to a chair across the broad, polished desk from him.
Darcey stayed on her feet. ‘Sir, I would appreciate an explanation as to why I was snatched away from an operation I’ve been working day and night on for three months, just at the point when—’
Applewood flashed a steely look at her. ‘Take a
Darcey shut her mouth and did as she was told. Applewood said nothing more for a few moments while he sifted papers on his desk. She could see the open file in front of him was hers. He scanned the text, his eye lingering on a section here and there with a slight flicker of an eyebrow. It was probably as impressed as he could look. Finally he shut the file, leaned back in his reclining swivel chair and gazed at her over the desk.
‘Darcey Kane. Age thirty-five. Joined the force as a constable in April 2000. Rapid promotion, then three years with Merseyside police Matrix rapid response team. From there, graduated to CO19 Specialist Firearms Command. Top of your division for speed and accuracy both on the range and the field. Showed exceptional leadership and decision-making qualities. Fluent in five languages. Proficient in all forms of combat. Extensive experience of hostage and raid situations, eighteen major arrests to your credit. Left the police service at thirty-four to take up present duties at SOCA. How’s your first year with us been?’
‘Excellent, sir.’ She felt like adding, ‘Until some arsehole decided to compromise my operation.’
Applewood’s stare was cold and penetrating, as if he could read her thoughts. ‘You’ve come a long way, Darcey. As you know, we monitor the performance of our agents very closely. Certain people believe you’re capable of a great deal more than your current position allows. They feel we might be wasting your talents.’
So now she had an inkling of what this was about. She fought back a smile. ‘Certain people, sir?’
Applewood raised his index finger at the ceiling, as though pointing to some imaginary floor above. ‘Let’s just say, the
Darcey’s mind was racing and she could barely sit still. In her mind she was turning cartwheels across the desk. But she controlled herself and remained completely impassive, with her hands folded neatly in her lap. ‘I think I’d like that very much, sir.’
‘Thought you would.’ Applewood kicked his chair back from the desk, pulled out a drawer and reached for another file, which he skimmed across the polished surface at her.
The front of the file was printed with the usual eyes-only heading in bold red capitals that went with a high- level clearance document.
‘Operation Jericho?’ she said.
‘Read it,’ Applewood replied.
Darcey flipped the file open. The first thing she saw was the face of the man whose photo was clipped to the top page. Good-looking guy, she thought as she instinctively memorised his likeness. Blond hair, not too short. Strong features. The blue eyes showed a depth of intelligence. And pain, too, somewhere in there. She scanned quickly down the accompanying text, soaking up information. In police evaluation tests she’d shown she could read a complex eighty-page document in under three minutes and retain every single detail. The police psychologists had called it eidetic memory. They’d also done their best to prove she was cheating, until she proved them otherwise.
She’d got faster since then.
It took her just a second or two to see that this guy was more than just a pretty face. The military resume that filled the page was enough to make her purse her lips. She read down the list, flipped the page, read more. Everything was heavily stamped with dire Ministry of Defence confidentiality warnings. There was enough detail of unofficial black ops missions to war zones the British army weren’t even supposed to have been involved in to cause some serious embarrassment within the highest echelons of government. It wasn’t the kind of information that a few decades of Official Secrets Act suppression could dilute enough to be allowed into the public domain. The data in this file would never be seen by anyone outside the corridors of power while anyone remotely connected to it was still living.
Darcey was extremely aware that in the last few short moments she’d taken a bigger leap up the security clearance ladder than in eleven long years of her career to date.
The gods, indeed. She’d been chosen. All her hard work had finally paid off and now the doors were opening for her. The feeling was giddying, and her heart began to thump.
‘Ben Hope,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Full name Benedict. Age thirty-nine, retired from 22 SAS, rank of major, now resident in France, occupation specialised security consultant.’
‘Specialised security consultant,’ Applewood said. ‘Covers a lot of ground, doesn’t it?’ When he grinned he looked like an alligator. ‘I want you to familiarise yourself with this man. He’s your next target. I
Darcey narrowed her eyes. There was just one small piece of information missing. ‘Why do we want him?’
‘You’ll be fully briefed in the air.’
What might Hope have done to attract this kind of attention, Darcey thought. Her mind sprinted through the possibilities. Terrorism, arms dealing, drugs. Another ex-hero gone rotten. It didn’t really matter how, or why. She was locked on her target. From this moment until the moment he was hers, he was all she’d care about.
‘Where am I going?’ she asked.
‘Rome. Naturally you’ll have full command of the operation, answerable only to me. How fast can you be ready?’
‘I’m ready now,’ Darcey said.
‘Tired?’
‘Not on your life, sir.’
‘Then go and get your man, Commander,’ Applewood said. ‘There’s a car waiting for you downstairs. Your plane leaves in exactly twenty-four minutes.’
Ben was wandering slowly, alone, down a tunnel that went on forever, listening to the faraway echo of his own footsteps. The walls, floor and ceiling of the tunnel were white and bathed in a bright glow that came from everywhere and nowhere. As he walked on and on, he became aware of the strange works of art suspended either side of him. Their colours seemed to jump out at him, swirling, moving, though he couldn’t make out the images or what they signified.
He hit against something he couldn’t see. Reached his hands out and sideways and groped around until he realised there was a glass wall blocking his path. He could go no further. Narrowing his eyes, he peered through to the other side – and saw the figure standing there. A man in a mask. They gazed at one another, and then the man seemed to smile. He had a gun in his hand. In front of him were two kneeling, huddled shapes – or it could have been a hundred. Ben knew that the man intended to harm them. He thumped against the glass and yelled as the man raised the gun, taking aim at the kneeling figures; but no sound came out, and he was suddenly powerless and trapped as more glass walls seemed to press in from all sides. The man in the mask laughed as he pulled the trigger. His victims were screaming now.
The gun boomed. And again. A deep thud that reverberated through the walls. The victims went on screaming and screaming.
Ben woke suddenly and jerked upright in the darkness, blinking away the fog of sleep. For a few instants part of his mind seemed unwilling to detach itself from his nightmare – and then he realised he really could hear voices
