[James Ryker 01.0] The Red Cobra Read online

  Or perhaps it was all in his mind.

  Ryker headed on foot back toward his home, his senses high – as always. He doubted he would ever allow himself to feel truly safe. The one time he dropped his guard would be the one time he was caught out.

  As he strode along the road, Ryker’s slate-green eyes swept from left to right and back again, taking in everything and everybody around him. There was no pavement, not in this town, just a single strip of tarmac that ran through the main street, filled with mopeds, cars and pedestrians alike.

  The tarmac was a recent addition. It was only present for a couple of miles either side of the town. Beyond that was a simple dirt track that snaked around the coastline and surrounding farmers’ fields. The track was dry most months of the year and would send up plumes of blood-red dust every time a vehicle passed.

  The place Ryker now called home was certainly remote, but it wasn’t cut off. The area had running water, gas, and electricity, even a sporadic mobile phone signal. It was about as isolated as Ryker could bear – heading off into the wilds to live a life of solitude would probably drive him insane.

  As he walked along the dirt, an open-topped four-by-four slowed as it passed. Ryker instinctively tensed, priming himself for action, even though his immediate thought was that the driver was about to stop to offer a lift. It had happened before. As a general rule of thumb, he’d found the locals to be extremely kind to each other, and on occasion to him and Lisa, the outsiders. He’d never once accepted such an offer of help.

  A second later, the four-by-four sped up again and headed off into the distance, a dust cloud billowing out from its rear. Ryker held his breath until the dirt had settled. Perhaps the kindly offer had been hastily withdrawn when the driver spotted who the pedestrian was. That was fine. Ryker was well prepared to give a please and thank you when required but was otherwise happy to be left alone.

  A few minutes later, Ryker’s house came into view in the near distance – a simple and secluded beachfront property made of timber and glass. To some it would be a ramshackle hut, but to others, a bohemian rustic retreat.

  Set atop a small rocky outcrop, a good two acres of land came with the house. Not that Ryker had any intention of turning it into a real garden of any sort. The beach was right there, a short clamber down the rocks, should he ever need outside space. Instead he left the land to grow freely, providing an extra element of seclusion for the property.

  It was tranquil, not extravagant. The house wasn’t a billionaire’s exotic escape but suited its purpose and was in an enviable location overlooking clear waters. Considering where Ryker had come from, the depths he’d plunged to in his previous life, what more could he ask for?

  The problem, he knew, was that no matter what mask he put on for the world, no matter how hard he tried to fit in, he could never truly let go of his past – of who he really was. He and Lisa were determined to fashion a life for themselves, but Ryker simply couldn’t ignore the sense of suspense he felt. Not fear exactly, but not far from it. It dominated his mind, nearly every waking minute. Wondering not if they would come for him, but when. No matter how far he ran, no matter what he did to hide, that would be the case for as long as he was still alive.

  But whoever came for him, whatever they threw at him, Ryker would take them on.

  He would fight. He would survive.

  After all, it was what he had always done best.

  Some would call it paranoia. But Ryker wasn’t paranoid. He was a realist. And as his gaze passed from the unkempt grounds and up the road, he felt a sudden jolt of vindication.

  The twisting road in front of him weaved off towards a metal bridge, about a hundred yards long, spanning the mouth of a small river. On the far side of the bridge, Ryker spotted the same four-by-four that had passed him minutes earlier. It was facing him. Although he couldn’t make out anything of the vehicles occupants, he could tell from the wispy smoke trailing up from the back end that its engine was idling.

  At that moment, Ryker was sure of one thing:

  Someone had found him.

  4

  Exactly who they were, Ryker didn’t know. Really it didn’t matter. No one but he and Lisa knew of their new identities and their location. If someone – anyone – had found them, it was a problem.

  A man like Ryker, who had lived in the shadows for so much of his life, always on the move, always looking over his shoulder, had become well used to forever analysing his environment for potential threats. It had formed such an integral part of his training all those years earlier – not to mention the many years subsequent – that it had become second nature. And that was why he didn’t panic now. He simply put into motion a well-laid plan.

  Keeping his eyes on the four-by-four in the distance, Ryker picked up his pace as he headed to his home. His brain was whirring. His first aim was clear: get to the house and find out whether Lisa was there. He had to make sure she was okay.

  When he reached the front door, Ryker carried on going, snaking around to the back. Regardless of whether or not a threat was already on the inside, he wasn’t going in the front.

  He came up against a small frosted window on the side of the house. The window was locked shut, as it had been when Ryker had left earlier. Beyond the window lay the en-suite shower room to the house’s only bedroom. In a small hideaway beneath the panel on the base of the shower tray lay a fully loaded FN Five-seven handgun containing twenty armour-piercing 5.7mm cartridges.

  Ryker certainly wasn’t ill prepared. He’d primed several entrance and exit routes to the house should he ever need to move with stealth. Although the bathroom window was locked, he’d fitted it himself to allow the simple yet secure structure to be prised open – should you know how.

  Ryker checked around him and found the small slat of wood that he’d hidden beneath foliage. He used the slat to edge the corner of the window open at its weakest spot, then tugged sharply to snap the thin clasps which sat along the inner edges of the frame. The window opened two inches, enough to allow Ryker to release the handle. He pulled the window further open then slunk through the small space, slithering silently like a snake passing over rocks.

  He crept forward to the shower, removed the weapon, and gave it a once-over. No problems. Moving with caution, he headed to the partially open door.

  Ryker stole a glance before moving out into the bedroom, creeping in silence. His breathing was deep and calm, not even a murmur escaping his lips as he slowly inhaled and exhaled.

  When he reached the bedroom doorway, he stood and waited. Listened. Nothing. No sound of movement from within his home. No sounds at all. He cautiously peered out over the open-plan space in front of him, index finger on the gun’s trigger.

  Ryker spotted the solitary figure, casually sitting in an armchair. And he relaxed. A little.

  Gun still held out, but the feeling of threat somewhat diminished, Ryker moved out from behind the door and toward the man. ‘You,’ he said.

  The man looked up. Certainly he wasn’t the last person Ryker expected to see. In fact, of all the people who might have come looking for Ryker, this man – Peter Winter – was one of the most welcome. And least threatening.

  ‘Ah, you’re back.’ Winter got to his feet, a knowing smile on his face.

  In his late thirties, Winter was similar in age to Ryker, and a similar height too at over six feet, but he was fresh-faced and scrawny and he had a knowing confidence that had often riled Ryker in the past.

  ‘How did you get in here?’ Ryker quizzed, the tone of his voice making it clear the visit wasn’t welcome. He continued to hold the gun out, pointed at the visitor. He didn’t believe Winter was an immediate threat, but he’d been through enough to know he couldn’t trust anyone one hundred percent.

  Winter nodded over to the front door. ‘Not the same way you did, clearly. Good to see you’re still on your toes though.’

  ‘You’ve got no right coming into my home like this.’

  Winter
hesitated for a second. Ryker’s forthright tone and the fact he was still pointing a fully-loaded gun at Winter’s face had, Ryker could see, drained some of the confidence and ease from his former boss – a Commander at the secretive Joint Intelligence Agency where, in another life, Ryker had worked for nearly twenty years.

  ‘I’m not a threat,’ Winter assured him.

  ‘No. You’re not. If you were you’d have a bullet between your eyes already. How did you find me?’

  ‘By doing my job. Though I have to say, it wasn’t easy. You’ve covered your tracks well. Ryker? That’s your name now, right?’

  ‘That’s what my passport says.’

  ‘German?’

  ‘British.’

  ‘No, I mean the name, not your passport. It’s of German origin, isn’t it? From the German word for rich.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Ryker said, not hiding his disinterest in the analysis.

  ‘Almost seems ironic given what you left behind to come here.’

  ‘I figured I didn’t really need your money.’

  ‘You could have just told me that instead of disappearing.’

  ‘If I recall correctly, Ryker was also the name of a commander on Star Trek. So maybe the irony’s aimed at you, Commander.’

  Winter huffed sarcastically. ‘That wouldn’t be irony, more of a taunt.’

  Winter may have once been Ryker’s boss, but Ryker had never looked upon him as a superior. For starters, Winter had only assumed the role through default when the incumbent – Ryker’s long-time mentor – had been murdered outside a cafe in Omsk, Russia.

  ‘We set up a nice life for you,’ Winter said. ‘I’m not sure why you didn’t take it.’ He looked around the space he was standing in, turning his nose up at what he saw. ‘You certainly could have afforded a nicer place than this.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with this place. And I don’t need your money. Or you forever watching me.’

  ‘We gave you a new identity. A fresh start. We were helping you. Protecting you.’

  ‘Your idea was to keep me on a short leash should you ever need me. I’m sorry, but my idea of freedom is something different.’

  Winter smiled. ‘So that’s what this is? Freedom?’

  ‘It’s the closest I’ve ever come.’

  ‘You’re partially right. I did always wonder whether I’d need you again. A man of your... skills is hard to come by.’

  Ryker finally lowered his gun and stuffed it into his trousers’ waistband. ‘The answer’s no.’

  Winter sat and looked pensively at Ryker for a few seconds. Ryker didn’t move, just waited for Winter to say what he’d come to say.

  ‘Look, Logan... Abbott, Ryker, whatever the hell your name is this week, I know you don’t want me here. I know you think you’ve earned your freedom. The right to live a life away from what you once were. But I never promised that. And I know deep down you never believed it. Part of me wonders whether you even want it.’

  ‘You know nothing about what I want or what I am.’

  ‘But I do. I’ve known you a long time. And you can’t just run away from who you are.’

  ‘It’s not me I’m running from.’

  ‘You sure about that? This isn’t a life. Hiding away like this, forever looking over your shoulder. And it’s not you. But I’m not going to sit here and try to convince you of that.’

  ‘Good. So I guess you’ll be leaving then.’

  Winter got to his feet, and Ryker stepped to one side, giving his ex-boss a clear path to the front door.

  ‘But let me say this one thing,’ Winter added. ‘I found you. And you know I’m not the only person looking. I know you think you can deal with whatever or whoever is out there gunning for you, and I can guarantee you’ll give anyone who threatens you a damn good run for their money.’

  ‘Very flattering, Winter.’

  ‘Okay, look. This is beside the point. My real point is that I do still need you, Ryker.’

  ‘I won’t do it.’

  ‘Hear me out, please.’ Winter reached inside his jacket and Ryker couldn’t help but tense as he waited. The last thing he was expecting was for Winter to draw a weapon, but he could never rule it out. In the end, Winter’s hand emerged clutching some papers.

  ‘You know,’ Winter said. ‘You’re not the only person in the deep, dark world who wanted to get away from it all, who wanted to leave their past behind.’

  Ryker raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I need your help, Ryker. It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘My help to do what?’

  ‘It’s about the Red Cobra.’

  Winter stopped speaking and stared at Ryker. Ryker opened and closed his mouth, searching for the right words to describe the confusion that suddenly enveloped his mind.

  The Red Cobra. A name from the past. A name forever burned into his memory. A rival, of sorts. A lover, more than once.

  In the end, Ryker said nothing.

  ‘You remember her?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘We’ve found her.’

  Ryker tried to betray no emotion, but Winter had him. Of all the possible bombshells, this had to be one of the biggest.

  ‘Where?’ Ryker asked.

  ‘In Spain.’

  ‘Then what do you need me for? You want me to kill her?’

  Even as he said the words, Ryker questioned whether that was something he’d be able to do. At one time, certainly. But now?

  ‘I’d say it’s a little late for that,’ Winter responded. ‘We already found the Red Cobra. Dead. She’s been murdered.’

  5

  Ryker needed a few moments to compose himself. Both men took a seat. Winter didn’t push Ryker. He’d laid down the bait. Now he seemed content to wait and let Ryker sweat over it.

  The Red Cobra. A blast from the past. Her real name was Anna Abayev, though even Ryker – who’d come closer to her than most – had never known her by that moniker. She was an assassin. Born and bred. Highly trained but with a lethal hard edge that was simply part of her nature, her DNA.

  Much of Ryker’s skill had been taught and nurtured by the JIA, a clandestine agency operated jointly by the UK and US governments. A long and gruelling schooling period with the JIA had turned Ryker into a robotic operative. Ryker had Charles McCabe to thank for that. Mackie. His old boss who’d taken a bullet to the head when his secretive life had finally caught up with him.

  That was all in Ryker’s past, though. He wasn’t that man anymore, even though he still had a deadly set of skills that few others possessed, as Winter said. The Red Cobra on the other hand... she really was something else.

  ‘The car outside–’

  ‘Backup. In case you decided to run,’ Winter confirmed. ‘Or turned on us.’

  ‘What were you going to do? Mow me down? Shoot me?’

  Winter shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t have wanted to. But I wasn’t sure how you’d react to me finding you.’

  ‘So you covered all bases. Just in case.’

  ‘What more would you expect?’

  Both men’s attention was grabbed by the sound of the front door opening. Ryker stood, turned, and stared as Lisa walked in. Her long brown hair was wet and clung to her shoulders. She had a large and colourful beach towel wrapped around her glistening and tanned body, her toned physique clear. Ryker felt a sense of betrayal slice through him. Because of Winter or because he’d been reminiscing about Anna Abayev?

  Lisa was half a step inside when she spotted Ryker. She smiled. But when she saw Winter, her face went pale.

  ‘Angela,’ Winter said. ‘Or should I call you Lisa now?’

  ‘You shouldn’t call me anything,’ she grunted, before turning to Ryker. ‘What is he doing here?’

  ‘We were getting onto that,’ Ryker said.

  ‘Please, Lisa, come and sit down.’

  ‘I’d rather not.’ She moved over to the fridge, took a bottle of water then padded across the floor to the bedroom. ‘James, get
rid of him.’ She slammed the bedroom door shut.

  Winter looked at Ryker for a few seconds. Neither man said a word. Lisa’s demand reverberated in Ryker’s mind. She was right. He shouldn’t even have been contemplating helping Winter. He should have thrown him out of there the second he’d laid eyes on him.

  But then what? Run away as far and as fast as they could once more? Another new location? Two more new identities?

  Maybe that was what Lisa wanted. But it wasn’t what Ryker wanted. Not really.

  Despite his protestation, even before Winter had mentioned the Red Cobra, Ryker had already been undecided as to whether he would agree to Winter’s request for help. Together, Ryker and Lisa had set about making a life for themselves, just the two of them. Away from the chaos that had clouded their lives, their relationship, for so long. It wasn’t them against the world anymore. It was just... them. Yet deep down, he wasn’t satisfied. Not completely. There was something missing.

  Isn’t that basic human nature, though? Hasn’t every single one of the many billions of humans who have walked the earth felt the same way? Always clamouring for the perfect life but never quite reaching it, always wanting more. The grass is always greener. At least that was Ryker’s way of justifying how he felt.

  And hearing the name Red Cobra... How could he not at least hear Winter out now?

  ‘How do you know it’s her?’ Ryker asked.

  ‘Purely by accident.’ Winter was still clutching the papers he’d taken from his pocket as though waiting to deal his full hand – should he need to. ‘She was killed three days ago. At her home in southern Spain.’

  ‘Who killed her?’