The thirty minutes took an age, at least for Leia. The nervousness in the room heightened with each second that passed. The man and the woman were both on edge, agitated, practically climbing up the walls like they’d both had pure caffeine injected directly into their bloodstreams. There was relief, resentment, distrust, annoyance, perhaps even some happiness, all rolled into one. To Leia, it was like a pressure cooker of emotion and she knew there’d be an explosion sooner or later, she just didn’t know what that explosion would entail. Either for the captors or for her and her father.
‘Okay, it’s time,’ the man said, checking his watch.
‘They’re here?’ the woman replied, looking around her as though questioning his revelation. Leia certainly hadn’t heard a car or anything like that, and the few times either of these two had taken their vehicle out, the engine’s vibrations had only weakly reached up into this room.
‘They will be,’ the man said. ‘I’m not waiting around in this place another second. Let’s get them outside.’ He looked over at Leia. ‘Get the hood back on her.’
Leia looked over at her father who’d been strangely quiet through this. Why? She’d thought his words, his offer to these two, had broken through. That one would turn on the other and she’d soon be free. Had she got it all wrong? Was this the moment she’d be taken to her fate? Certain death, and probably a horrible one, if they were handed over to her father’s enemies.
The woman came over, sack in hand. She bent down toward Leia who cowered back into the corner. She quivered with fright as the sack was brought toward her.
‘I’m sorry,’ the woman whispered.
‘This is your last chance,’ Leia’s father said.
Leia flicked her gaze from the woman and to the man behind her.
He was reaching for his gun.
‘Look out!’ Leia screamed.
Why did she say that?
The woman burst up as she pulled the gun from her waistband. By the time she was facing the man, they both had their weapons trained. On each other.
‘I should have known,’ the woman said.
The gun trembled in her grip. The man shook his head in disgust.
‘What choice did you leave me?’ he said. ‘I knew you’d cave.’
‘Except I didn’t. You did. Remi’s not coming, is he?’
He shook his head again.
‘So what now?’
BANG. BANG.
Two shots. One from each gun. They both collapsed to the floor.
* * *
There was something satisfying about the chance of such a quick redemption, even if Devereaux remained wary. Was this really her opportunity for revenge, or was it merely a trap set by Kyri and Paulo?
No, she wouldn’t believe that. It was time to make amends.
Earlier in the evening it had been cold and frosty. Now snow was pouring from the sky in thick flakes. Devereaux had her hood up and kept her head down as she walked, but the snow still peppered her face and covered the front of her in glistening flakes from head to toe.
Her leg continued to throb with pain, but with adrenaline now surging in anticipation of what was to come, she was managing to block it out. She rounded a corner, out of the chilling breeze, and dusted herself down with her leather gloves. The cobbled alley she was in lay between two hulking brick buildings – inner-city factories built at some time during the Industrial Revolution. Relics now. Devereaux had no clue what purpose the buildings had originally served. She had little clue what purpose they now served. Well, except for the building beyond the plain-looking wooden door thirty yards down. Completely innocuous. Certainly no insignia to show a business was based here. Not even a number to show this was an entrance.
Devereaux carried on down toward it. She was unfamiliar with this part of the city. Relatively gentrified, from what she could gather, the area of once heavy industry was now fashionable with young professionals and the like, judging by the trendy cafés and shops, though the streets around here were quiet and unexciting at this time of night.
The alley was less than quiet; it was lifeless.
Except for Devereaux creeping along as the snow continued to fall down on her.
By the time she reached the door, she’d already spotted two cameras. One was hidden away underneath the stone sill of the window on the story above the door. Another had been close to the alley entrance, similarly well hidden. Though not hidden enough. She wondered if the occupants were already eyeballing their screens as they pondered Devereaux’s approach.
She reached out and pressed the buzzer. At least she expected it was a buzzer, though she could hear no sound at all from beyond the door.
She realized as she stared that the peephole in the door contained yet another camera lens. She could tell by the way the circle twisted – ever so slightly – to focus, and by the almost imperceptible mechanical whir that accompanied the movement. Or perhaps it was imperceptible, and her mind was just imagining the noise.
Either way, she kept her head down as she waited, so as to not have her face caught clearly in view.
‘Yes? Can I help you?’ came a crackly male voice through the intercom speaker.
His Danish was about as good as hers. Definitely not his first language. She decided to go straight to English.
‘I’m here for Diaz.’
A pause. ‘Who are you?’
‘Nadia Lange.’
‘We weren’t expecting you.’
She wondered if there was supposed to be some sort of secret exchange like she’d seen in movies.
The weather is nice at this time of year.
Yes, but not as nice as it is in Timbuktu.
‘Just let Penny know I’m here.’
Another pause. ‘Let me see your face.’
Devereaux lifted her head now. She stared into the peephole and couldn’t resist but break out into a smile.
Then she turned and walked away.
She moved slowly, in the opposite direction to which she’d arrived, just far enough so that she was out of view of the cameras by the door.
She pulled into the arched doorway of the building opposite and melted into the shadows.
What would their response be, she wondered? Clearly, they would know she wasn’t Lange. Would they simply sit tight now? Call for backup? Or would they send someone – more than one person – to check the street?
Devereaux’s eyes swept across the building’s fascia as she waited. In the gloomy alley, beyond the snow that was still falling, she could make out nothing behind the blackened windows. Were they actually blacked out or were there just no lights on up there?
She heard something. A rumble and click. The door across the other side of the alley being unlocked. She didn’t move from the spot as she watched the door swing open. A man stepped out, pistol in his double-handed grip, the barrel of the weapon pointing to the ground in front of him as he crouched low. A second man, identical pose, followed him out.
Devereaux waited. The first man, the one closest to her, was scanning around. His eyes fell upon the footprints in the snow. Devereaux’s footprints. Leading away from the building and right to…
She smiled. Then burst forward.
The knife was already in her hand as the man looked up in shock. She flung it through the air as he lifted the gun. Devereaux darted right a split second before he opened fire. The bullet whizzed through the air, missing her by a good few inches. A rushed shot. But his aim wasn’t helped by the fact that he was himself attempting to duck to avoid the flight of the knife.
He couldn’t avoid it, but he got lucky when the handle of the knife only smacked into his shoulder, and the weapon landed with a soft whoomph in the snow.
He didn’t get a chance to fire again. Devereaux was already on him. The other knife in her hand now. She bent down and thrust the knife up and the blade plunged deep into his neck, under his chin, heading upward to the back of his throat. There was so much power and venom and momentum in the blow that his whole body lifted from his crouched position. If she’d been even stronger he’d have been off his feet, dangling from the wedged knife like a sprat on the end of a fishhook.
The whole move had taken no more than a couple of seconds. Enough time for the second man to have figured out what was going on. He was turned in her direction. Aiming his gun, ready to pull the trigger. Except he had no clear target.
Devereaux ducked down, used the dead man’s body as a shield. She grabbed his wrist, twisted the gun around, and put her finger over his to pull the trigger.
One shot. That was all she needed. His companion had been so close to making a difference, but his indecision had cost him his life. The bullet splatted into his face, just below his left eye, and he crumpled to a heap on the ground.
Devereaux pulled the gun free from the impaled man’s grip then yanked out the knife and he slid into a heap on the ground next to his fallen friend.
She put the gun in her pocket, picked up her first knife, then rushed for the open door.
Stairs. She climbed them two at a time as she sheathed one of the knives and grabbed a grenade from her pocket. She rounded the corner. Saw the partially open door across the landing.
‘Shit,’ said the woman who was waiting there.
Not Diaz. The woman went to close the door but Devereaux was too quick. She flung the grenade. Perfect shot. Right through the diminishing gap. There was a startled yelp a second before the explosion erupted. Smoke and grit and debris filled the air but Devereaux continued forward, through the open doorway. She used her hearing now as much as her sight to feel her way through the dark and smoke-filled space.
Off to her left. Footsteps. She darted that way. Saw the man. She spun in an arc and swooshed the knife out. The blade sliced through his neck and he collapsed to the floor gargling his last breaths.
Another figure to her right. Devereaux didn’t even have time to look to see if it was a man or a woman. It didn’t matter. She spun again as a bullet whisked past her face. Closer this time, but not close enough. She thrust the knife out and it squelched as it slid through skin and flesh. She drove forward and slammed the figure up against a wall.
A man, as it turned out. She twisted the knife once. Pulled it out and thrust it into his belly again. The blade sank even further this time. A further twist and she let go and he collapsed, clutching his abdomen as if doing so would stop his guts from spilling onto the floor.
Shuffling behind her. Not someone coming for her. Someone trying to move quietly.
Devereaux turned. She looked at the crouched heap on the floor. Penny Diaz. The woman looked petrified. Her skin and clothes were streaked with blood and she had a piece of shrapnel several inches long wedged in her arm. No weapon in sight. Only a couple of yards from her was a cupboard that had been pulled from against the wall. In the wall was a metal sliding door, only four feet high. It was partially shut, with a gap of about a foot for it to be fully closed.
A panic room lay beyond, perhaps. Or an escape route. The woman had been so close to safety.
Had the grenade crippled the mechanism? Or was it just incredible bad luck?
Devereaux broke out into a smile as she looked down to her quarry.
‘Please,’ Diaz begged.
‘You made me look stupid,’ Devereaux said, the smile now gone.
‘Please,’ was all Diaz could muster once more as she cowered back further against the wall.
‘I don’t like to be made to look stupid,’ Devereaux said. ‘All of this.’ She waved the bloody knife around in the air. A few drops of red dropped to the floor as she did so. ‘All of this was because of you. They all died because of you.’
‘I’m… sorry.’
As if that mattered. Devereaux shook her head. ‘No. But you will be.’
She lunged forward, the blood-dripping knife held aloft.