Retaliation Read online

  Under the cover of darkness, Julian crept down the street, stopping at the gate in front of Flynn’s compound. The wrought iron fence encompassed the entire property. Each metal piece culminated in a razor-sharp spike. Jumping the fence wouldn’t be easy. Hell, nothing about this bloody mission was easy.

  Carefully, Mercer made his way up the fence, using only his torso to roll over the spiky prongs. The Flak protected him from being impaled, and he silently dropped to the ground below. The compound had several spotlights positioned on the corners, ensuring no one could sneak up to the house. Shooting out the lights was always an option, but broken glass would attract attention. And Flynn would know the compound had been compromised. As a rule, the less Flynn knew, the better, and the safer Shepherd would be, assuming the agent hadn’t been turned or killed.

  Mercer activated the jammer and waited near the fence. Flynn had a wireless security system, preventing anyone from approaching the house without being caught by the security cameras or sensor grid. Within moments, the comm buzzed and went dead. All wireless signals were blocked. Julian was on his own.

  Doing his best to stay in the shadows and avoid the roaming eyes of the patrol, Mercer moved across the property and went straight to the side of the house. The meter pressed against the brick, and Mercer made quick work to disable the electricity. He barely heard the sharp pop before the lights flickered and went out. Bloody good, Mercer thought. He crept along the house. The rain no longer an annoyance but instead an ally in cloaking his approach.

  Mercer waited at the side of the rear door. Now that they were in the literal dark, Flynn’s interior guards might come outside to check the perimeter. According to the intel, the sharpshooter on the roof was only present when Flynn was conducting business at home, but the faction leader didn’t have any plans in the works. At least none to which MI5 was privy. Still, the possibility remained in the back of Mercer’s mind, and he glanced warily skyward.

  When no one emerged, Mercer tested the rear door, finding it locked. Julian blew out a slow breath and reached for his tension tools. He teased the pins and felt the lock release fifteen seconds later. Palming his gun, he turned the knob. The rear door opened into the back of the living room. No one was inside.

  In the pitch black, he listened for footfalls or voices but didn’t hear anything. Could the place be empty? He lowered the night vision goggles and flipped them on, but the jammer kept them from functioning properly. Prepared for that possibility, he had memorized the blueprints. He didn’t need to see to navigate. If Shepherd was inside, Mercer would find him.

  Unwilling to waste any time, Mercer moved stealthily through the dark house, relying on memory and sound rather than sight. MI5 provided surveillance photos of the exterior and a few glimpses inside the rooms that could be seen from the outside, but Julian depended mostly on the research his team had done, the blueprints they’d examined, the work orders that had been filed, and Shepherd’s reports. After completing his search of the main level, Mercer moved to the staircase.

  Voices stopped him in his tracks. The spoken words were nearly indecipherable with their thick Irish brogues. Going upstairs was currently out of the question. Mercer stepped back, ducking beneath the steps, just as a beam of light swept the landing above. He waited, but no one came down the stairs to investigate. If anything, it sounded like the two men were arguing.

  Without waiting to see who would win, Mercer followed his mind’s eye to what should have been a descending staircase leading to the basement. The door was locked. It was the only locked door he’d come across. Something important must be in the basement. Could this be where Flynn was keeping Shepherd?

  Since pained screams weren’t coming from above, Mercer assumed Owen Shepherd wasn’t being held and tortured upstairs. Perhaps downstairs. Unless he was dead. Or turned. Or … Julian exhaled slowly. He didn’t have time to contemplate the possibilities, even though the voice in his head coming up with these infernal thoughts sounded a hell of a lot like Bastian. Focus, Jules, again his second-in-command’s voice resonated inside his skull.

  Light beams bounced down the steps, and Mercer felt his way through the house, unable to see much given the mask and the dark, but he circled around the guards and made his way back to the locked door. He approached cautiously, pressing his ear against the door to listen for sounds coming from within. However, he wasn’t convinced the thick door wasn’t soundproofed. If it was, he had no way of knowing what awaited him on the other side.

  He set to work, feeling his way to unlocking the door using nothing but touch and muscle memory. The tension tools made the occasional metallic scrape as he manipulated them in the lock. This was taking too long. The exterior door had been child’s play compared to this. “Come on,” Mercer whispered.

  One of the voices grew louder, and heavy footsteps approached from above. The intel was wrong. There were at least three guards inside. Maybe more.

  The top step creaked. Heavy boots descended the staircase. Mercer continued to work on the lock, forcing his breath to slow to keep his heart rate steady and calm. The final pin clicked just as the man rounded the corner. Fortunately, he didn’t carry a torch.

  In the dark, Mercer discerned his location by sound alone. As silently as possible, he opened the door and ducked inside. He hoped once the door closed, the lock would click back into place.

  “Wha—”

  Mercer heard the beginning of the question before the heavy wood shut out the sound. But from the vibrations in the floor, Flynn’s guard was just outside the door. He must have heard the door or seen something in the dark.

  Mercer drew his silenced pistol and moved down a few steps. This wasn’t supposed to be messy. Flynn wasn’t supposed to know anyone had been inside, but as the door swung open, Mercer knew that objective was no longer possible.

  Three

  Mercer held his position. He was a meter and a half from the door. The staircase was narrow. Too narrow. Even with the suppressor, the gun would boom in the enclosed space. It would attract attention, and he couldn’t risk it. He didn’t want to alert the other men who were currently searching the house for an explanation to the power outage and glitchy security system. The darkness worked in Mercer’s favor, and the high-tech jammer made night vision an impossibility. The guards were as blind as Julian.

  Flynn’s guard remained at the top of the steps, at least that’s what was indicated by the lack of additional footfalls. Mercer saw the slightest bit of light at the far edge of the room. Obviously, the guard in front of him didn’t have a torch, but the other one did. And he was approaching fast.

  “Oi,” the man with the torch called, and the guard turned, his motion caught in silhouette, “what are you doing there? Colin doesn’t want us venturing down into the basement without permission.”

  “I thought I heard something.”

  “Rubbish. Get your arse outside and check the power. The wires probably got wet again with all this damned rain. It happens every bloody time we have a storm.”

  Mercer used the distraction to edge silently backward down the steps. The third step creaked, and he froze, keeping his weight evenly distributed for fear that the step might creak a second time.

  “There,” the first guard said. “Didn’t you hear that?”

  The other one scoffed. “It’s an old house. They do that. Now get to it.” The light grew brighter, but the door slammed shut before Mercer became visible.

  Hurriedly, Julian descended the staircase before the men changed their minds and decided to investigate the noise. Mercer couldn’t risk navigating the unfamiliar room in the pitch black, so he remained stationary while he waited for the danger to pass. What the hell was Flynn hiding that he didn’t want his men to see? Something secret was being kept here. Or someone.

  Mercer crouched at the bottom of the steps and waited. He listened while counting the seconds ticking by. He didn’t have time for this. He placed a hand against the wall, feeling for vibrations. They grew
weaker as the men upstairs moved away from the staircase and into another room.

  Letting out a breath, Mercer reached for the torch hooked to his belt and flipped the switch. The beam of light bounced off the pale tile floor. And Mercer swept the room. No one made a sound. Julian was alone.

  Julian moved through the basement. Wooden crates lined the walls. Mercer cracked one of them open and peered inside. Russian artillery – assault rifles and grenades. He tried another one, finding more of the same. Another crate contained dozens of MAC-10s. Flynn was preparing for war. It would be a bloodbath.

  Mercer stared at the wooden crates, quickly calculating the sheer amount of firepower. Flynn had amassed enough firearms to outfit half of Belfast. And MI5 had no idea. Rebellion. Guerilla warfare. Arms dealing. Mercer wasn’t sure what Flynn’s plan was, but it wasn’t good.

  Abandoning the crates, Mercer examined the items laid out on the metal tables in the center of the room — wires, batteries, rat poison, and glass canisters filled with nails. All the makings for a bomb. From the looks of things, several bombs. Did all terrorists read the same bloody playbook?

  A scrap of crumpled paper sat at the edge of the table, and Mercer picked it up. The top of the paper had a gold foil design, which seemed out of place in the dingy basement. The paper listed a number of items along with quantities. Mercer folded it and tucked it into one of his pockets.

  No wonder Flynn didn’t want anyone down here. He didn’t want to risk tipping anyone off to his plans. Flynn must have realized there was a spy in his midst. After all, this was Flynn’s compound. The only men here were the men the faction leader trusted with his life. Maybe Shepherd hadn’t been discovered or turned, but Flynn suspected someone close to him was a traitor. Did MI5 have a leak?

  Julian had to find Shepherd. The agent could provide all the necessary answers. Unfortunately, time was running out.

  The basement didn’t have any windows, and based on the blueprints, only one way in or out. So what was behind the door in the far corner of the room?

  Mercer paused briefly, listening for sounds coming from within. Once he was convinced it was safe, he opened the door. The room was empty except for rolls of plastic sheeting. No skeletons. No bodies. No torture chamber. And no clue as to what Flynn intended to do with the weapons and bomb materials.

  Mercer closed the door and moved back to the staircase. He had orders to report his findings to the powers that be. This was MI5’s op. He was just a tool in their arsenal, but Mercer couldn’t walk away now. He didn’t trust the Security Service to intervene in time to stop a tragedy. After everything he’d just been through, Mercer didn’t trust anyone outside his immediate team. And that wasn’t about to change with potentially hundreds or even thousands of lives at stake. Flynn was planning a massive attack. That’s the only conclusion Mercer could come to after examining the items on the table.

  Owen Shepherd would have answers, but as of yet, there was no sign of the undercover MI5 agent. So Mercer would improvise. Being alone behind enemy lines meant only one life was at risk. His own. And Mercer found that acceptable.

  Based on the long-range surveillance photos and blueprints, Julian knew it was unlikely Shepherd could be anywhere else in the house, assuming, of course, he was still alive. Perhaps Hans and Donovan were having better luck. After all, this was just one of many compounds Colin Flynn used for his operations. The rest were secret locations. Only rumors existed. Shepherd never reported anything official, and MI5 hadn’t bothered to share their speculation with the private security team. That’s why Mercer had blown up Flynn’s car. The bomb was meant to force the faction leader to seek refuge at a secondary location. Shepherd might be there. And if not, they would keep looking. It’s not like they had any other choice.

  But right now, Mercer needed to get upstairs. Flynn must have a computer. His office was on the top floor. Surely, Flynn had made arrangements or plans for the stockpiled weapons. He might even have bomb schematics or possible targets listed. Maybe even buyers, if he was dealing in arms. Mercer had to find them. He needed the intel. He had to stop this, whatever this was.

  He crept up the steps, halting just outside the door. He couldn’t hear anything through the thick walls and heavy door, so again, he felt for vibrations. Nothing. As silently as possible, he eased the door open and slipped into the abyss.

  In the dark, he couldn’t make out forms or shapes, so he relied on his other senses. The smell of cologne and smoke tipped him to a nearby guard, and he pressed against the wall. Peering around the corner, he saw the faint red glow from the burning cigarette. The beam from the guard’s torch created a perfect cone-shape on the floor, but from the unwavering light and burning ember, the guard had no intention of going anywhere. Mercer figured the man was on a break.

  Julian held his breath and darted across the doorway. He didn’t stop again until he located the staircase. He went up the steps, hearing his own thudding footfalls. Even with felt-soled boots, there was no way to completely diminish the sound on the hardwood steps.

  Mercer emerged on the upper level, listening and inhaling. Nearly positive he was alone, he flipped on the torch and moved to the right. The upper floor branched in two directions. He entered the master suite, just as the lights came on.

  Seamlessly, he tucked the torch away. It wasn’t time to panic. He had at least ninety seconds until the guards returned from outside and came back upstairs. Plenty of time. He forced his breathing to slow and glanced around. He had to prioritize.

  A desk and office chair sat neatly in the corner. Bingo. Mercer ran his hand along the desk, finding a slight depression. He pushed down, and the monitor released, slowly lifting out of the desk. He slid out a hidden drawer, revealing a keyboard.

  Where was the bloody power button? After five seconds of searching, Julian found it and turned on the computer. He waited, his eyes flicking to the doorway and back again. Thanks to the jammer, the security system remained inactive, as did the wi-fi and internet. He wouldn’t be able to get any outside help to locate the files or transmit them remotely from the computer without disabling the jammer and being caught on the security feed.

  No matter. Mercer removed a USB drive from one of his many pockets and plugged it into the machine. He didn’t have time to find the proper intel, so he’d have to copy all of it or as much as he could get in the next forty-five seconds.

  While the USB blinked orange, Mercer studied the room. A map of Ireland was pinned to the wall, and he examined the stray markings. As far as Mercer could tell, they didn’t mean anything.

  The sound of voices from below alerted him that the guards were on their way back, so he checked the rest of the room. There had to be another way out. He just couldn’t find one that didn’t involve breaking a window and jumping. He should have prepared for more contingencies.

  Voices were just outside the room, and Julian unplugged the USB, hoping the files didn’t corrupt in his haste. He set the computer to shut down and crouched behind the desk. Worst case scenario, he could take out all of Flynn’s guards. If he had to shoot one, he might as well shoot them all. At least then, he’d have the time to complete his search, but it would be best to avoid casualties for now. If Flynn knew someone was here, he might move up the timetable on his strike or he’d hurry to sell off the weapons. Without knowing the plan or Shepherd’s whereabouts, it wasn’t a risk worth taking.

  Bloody hell, Mercer thought, tucking the gun away. Any deaths would have to look like an accident or the result of a duplicitous traitor. And since Flynn didn’t want his men going in the basement, he must already be suspicious. Filing that thought away, Mercer focused on his current issue – finding an escape route.

  The voices quieted, and one of the men entered the master suite. Mercer held his breath. The guard glanced inside, muttering to himself. Julian waited, hoping the guard would resume his normal patrols. Instead, the man strode into the room. He moved past Mercer, mumbling curses.

  Is he bloody
daft? Mercer thought, but he didn’t dare move. The guard had no reason to suspect the compound had been breached. Julian had made sure to make it look like a wire had come loose when he sabotaged the power. So why was the man in here? What was he looking for?

  Mercer didn’t wait to see what the man planned to do inside the room. As soon as the guard was far enough from the desk, Mercer slid around the side and darted out the door as silently as possible. The blackout gear would stick out like a sore thumb now that the interior lights were active again.

  Mercer moved to the stairs, freezing in place when he spotted another guard near the bottom. He continued across the upper level, moving to the left of the staircase. He had to get out. At least two guards were already patrolling this floor, and from the sounds of it, a third was on his way.

  The roof. There had to be access. How else would Flynn be able to position a sharpshooter up there? It’d be impractical to make a man climb a ladder up and down from the exterior. Plus, this compound was practically a miniature castle. Ireland was famous for its castles, just like most of the United Kingdom, and the compound’s architecture mimicked the design perfectly. There had to be an interior staircase that led to the roof, but none of the research indicated one.

  Mercer heard faint whistling and smelled rain. He followed the sound, hoping it was the wind and not another of Flynn’s guards. At the end of the corridor, he entered a room with a balcony. The French doors rattled against the breeze, and Mercer could see a puddle on the floor. Someone had recently gone through the doors.

  “Hey,” a voice bellowed from behind.

  Mercer didn’t bother to turn. Instead, he moved at a steady pace. Luckily, he made it outside before the interior lights turned on. In the dark, the guard behind him didn’t have enough time to determine what he was seeing, but he knew someone had just stepped onto the balcony, and he had every intention of finding out why.