Retaliation Page 3

Four

  Finding a ladder against the wall, Mercer grabbed a rung and swung his legs over the railing as he started to climb. The balcony doors opened beneath him, and Mercer hauled himself onto the roof’s small rectangular platform.

  A guard stood on the roof, casting nothing more than a shadow in the dark. The guard faced away from Julian as he watched over the property. Mercer swallowed, realizing he was caught. With one guard on the roof and one on the balcony below, there was no escape.

  “Brody,” the voice below hollered over the sound of the storm, “the fuck you doing?”

  “Eh?” Brody turned and snickered. “Really, mate, you trying to scare me?”

  Mercer didn’t move, and when the voice below sounded again, Brody realized his mistake. The guard lunged forward. He was built like a rugby player and barreled into Mercer with the force of a bullet train.

  Julian’s back collided with the waist-high wall. Brody’s right shoulder pinned Mercer to the brick while he pummeled Mercer with left jabs. Julian forced the guard off him with an unexpected uppercut that knocked Brody back only centimeters.

  Not giving the guard time to alert his colleagues, Mercer slid forward, his right hip sinking into the indention at Brody’s pelvis. Brody reacted by trying to lock Mercer in a chokehold, but the former SAS operative expected it. Bracing one hand on Brody’s elbow and the other around his shoulder, Mercer threw himself forward, pushing his hips back and sending the guard sailing over the ledge.

  A sick, metallic thunk echoed almost at the same moment the guard below let out a surprised gasp. Mercer crouched beneath the waist-high ledge, afraid of being spotted and unsure if more guards were on the way. A string of curses and the static of a radio sounded beneath him, but the radio didn’t work on account of the jammer.

  “Brody. Shit.” The French doors opened and shut with a clang and a clatter.

  Move. Get out now. Mercer crawled to the other side of the roof and peered down. Everyone was gathering at the front to help their fallen comrade. Mercer climbed onto the ledge. Without a ladder, a jump from this height would result in a broken leg at the very least.

  He eyed the tree, a large oak with thick branches that sat a few meters away. In the dark, he couldn’t make out much more than the general shape. Throwing caution to the wind, he sprung from his perch, arms outstretched, hands blindly searching for purchase. He felt the scratch of tree limbs against his gloves and mask, and then the impact of a branch against his chest. He tried to grab on, but the limb wasn’t strong enough to support his weight. With a thunderous crack, it broke, and Mercer toppled the rest of the way to the ground. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs, and he gasped, desperate for air.

  Unable to catch his breath, he silently choked in the growing storm. The side door opened, and two men raced out. They went around the front, oblivious to Julian’s presence only meters away. Mercer heard only a few of their words. “Tosser tumbled off the roof. Broke his ruddy neck on the rail.”

  When the door closed, Mercer climbed to his feet, turned, and ran for the fence. By the time he went up and over, black bubbles clouded his vision. He ran as fast and as far as he could. On the brink of collapse, he ripped the mask off his face, fell to the ground, turned on his side, and gasped. His lungs weren’t prepared for a hit like that.

  As soon as he was able to breathe again, Mercer picked himself off the ground and returned to his car. Turning off the jammer, he drove to Palace Barracks. His team would rendezvous at the Security Service. They had a lot to discuss.

  * * *

  “Jules?” Bastian Clark, Mercer’s second-in-command, scrutinized the commander’s appearance and slightly hunched form. “You all right?”

  Mercer ignored the worried look. “Hans?”

  Bastian swiveled his chair around to face the computer monitor. The Security Service provided him an office to use for the duration of the mission. Normally, the team hid away in a safe house, but this wasn’t their op. They were handed mission parameters and a plan in an eerily similar fashion to their old military days. MI5 wanted complete oversight, and at the present, the former SAS were complying. “He sent coordinates for Flynn’s current location. He’s scouting it now. So far, no sign of Shepherd.”

  Dropping onto the couch, Mercer put his arms over his head and rested the backs of his hands on his forehead. A strange feeling of dread, possibly guilt, had wormed its way through him. He found the sensation rather disagreeable. Hans shouldn’t be in the field alone. He wasn’t ready. He was still recovering. But Bastian had to stay behind to coordinate, and Donovan remained in London to track Lara’s movements. They didn’t have much of a choice.

  “How did it go? Did you find anything?” Bas asked.

  “Flynn’s bodyguard, Brody, tell me about him.”

  Bastian clicked a few keys. “Brody Devlin hooked up with Flynn six years ago, suspected of bombing a church, resulting in four fatalities.” Bastian scanned further down. “He’s not a good guy. Best to watch yourself around him.” Bastian glanced in Mercer’s direction. “I take it from your question it might be too late for that warning.”

  “Flynn had him positioned on the roof.”

  Bastian kicked off the floor, rolling his chair beside the couch. “You’re covered in twigs.” He plucked one off Mercer’s chest. “And you’re drenched. You’re getting my couch cushions soppy.”

  Mercer brushed Bas’s hand away, sitting up when a cough rattled through his chest.

  “You need to change out of those wet clothes before you catch your death.”

  “You sound like my mum,” Mercer retorted.

  “Piss off. I’m not picking up the slack when you’re stuck in bed with pneumonia.”

  “Is Partridge in?” Mercer coughed, wincing as pain burned through his chest. When he pulled his hand away, he saw specks of blood. Wiping it on his trousers, he climbed off the couch. “I need to speak to him.”

  “He should be here soon.”

  Mercer grunted. “Colin Flynn is stockpiling weapons.” He tossed the USB to Bastian, along with the crumpled list. “See if there’s any mention of it on there. And use your computer. We don’t need extra eyes monitoring our progress.”

  Bastian gave Mercer a quizzical look but knew better than to question the commander. Removing his laptop from a bag at his feet, he turned it on and plugged in the drive. “Did you copy Flynn’s whole hard drive?”

  “As much as I could get.” Mercer lingered in the doorway. “I’m going to get cleaned up. Let me know the moment Hans returns. Hopefully, he’ll arrive before Partridge.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. And for the record, I’m not your secretary.”

  Mercer went down the corridor to the showers. Peeling off his wet clothing, he examined the fresh bruises among the still healing scars. It’d be a long road to recovery. He coughed again, an all too familiar stabbing in his lungs. It had only been a few weeks since the surgery. Clearly, this was a side effect from the pummeling he’d taken at Brody’s hand and the impact from his less than agile drop from the roof.

  It was of no concern. He’d be fine. He had to be field ready. Lives depended on him. His team depended on him. Honestly, if it hadn’t been for them, he’d probably still be locked in his bedroom or dead on his kitchen floor, a fate he wouldn’t have minded.

  At one time, Mercer had a mission, an honorable one. But that was before his world came crashing down. When his wife was murdered, he lost everything. It took years, but he finally exacted revenge, but it wasn’t enough. Ending the killer’s life didn’t take away Julian’s pain. Instead, it left him hollow and missing the lower portion of his left lung.

  The hot water eased Mercer’s aching body but did little for his mind. Stupidly, he thought once he found Michelle’s killer and avenged her death, he’d find peace, but he didn’t. Instead of living with the constant nightmares of her last few moments, he was now haunted by memories of the past, namely her insistence that he make the world safe. She was the reas
on he was here. He couldn’t save her, but he had to try to save other innocent lives. He and his team were K&R specialists for a reason. And right now, their raison d’être was to locate a missing agent and stop a terrorist plot.

  “Jules?” Bastian banged against the door. “Mr. Partridge is waiting.”

  Mercer turned off the water and grabbed a towel. After dressing, he stepped out of the bathroom. “Did you find anything on the drive?”

  “I’m still working on cracking the decryption. The majority of the files are password protected. Flynn didn’t want anyone to see his plans.”

  “Keep me apprised. The intel goes through me first.”

  “What’s going on?” Bastian asked.

  Mercer shook his head. He had no basis for his paranoid thoughts, but something told Julian not to trust the Security Service. “You’ll find out at the briefing.” He coughed again, pressing the towel against his mouth.

  Bastian spotted the telltale red on the white cotton and quirked an eyebrow. “How long’s that been going on?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “The bloody hell it is. Your lung was resected a month ago. It shouldn’t be doing that.”

  “It just started. It’ll be fine.” Ignoring Bastian’s inevitable protest, Mercer continued on his path to Liam Partridge’s office. It was time the Security Service put their cards on the table concerning Agent Owen Shepherd’s disappearance and the real objective of his undercover assignment.

  Five

  “We lost contact.”

  “When?” Mercer asked.

  Liam Partridge slid the folder across the desk. “Agent Shepherd missed his last two check-ins. He’s been dark for nearly a month.”

  “We were told ten days,” Mercer said.

  “That was four days ago. It’s not uncommon for Shepherd to miss a check-in, so the first time it happened, we thought it was nothing. Flynn runs a tight ship. Sometimes, it’s hard for Owen to get away. But when he missed the second check-in and didn’t leave anything at any of the dead drops, we knew something was wrong.”

  “Has Flynn’s behavior been unusual?” Bastian Clarke asked.

  “Flynn’s been exhibiting signs of paranoia. He’s taking extra precautions when he travels. He’s doubled his number of bodyguards.”

  “You should have told us that before I ventured into his house,” Mercer said. “That might have been useful.”

  “I take it you met additional resistance. Were there any problems you couldn’t handle?”

  Mercer’s cold hatred spoke volumes, and Bastian interceded before Julian lashed out violently against the operation runner. “Has Flynn ever been this cautious before?”

  “Occasionally, but it’s not typical behavior. Flynn’s usually more relaxed. Something has him on edge. From the chatter we’ve heard and things Shepherd alluded to, we think the faction is planning something big. Perhaps that’s the reason for Flynn’s odd behavior.”

  Mercer studied the classified folder. “Any idea what it might be?”

  “Probably an attack of some sort.”

  “You don’t seem particularly worried.” Mercer put the folder down. “Shouldn’t you be?”

  “We review credible threats every day, and we stop ninety-nine percent of them. There’s no reason I should worry.”

  “You’re an arse,” Mercer retorted.

  “What Julian means to say is you’re wrong,” Bastian said, hoping a bit of diplomacy might ease some of the tension. “Your intel suggests an imminent threat, and one of your people has gone missing. Those factors add up to trouble, mate.”

  “That’s why we hired you. To take care of any problems you encounter.” Partridge stared right at Julian, as if Bastian weren’t even in the room.

  “Why did you immediately assume Shepherd was compromised?” Mercer asked.

  “He vanished. We haven’t discovered his body or received any type of demand or threat. We don’t know what else to think.” Partridge looked uneasy. “During our last communication, Shepherd was agitated, erratic. He was upset. I don’t know what caused it, but he was acting like Flynn. It was unnerving and uncharacteristic.”

  “We’ll need additional details regarding Shepherd’s mission parameters. Your case notes, observations, the works,” Mercer said. Liam Partridge was the operation runner and Shepherd’s handler. If anyone knew what was going on, it’d be him.

  Partridge looked even more uncomfortable. “You have the reports. You’ve already read them. Any other details are classified. You’ll need clearance.”

  Mercer eyed him incredulously. “We have it. And if we don’t, you better make sure we get it.”

  Partridge was used to giving orders, not taking them. “I’ll make sure that you have everything you need.”

  “Tell us about Shepherd’s family,” Bastian said. “Has he tried to make contact with anyone outside the Security Service? His sister, Lara, is his emergency contact. Surely, you must have details on where she might be.”

  “I don’t know much about his sister. Owen never spoke of her to me. Everything I have is centered around his ex-wife, Grace, and their son, Harry. They were his life. He had photos of them in his office. I never imagined they’d get divorced, but shit happens in this life.”

  “When’s the last time they spoke?” Mercer asked, sensing a pattern. “Was it before he went undercover?”

  “They split several months before that. Owen never told me exactly what happened, but he said it was the strain of the job. Maybe she cheated or just grew tired of the long hours and extended assignments. The last time they spoke was nearly a year ago.”

  “Anyone else in his life?” Bastian asked.

  “Like a girlfriend?” Partridge asked.

  “Like anyone,” Mercer said.

  “Owen’s parents are dead. According to our records, Lara’s all he has left. When he disappeared, we tried to locate her. But she wasn’t at the address we have on file. We pinged her phone, but it’s off. Our intel might be outdated.”

  “Or she disappeared too.” Mercer’s eyebrows lifted. “She should have been moved into protective custody the moment you lost contact with Shepherd. What about his wife and son? Have you taken measures to keep them safe? Or have they vanished as well?”

  “Grace and Harry are being guarded.” Partridge swallowed. “No one can get to them. They are safe.”

  “Too bad you can’t say the same thing about Owen’s sister,” Mercer quipped.

  “I’m not a fortune teller. I can’t see the future, Mr. Mercer. By the time we realized something peculiar was afoot, Lara was already gone. She might have went missing before Owen did, but we have no way of knowing. As I said, it’s possible she’s perfectly fine and we have an old address and phone number on file.”

  Bastian and Mercer exchanged a look. “We’ll need your files and any details you have on Shepherd’s family and the name and details of his undercover identity,” Bastian insisted. “Actually, all of his known aliases.”

  “I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Partridge said.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Mercer eyed him. “If you expect us to locate your missing agent, you’ll give us what we want. He distanced himself from his wife for a reason.”

  “Ex-wife,” Partridge corrected.

  “I don’t bloody care about labels. They have a child. Shepherd will take measures to protect the boy.”

  “Of course.” Partridge pressed the intercom button and requested the additional details be brought to his office. “If Shepherd’s been turned, I expect you’ll take care of it.”

  Mercer remained impassive, but Bastian’s expression soured. “We don’t do that,” Bastian insisted.

  “Need I remind you of the terms of our arrangement, Julian?” Partridge asked.

  “You need not.” Julian stifled another cough and rubbed his chest. The burning sensation was getting worse. “I’ll do whatever is necessary.”

  “Excellent. So what did you find in Flynn’s compoun
d?” Partridge asked. “It must have been something big for you to request Owen’s reports and files.”

  Mercer strode to the window and stared out. Partridge put him on edge. Maybe it was the operation runner’s cavalier attitude toward a missing agent or his seeming indifference to Flynn’s capabilities. But something told Mercer he needed to get his team out of this building and away from Partridge as soon as possible. “We should have had every bit of intel from the beginning. Giving us nothing but mission parameters will not result in anything except more deaths. Should anything happen to my team, I will hold you responsible, Mr. Partridge.”

  “What did you find?” Partridge asked again. He smiled, a sick, amused look that might have merely been a muscle tic. “You wouldn’t be making thinly veiled threats if you weren’t afraid of what you found.”

  “There’s nothing thinly veiled about it,” Mercer mused.

  “Jules,” Bastian whispered, his voice a slight warning, “what happened inside?”

  “Brody Devlin’s dead. He fell off the roof. Broke his neck.” Mercer glanced at the Security Service handler. “At least another three men were patrolling the interior. I didn’t get a look at them.”

  “I’ll have Devlin removed from the watchlist.” Partridge made a note. “I take it Flynn will know someone was inside.”

  “Perhaps, but Flynn already knows someone’s on to him. I suspect he knew that before you even called us. But if he didn’t, he knows now. We turned his car into a fireball. He knows someone’s out to get him, and from what I’ve seen, he’s leery of his own people.”

  “What makes you say that?” Partridge asked.

  “He doesn’t want anyone in the basement, not even his personal guards.” Mercer studied Partridge, but he couldn’t get a read on the man. “Was Shepherd sowing seeds of distrust between the faction leader and his followers, or is something else brewing?”

  “You’ll have to check the official reports. I can’t recall.” Partridge narrowed his eyes. “Does Flynn have any reason to think his compound was breached tonight?”