Deception Game Read Free

glimpse a surveillance drone circling overhead.
    Drake’s eyes hardened. ‘I’m not playing games. If you were followed here—’
    Hunt’s greying brows drew together in a frown. ‘Mr Drake, I’m not in the habit of lying to people. And I’m also not in the habit of dragging my fat ass out of my very comfortable office for secret meetings at national monuments with every crackpot who tries to contact me. But I know who you are, so I chose to show some faith in you today. Maybe you should do the same with me, and lose the attitude, along with the gun.’
    Reluctantly Drake let go of the weapon.
    ‘Better,’ Hunt remarked.
    ‘You said you knew who I was,’ Drake prompted him.
    ‘You made a name for yourself with that business in Russia last year. Whether that’s a good or a bad thing remains to be seen, but you can bet your ass people are taking notice. That makes you either an enemy to be destroyed, or a commodity to be used.’ He surveyed Drake with a critical eye. ‘Personally, I’m not sure whether you deserve a commendation or a firing squad after the shit you pulled.’
    Drake decided to let that one pass. His actions the previous year technically amounted to treason; he’d aligned himself with a foreign intelligence service without any kind of authorization, not to mention aiding and abetting a wanted terrorist. Not for the first time, he caught himself wondering just how many enemies he’d made over the past couple of years.
    ‘I’d settle for ten minutes of your time,’ he said instead. Despite the tension of their initial meeting, he was very much aware that a divisional director of the CIA wasn’t the sort of man to be trifled with. Simply getting access to him without alerting a dozen different department heads had been an ordeal in itself, forcing Drake to negotiate a minefield of protocol and hidden lines of reporting, not to mention calling in a few favours.
    Whether or not it had been a wasted effort hinged on what happened in the next ten minutes.
    Hunt glanced at his watch – an old model bearing the US Marine Corps seal – then turned his dark eyes back on Drake. ‘All right, Mr Drake. Ten minutes. I suggest you make it good.’
    Drake certainly couldn’t promise that. The only thing he could guarantee was that it would be worth hearing.
    Reaching into his pocket, he produced an electronic device that resembled a small walkie-talkie with several aerials affixed to it, and flicked a switch mounted on the side. A single green light was the only indication that the signal jammer was now active, though anyone trying to use a cell phone or any other communications device within fifty yards would certainly know about it.
    Hunt regarded the device with a raised eyebrow. ‘That bad, huh?’
    Drake gestured to one of the benches nearby. ‘You might want to sit down for this.’
    He did, and he listened for a lot longer than ten minutes as Drake related the events of the past two years, from the operation to rescue a prisoner named Maras from a Russian jail, to the dirty war being waged by a private military company in Afghanistan and the death of the chief of Russian intelligence last year. And all of it tied together by the legacy of one man: Marcus Cain.
    Cain, who was now the Deputy Director of the CIA, and next in line for the top position if the current leader stepped down.
    ‘That’s quite a story, son,’ Hunt remarked when Drake finally brought his extended narrative to an end. Despite his flippant choice of words, it was clear Drake’s tale had nonetheless made an impression on him. ‘But why tell it to me?’
    The enemy of my enemy is my friend. A very old saying, and one that was often misused in trivial rivalries. In this case however, Drake could only hope that the adage proved true.
    If so, he could think of no better enemy for Cain than the man whose position he had usurped two years ago. Hunt himself had once occupied the post of Deputy Director, and been hotly tipped