Читать книгу The Finish Line - Cliff Ryder - Страница 13

Anthony Savage felt the weight of his surname pressing down on him as he led the remaining members of his team through the London streets, always making sure to keep them moving away from the cock-up that had occurred in Wyvil Road earlier that evening. Along the way, he barely resisted the overpowering urge to punch someone or something.

Who the fuck were those guys? They busted in like they owned the place and were there to kick everybody’s ass, no matter who you were. And that sniper? If Tommy hadn’t spotted him—and immediately become his primary target—they’d all be lying on that rooftop beside him. Our own surveillance didn’t spot dick. Where did they come from? And where the hell did Mags disappear to? She had to be inside when we came in—we saw her go in the door.

“Boss, we need to take a breather—his leg has started up again.” Behind him, the surviving two members of his team followed, Charlie’s face pale as he leaned on Liam, his free hand clamped on his thigh.

“Right, just let me procure transportation.” Anthony had already commandeered one car, driven them all several miles, then ditched it, not wanting to keep a stolen vehicle for any longer than necessary.

“Yeah, and try to make sure it’s a four-door this time, will ya? I thought we were gonna kill him getting in the last one,” Liam said.

“You just keep your goddamn eyes open.” Their team leader scanned the street, looking for an opportunity. He found it in a tan, five-year-old Volkswagon Eurovan with no alarm. Less than a minute later, they were cruising down the street toward their safehouse on the outskirts of the city.

Once they had pulled up to the curb of the small semidetached house on the south edge of Chelsea, Anthony dispatched Liam to get rid of the van, and helped his wounded teammate into the house.

“How you doin’?”

“I’ve been fuckin’ better, that’s for sure.” Charlie McCaplan groaned as he maneuvered himself across the step and into the tiny foyer. “I’ve been trying to figure out who the hell kicked us in the bollocks over there, ya know—keep my mind off the pain.”

Anthony helped him down the hallway to one of the small bedrooms. “Yeah? Come up with anything?”

“Fuck, no. They weren’t Brit intelligence—they would have announced themselves before bustin’ caps all over our asses. These guys were on the same mission we were—search and destroy. Lucky we came in when we did, or the whole mission would have been shot to hell even quicker. As it was, I expect we were lucky to come out of it with only the losses we did take. By rights, it could have been all of us.”

Anthony only partially suppressed his shudder at the thought—not at dying, but at the idea of not completing his mission. Since he’d started with the company four years earlier, he had gone out in the field at least a dozen times, and always had accomplished whatever had been asked of him. This was the first time that a mission he’d led had been a complete, unqualified failure, and that idea was already starting to gnaw on his innards. Anthony Savage hated failure, no matter what the reason for it, but he had bigger fish to fry instead of concentrating on what had gone wrong. There’d be time for mission evaluation later.

“Friction can be overcome through a variety of methods,” he muttered under his breath as he helped make Charlie comfortable and checked the hastily applied pressure bandage on his thigh.

“Eh…whazzat?”

“Nothing, mate. You just lie back and relax, and the extraction team’ll get you out of here and into a comfy private hospital bed quicker than you can blink. You need another hit?”

“Naw, I’ll be fine. You just requisition me a couple o’ pretty nurses while I take it easy, and everythin’ll be…just fine.”

“That’s my boy. Stay cool, and we’ll take care of you.” Anthony did care about the men under his command, and wanted to see them come out of each mission in one piece, and with no new holes, either. He strode out to the living room, taking out his cell phone. He went to the sofa and grabbed a large aluminum briefcase from the floor at its side and set it on the table. He hit speed dial, then concentrated on the case, flipping up its catches and opening it, revealing a small monitor, keypad and several switches and LED readouts. As the phone rang, he powered the unit up, waiting for it to run through its self-diagnostic.

“Yes?” The voice on the other end was male and otherwise toneless. Anthony had never met his handler; the company preferred it that way. He knew why—if they ever hung him out in the wind, they thought he’d never be able to find and kill the guy who had given the orders. Anthony knew they were wrong—anyone could be found—but he let them go on believing that. So far, so good, but he was aware that this could change when the right opportunity came up—or the wrong one, like this mission so far.

“This is Precision Team One. There’s been a problem,” Anthony said.

“Explain,” his handler said.

“Executed on target as planned, but encountered another team of spooks on-site. Completed tertiary and half of the secondary mission. However, one of the targets escaped.”

“How?”

“That has not been ascertained yet, sir.”

“And the primary objective?”

“Has not been obtained at this time.”

“Casualties?”

“Two down, one wounded but mobile. We were unable to extract the bodies.”

“Understood. Do you have a vector on the primary target?”

Anthony’s eyes flicked to the screen, which showed a bird’s-eye view of London. Underneath was a small action bar that was three-quarters full, indicating the long-range tracker was almost finished with its initial sweep of the area. “We’re working on it now.”

“I’m sending a BOLO general directive to all field agents in the area. If one of them gets to her first, then that’s that.”

“I understand.” More competition, is what it is. His handler was sending a Be On the Look Out alert to all agents in the city. If anyone else happened to spot her first and bring her in, then Anthony’s team would be out of luck—no hazardous-duty pay, and no overtime for the entire job. And the boys—those who were still alive—wouldn’t be too thrilled about that.

“And you know what to do,” his handler said.

“Yes, sir.” Complete the mission ASAP. “I would like to request replacements for my three members, positions two, four and five.”

“They’re being mobilized immediately, and will be at your position within the hour. Get that program, above all else.”

“Yes, sir.”

The connection was broken just as the scanner beeped, signaling that it had finished its search of the area. Anthony leaned forward, mouth curving up in a mirthless smile, and rubbed his broad, rough hands together in anticipation of sweet payback. “All right, sweetheart, where the fuck are you?”