief you here. We’re heading to Jordan. Tonight.’

She was obviously trying to hide it, but a flicker of interest crossed Bethany’s face. You can take the girl out of MI6 , Danny thought to himself. ‘I haven’t agreed to anything yet,’ she said. And then, unable to withhold her curiosity. ‘Why would we go to Jordan?’

‘We have a target. An American five-star general. His name’s Frank O’Brien. He’s been a bad boy.’

‘Show me a soldier who hasn’t been,’ Bethany said.

‘No one else has been bad like this.’ An image of the smoke-filled wasteland outside the Syrian prison flashed in his mind. ‘He’s passing sensitive military information to the Russians. Including information about British troop movements. Thanks to him, my team was massacred. Now he gets paid back.’