“And what did they say?”
“Something very strange. They said, ‘the Phoenix has arisen’.” She paused for dramatic emphasis. “Of course, I had no idea what that meant but Emmett apparently did because he immediately agreed to help them. He came back to shore, packed some of his belongings and went. That was the last time I saw him.” Her voice wobbled at this last statement but Langley pushed on, fearing the momentum of her confessions would falter.
“Is there something you’re going to show me?” he asked, looking at the computer.
She snapped herself out of the melancholy that again threatened to overwhelm her and resumed her search through the computer. “Emmett had a photographic memory,” she said. “You could show him a page torn out of any book and a week later he’d be able to dictate it to you word for word. He was a brilliant man.” Langley had already come to that conclusion. “He was under orders not to talk to anyone about the work he did for the government, and he didn’t utter so much as a single word until the day he died. But, despite not being allowed to retain any material or data from the government projects, whenever he got back from one of their ‘missions’ he would sit here and barely move for days and days, recording everything he’d seen and learned, hoping that it might help in the future.”
She turned and looked up at Langley, allowing him to see the screen. On it, a folder icon was displayed and beneath it was the single word: Phoenix.
“After I was told that Emmett had been killed in a ‘car accident’ I knew he’d been killed to protect the secret of Phoenix, so I switched this infernal machine on to see if he’d kept any information about it.” She double clicked on the icon but the computer beeped and displayed a password box.
“He encrypted it,” Langley realised.
“I’ve tried every possible password I could think of,” she confessed, “but I can’t get in.”
“Well that’s just a basic encryption package,” Langley explained. “You can buy the software on the high street or download it from the internet. I should be able to hack into it fairly easily.”
“Be my guest,” Mrs Braun said, vacating the chair for him. But just as Langley sat down a strange sound assaulted his ears. It sounded like a wooden chair leg screeching across a tiled floor. It came from down the hall where Langley had seen the kitchen was located. The old lady, ever wily, had heard it too.”
“Does anyone else live here?” he asked, cautiously rising to his feet. The old lady’s face had gone pale.
“It’s just me now,” she confessed.
“Stay here,” he told her, slowly pulling his handgun from the inside of his jacket. Mrs Braun backed away at seeing the weapon but Langley ignored her as he moved out into the hallway and slipped back into his previous persona as a SOG operative with ease. He glided silently towards the kitchen. Weapon at the ready, he eased himself through the half open doorway, crouching low. A strange smell assaulted his nostrils but he didn’t have time to process it as a black-clad figure suddenly bolted from hiding and burst through the door which opened from the kitchen onto the front of the house.
Langley sprang into action instantly, bounding through the kitchen and crashing through the door which the intruder had slammed back to slow him down. Out on the road the passenger door of a black sedan, its engine running, swung open and the intruder dived into it. Langley fired but the car had already shot off the mark, rubber burning as it screeched away up the street. Langley ran out onto the street proper and aimed his weapon at the speeding vehicle but it was too far away.
Then it struck him. The smell.
Gas.
Eyes wide, he spun and ran back to the house. “Mrs Braun!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Get out of—”
Then the house disintegrated into a roiling ball of flames, pluming high into the sky. The shockwave of the explosion slammed into Langley and threw him down the street. The heat burned his skin, singed his hair and seared his lungs. He hit the ground hard and was temporarily paralysed.
The thunderous boom echoed into the heavens as pieces of debris rained down all around him.
46:
Scars
Irritated by the disturbance, Nadia unlocked the door to her room but, seeing who stood on the other side, she instantly began to close it again.
Nathan Raine thrust his foot into the gap and pushed against it. “Nadia, I just want to talk—”
“I have nothing to say to my accuser!” she shot back vehemently. Realising she wasn’t going to win against the former special forces soldier, she stepped back. Raine, who had been pushing against the door, flew in, almost going down. He re-gathered his composure and looked at her.
“Is this how you All-American-Heroes get the girl?” she demanded sarcastically. “By forcing your way into their room? Is this how you got Lake?”
“What?” he frowned, confused.
“I saw her leaving your room the other night!” Despite herself, she couldn’t keep the acid jealousy out of her tone. Unable to sleep after landing at RNAS Culdrose two nights ago, she had finally given in to the attraction she felt for the former fugitive. She had tried to deny it for months, watching him at the expedition base camp, swooning the young interns yet daring to turn his charm onto her the next morning. She couldn’t deny that she had always found him physically attractive: a lithe, athletic form, well-toned body, a permanent five-o-clock shadow, dishevelled hair and moody blue eyes. But her superior intellect — she was a genius after all — prevented her from succumbing to her base desires. Another trophy for the cocky American pilot.
But she had seen how he had worked during this crisis and almost felt herself swoon idiotically at his dare-devil heroism, his calm head under pressure and his unyielding sense of duty to his friends, especially when King and Sid had been taken hostage. He had become a man possessed by determination to find them and save them. How could she not fall for him?
And so she had crept out of her room in the dead of night, excited by the prospect of feeling her legs wrapped around his muscular body, of tasting his sweat as they clawed desperately at one another. But she was too late. She had halted in the shadows and watched Kristina Lake leave Raine’s room, barely dressed, hair matted, face flushed.
She had almost felt tears threaten and, angry as she was at herself, the sense of betrayal had kept her awake all night, seething and indignant. Only hours later, the first man she had almost given herself to in years had accused her of betraying the team. The betrayal and the hurt had pierced her on a much deeper, more emotional level than she cared to admit even to herself. She could forgive Sid and King for getting swept up the conspiracy against her. She could forgive Gibbs and his team for placing the security of the mission above all else.
But she couldn’t forgive Nathan Raine for breaking her heart.
“So how was your little American slut?” she demanded bitterly now.
Raine, taken aback by her discovery of his night with the SOG operative, ignored the Russian’s words. “I didn’t come to get the girl,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “I came to apologise.”
“Oh, well that is okay then.” Sarcasm dripped off of every word. “So long as you have apologised, then falsely accusing me of betraying the team, my friends, the United Nations, and having me arrested, really doesn’t matter anymore!”
“Come on, Nadia, would you have acted any differently?” he demanded. “I was given Intel that someone on the team was leaking information to the Russians. As the only Russian on the team you were automatically the prime suspect.”