Chapter 13 – First Strike by Red Wolf

Happy Tuesday! A much longer chapter today for everyone. Enjoy the read!

We hope everyone is enjoying the read by Red Wolf.

Chapter 13:

The last place McCain expected to be was a five-star hotel. But still, here he was, with Jacket and Nyechenko. The lobby was marvelous, with gold-plated marble pillars and chandeliers everywhere. There were even a set of large fans, swaying to and fro. A bellboy approached and bowed politely.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to the Regal Crown.” The bellboy greeted in fluent English. “How may I be of assistance?”

Jacket stepped forward, gently pulling McCain back from the shoulder.

“Yes, I’m here with my father and my husband on vacation. I’m afraid we left our baggage behind.” Jacket smiled politely, trying to mask her grief.

“I see. And when was your stay duration?” the bellboy asked.

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“As far as we can tell, never.” Jacket answered.

That was when the bellboy lost his smile and turned around, walking to the receptionist and whispering in her ear. She was a tall, slender lady with black hair and oriental features.

“You really have to work on your excuses.” McCain remarked.

“Wait for it.” Jacket whispered. “We’ll be fine.”

The receptionist walked over to the guests.

“Your suites are prepared.” she informed them. “If you will follow me.”

Jacket glanced over at Nyechenko and McCain, as if to let them know it was alright to follow them. The two men looked at each other with suspicion, but decided to tag along.

Time, four in the afternoon.

McCain and Jacket were shown to a double suite with two bedrooms and a large sofa directly facing a 32-inch TV, like the one McCain had. Nyechenko had the pleasure of staying in the hotel’s presidential suite, a floor above theirs.

“Are you sure we should be here?” McCain questioned behind closed doors. “And should Nyechenko be alone?”
“This hotel is a safehouse commissioned by MI6. Apart from its normal operations, we have special access as MI6 agents.” Jacket answered, taking out a remote from her bedside drawer. “Also, Nyechenko’s suite is bugged. We’ll be able to monitor everything he does and says.”

As she expected, a CCTV footage of Nyechenko sitting on his bed appeared on their screen. He seemed nervous, like he was scared of being alone.

“You know, Newbie, you really did good at the supermarket.” Jacket remarked, turning to McCain. “I didn’t even think to use sugar as a base for a smoke bomb.”
“Thanks for that.” McCain answered. “And it’s Lucius, by the way. Lucius McCain.”

Silence.

“Name’s Granger.” Jacket replied. “Emilia Granger.”

More silence. Then they went to take a nap.

Time, seven minutes past four in the afternoon.

Which was seven minutes past one in the afternoon.

Hall had been summoned to an urgent meeting with key government figures, having been rudely woken up by a Code Red two hours before. As soon as she had returned to the MI6 office and sorted her affairs, she booked a taxi to Downing Street. But traffic had been bad, and she was late. She alighted without paying the fare and showed her identity card to the policemen keeping watch outside the famous red door with the number 10 displayed in gold.

She was escorted to a large pair of oak doors by a young man, obviously a government figure’s secretary, who knocked thrice and waited for a response.

“Enter.” The voice was muffled, but loud enough to be heard.

The secretary opened the door and Hall entered, finding herself face to face with some of the nation’s leading politicians.

Anthony Holt, the Prime Minister of the UK. He was a slender, well-built man with neatly-combed brown hair.

Lucas Emslie, the Foreign Minister. He was a controversial figure, particularly known for his piercing gaze and shining bald spot.

Bryan Stone, the Minister of Defence. His signature white crew cut was well-suited by his dark green military uniform, decorated with medals and badges, both domestic and international.

Hall realised what this meeting was about, and took a seat without acknowledging the three men’s presence.

“I believe we may begin.” Holt sighed, breaking the icy silence. “Minister Emslie?”
Emslie coughed before he spoke.

“As far as we are aware, there has been an incident in Moscow regarding suspected MI6 operatives escorting a fugitive from Russian law into the United Kingdom.” Emslie began. “Our embassy in the Russian capital has confirmed that the operation has gone unbelievably south, with three casualties. Fortunately, two assets managed to perform a retreat to an MI6 safehouse, with the asset mildly traumatised by the affair.”

Silence. Hall glanced directly at Stone, who raised a finger as if to stop her from saying too much.

“There has been a detailed background check on all agents involved, except one.” Emslie continued, oblivious to the secret conversation. “A certain Lucius McCain, one that MI6 recruited earlier this morning.”

All eyes were on the MI6 director.

“Director Hall.” Holt finally spoke after some time. “Anything to say about this?”

Silence.

Then, Holt leaned forward.

“One year ago, I got wind from a source in Kabul that there were government officials hunting down soldiers involved in a disastrous operation against a regional terror group back in 2010.” she revealed. “Most of the soldiers were killed in action, all of them from the UN banner. Except one.”

“And that exception was Lucius McCain.” Stone deduced. “But how did you track him down?”

All eyes once again turned to Hall.

“I had been sent an image of a broken dog tag, deliberately halved to fake a death. And after some digital reconstruction, MI6 managed to locate its owner. That man is McCain, of course.” Hall explained. “His death hadn’t been reported by any agency. The UN, MI6, CIA, KGB. Every detail about McCain’s death was wiped. Essentially, he was a ghost.”

Emslie, Stone and Holt looked at each other in surprise.

“Ever since I got wind of his story, I’ve been keeping tags on McCain.” Hall continued. “And during this observation period, I noticed something strange about him.”

“Like what?” Emslie asked, an incredulous look on his face.

“He had visited multiple clinics complaining of sudden whispers and flashing numbers. He also said something about severe memory loss.” Hall clarified. “And when we brought him in, we noticed strange brain activity that could explain these grievances.”

Stone and Emslie looked at each other in agreed bewilderment.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” Holt asked.

“Yes. We looked back at camera footage of McCain’s fight with our agents, and noticed that he displayed erratic body movements all of a sudden.”
“Erratic how?” Stone questioned.

“Erratic, as in military-style martial arts. Special knowledge only black ops or special forces could get wind on. We’re talking Mossad-level, fuck-a-country-up-in-one-night shit.” Holt concluded. “Whatever McCain did, I have a hunch that it correlates to his mental issues…and his past.”

Silence.

“So you sent McCain to Moscow to affirm this theory?” Emslie put the pieces together.

“Yes.” Holt confessed. “I also deployed him because I was confident in his hidden talents.”

Whispers floated around the office.

“Fine.” Holt sighed after some time. “You continue with the trials.”

“But sir-” Emslie tried to object.

“The situation’s bad enough as it is, for us and Nyechenko. If we pull him out, that’s one less bodyguard for our professor.” Holt barked. “Stone, liaise with the RAF and the embassy in Moscow for an airlift. Dismissed.”

Everybody stood up and walked out of the office, except for Holt and Hall.

“Don’t you dare fail me.” Holt growled once they were alone.

“Have I ever?” Hall asked, then stood up and walked away.

Time, twenty-nine minutes past one in the afternoon.

Original Novel by Red Wolf

Chapter 13 – First Strike by Red Wolf

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