Operative 66 : A Novel Read online

  Copyright © 2020 Andy McDermott

  The right of Andy McDermott to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2020 by

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  First published as an Ebook in 2020 by

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  Ebook conversion by Avon DataSet Ltd, Arden Court, Alcester, Warwickshire

  Jacket design by Patrick Insole

  Jacket images © Collaboration JS/Arcangel Images

  eISBN: 978 1 4722 6380 3

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Praise for Andy McDermott

  Also by Andy McDermott

  About the Book

  Dedication

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  Discover more by Andy McDermott...

  About the Author

  Andy McDermott is the bestselling author of the Nina Wilde & Eddie Chase adventure thrillers, which have been sold in over 30 countries and 20 languages. His debut novel, The Hunt for Atlantis, was his first of several New York Times bestsellers and he has also written the explosive spy thriller The Persona Protocol. Now, Andy brings us Operative 66 – an explosive and action-packed new thriller.

  A former journalisst and movie critic, Andy is now a full-time novelist. Born in Halifax, he lives in Bournemouth with his partner and son.

  Praise for Andy McDermott

  ‘Fabulous action sequences . . . [an] epic contemporary adventure thriller’ Sunday Guardian

  ‘One of Britain’s most talented adventure writers’ Evening Post

  ‘Adventure stories don’t get much more epic than this’ Mirror

  ‘Action, adventure and mayhem aplenty’ Scott Mariani

  ‘A writer of almost cinematic talent’ Daily Express, Scotland

  ‘McDermott raises the bar . . . non-stop, high-octane action’ Publishers Weekly

  ‘Easily competes with the works of Dan Brown and James Rollins’ Bookgasm.com

  ‘True Indiana Jones stuff with terrific pace’ The Bookseller

  ‘Like Clive Cussler on speed . . . high-powered fun’ Huddersfield Daily

  ‘A pulse-racing adventure with action down the line’ Northern Echo

  ‘No fan of Indiana Jones, Matthew Reilly or action in general will be able to put it down’ Northern Territory News

  ‘If you’re looking for thriller writing that will transport you into a realm very different from your own quotidian existence, Andy McDermott is your man’ Good Book Guide

  ‘Move over Clive Cussler, here’s a new great writer of thunderingly good adventure sagas’ Peterborough Evening News

  ‘For readers who like hundred mile and hour plots’ Huddersfield Daily Examiner

  By Andy McDermott:

  Standalone Thrillers

  The Persona Protocol

  Operative 66

  Featuring Nina Wilde and Eddie Chase

  The Hunt for Atlantis

  The Tomb of Hercules

  The Secret of Excalibur

  The Covenant of Genesis

  The Cult of Osiris

  The Sacred Vault

  Empire of Gold

  Temple of the Gods

  The Valhalla Prophecy

  Kingdom of Darkness

  The Last Summer (A Digital Short Story)

  The Revelation Code

  The Midas Legacy

  King Solomon’s Curse

  The Spear of Atlantis

  The Resurrection Key

  About the Book

  EVERY OPERATIVE KNOWS THE RULES.

  The mission comes first. You are a deniable asset. Betrayal is punished by death.

  Alex Reeve is Operative 66. A former special ops soldier and one of the UK’s deadliest weapons, he is part of the secretive SC9 – an elite security service with a remit to neutralise the country’s most dangerous enemies.

  But now Reeve is in the firing line. Accused of treason, Reeve is forced to flee as his team is instructed to eliminate the ‘rogue asset’ at any cost. Reeve must survive, alone and under the radar, with the full power of the state arrayed against him.

  He doesn’t know why he’s a target. Or who betrayed him. But if one man has the skills necessary to uncover the truth . . . it is Operative 66.

  For Kat and Sebastian

  CHAPTER 1

  Alex Reeve ran into the darkness, alone.

  He darted across the derelict railway track. Beyond the line was rough woodland. Reeve hurried into the cover and crouched, listening.

  Just the hiss of rain. He waited silently for a full minute. Still nothing. He surveyed the woods. No lights, no movement, no voices.

  No enemies.

  Reeve allowed himself to relax, fractionally, and took out a small red-lensed torch. Three rapid flashes back the way he had come. He had been the canary, testing security near the military base’s perimeter. If he’d been spotted crossing the railway, t
here would have been a response by now.

  Three more figures scurried across the track. The glow spilling from the industrial buildings behind them highlighted their weapons. Like Reeve, all wore dark camouflage gear. Balaclava masks covered their heads, only eyes and mouths visible.

  ‘We all clear?’ asked the largest newcomer. His voice was echoed in Reeve’s radio earpiece; all had throat mics.

  ‘Wouldn’t have signalled otherwise,’ Reeve replied. The big man, Mark Stone, made a dismissive sound.

  The smallest figure – a woman – gestured uphill. ‘Pylon’s up there.’ Deirdre Flynn’s accent immediately revealed her as Irish, despite her work to soften it. ‘Let’s go.’

  Reeve led the way into the wood. After fifty metres, they reached a structure: an electricity pylon. ‘Flynn, can you climb it?’ asked the velvet-voiced Harrison Locke. The skeletal frame was bounded by barbed wire four metres up.

  ‘Give me a boost,’ Flynn replied.

  She slung her AX308 sniper rifle. Reeve moved to act as sentry while Stone and Locke lifted her. Sharp snips from her wirecutters, and the obstruction was clear. Flynn clambered up to the first cross-beam. From there, she swung to a ladder and began a more rapid ascent.

  Reeve was already continuing up the slope. ‘I’m going to the fence.’

  He soon reached his first major obstacle. A chain-link fence three metres high marked the base’s outer boundary. He was near its corner. One leg headed west, the other south, parallel to the railway. The industrial lights revealed detail within the darkness. Concrete posts at regular intervals, razor wire topping the chain-link. A pole stood set back inside the corner.

  His gaze went to its top. Cameras stared down at each leg of the fence.

  A brief chill – had he been seen? But he was in cover, and unless the lenses were fish-eyed, out of frame. Were there any more?

  He looked eastwards. Nothing but trees. The base’s perimeter was close to two miles around. In dense woodland, covering it completely would need hundreds of cameras, dozens of observers. Too expensive. He wouldn’t be spotted.

  He hurried to the fence and lit his torch. The red beam both protected his night vision and was hard for cameras to pick up. He checked a post. If the fence were electrified, the wires would need insulators . . .

  A small plastic peg jutted from the far side. He moved the torch. A fine, taut metal line ran between the posts.

  A warning system. Low-powered, but contact would alert the base to an intruder.

  Reeve was prepared, though. He took out a pair of insulated crocodile clips connected by a coiled wire. Next came wirecutters. He began to snip through the chain-link.

  Flynn’s voice crackled in his earpiece. ‘I’m in position. I can see most of the base.’ Reeve didn’t respond to her. If she had anything to report, she would do so—

  ‘What can you see?’ demanded Stone, East End accent strong.

  ‘No immediate threats.’ Flynn’s faint impatience quickly vanished, replaced by crisp professionalism. ‘The main complex looks quiet – the rain’s keeping everyone indoors.’

  Reeve’s cutters severed the lowest link, and he carefully peeled the fence open. ‘What about patrols? Dogs?’ Stone asked.

  ‘I see torches to the west,’ Flynn reported. ‘In the open, near the witch’s house.’ The team had used commercial aerial and satellite imagery to map the facility. Various structures had been given nicknames; this was a red-brick building in a clearing.

  ‘Coming our way?’ Locke asked.

  ‘Yes, but not fast. Looks like a routine patrol.’

  ‘Fucking great,’ muttered Stone. ‘Reeve, you hear that?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Reeve replied. He carefully attached the clips to the electrified wire. Another snip, and the alarm was severed. No distant sirens, no floodlights flaring to life. He laid the connected cable flat on the ground. The gap was now clear to traverse. ‘I’m through. Going in.’

  He manoeuvred his silenced UMP-9 submachine gun through the hole. Then, with infinite care, he brought himself after it.

  He cleared the severed wire’s ends by several inches. Collecting his gun, he stood and surveyed the slope above. The only thing moving was the rain.

  ‘In and clear,’ he reported as he set off. ‘Taking the east side.’

  ‘Roger that,’ Locke replied. ‘We’re coming to the fence.’

  A new voice through Reeve’s earpiece. ‘We’re almost there,’ came the clipped tones of John Blake. He and the last team member, Craig Parker, were in a car. They were using deception rather than stealth to enter the base.

  ‘Flynn, can you see ’em?’ asked Stone.

  ‘Not yet,’ she replied. ‘The road’s behind trees.’

  ‘We’ll be there in one minute,’ Blake said. ‘Cover us, won’t you?’

  Flynn didn’t reply, but Reeve knew her rifle would already be raised and ready. Her overwatch position covered most of the base, including the main gate. If Blake’s bluff was called, she could snipe the guards to aid his escape.

  Reeve moved on. Lights became visible through the trees ahead. He was nearing the facility’s northern outbuildings. He consulted a map; in his memory, not on paper. Another fence ahead, but merely to separate structures from woodland. It ended sixty metres to his right. He angled towards the opening.

  ‘We’re turning on to the entrance road,’ said Blake.

  ‘I see you,’ Flynn responded. ‘Got you covered.’

  ‘Gate guard’s coming to meet us. Going silent until we’re inside.’

  ‘Or we have to run,’ added Parker, with wry humour. Like Reeve, a hint of his natural northern accent remained, though Liverpudlian rather than Mancunian. The vocal training to anonymise the team members could only go so far.

  Reeve halted. If things went wrong, he might need to abort the mission. A glance back to check his escape route. It was clear. He looked ahead again. About thirty metres to the fence’s end—

  Someone came around it.

  Two men, glistening wet ponchos over camouflage gear. Both carried assault rifles. A patrol.

  Coming towards him.

  CHAPTER 2

  Flynn stared unblinkingly through her rifle’s scope. From high on the pylon, the main gate was just visible over a rooftop. Blake and Parker’s car slowed as it approached the barrier. A man emerged from the guard hut. Another stood inside its doorway, reluctant to step into the rain.

  She shifted the crosshairs between them. The man outside was fully exposed. An easy target even from this range. His companion, though . . .

  Tricky. But she could do it. Her sharpshooting skill was one reason she had been recruited. The first sign of alarm, and both men would be down. Two seconds was all she needed—

  A voice in her earpiece. Reeve. She instantly knew his situation had changed: he wasn’t one for chit-chat. ‘Another patrol coming out of the east ingress,’ he said. ‘Thirty metres away. I’m taking cover.’

  Flynn muttered a silent curse. The car stopped, the guard walking to the driver’s side. One hand was near his holstered sidearm; the visitors were unexpected. Her crosshairs tracked him. ‘Reeve, do you need help?’ She could target the patrol – if she abandoned her overwatch of Blake and Parker.

  ‘No.’ Certainty in the curt reply.

  His decision. Her attention returned to the guard. The car’s window wound down to reveal Parker at the wheel. Passes were presented, Parker indicating his companion. The guard shone a torch, reacting to their rank insignia. Parker wore a lieutenant’s uniform; Blake a colonel’s.

  The guard became visibly more deferential. But their arrival was still unscheduled. He called to the man in the hut, who retreated inside. Flynn tensed. Target lost—

  Blake, his torchlit face a half-moon behind the windscreen, spoke. His expression didn’t convey fear or blustering anger;
rather, patronising impatience. A senior officer’s attitude, which, considering his past career, was no act. Flynn could guess what he was saying. First would be a pointed reminder of his rank. Then annoyance at being held up after a long journey. What do you mean, you weren’t expecting me? I want to talk to the watch officer. No, do you really want to drag him out in the rain? I’ll see him myself.

  The guard was torn between following procedures and obeying a superior officer. He called out again to the other guard, who reappeared. Flynn’s sights found him once more. If they were going to challenge the intruders, it would be now . . .

  One final exchange – and the second guard shrugged. Your call. He went back into the hut to use the telephone. The first man spoke to the car’s occupants, then withdrew. The gate rose. Parker’s window closed, and the car drove into the base.

  ‘We’re in,’ Blake said a moment later.

  Flynn had already turned to find new targets. It took her only a second to spot lights moving away from the east ingress . . .

  Two men, already partially obscured by tree cover as they walked into the woods.

  Heading for Reeve.

  Reeve watched the men approach through leaves. He was three metres off the ground, left arm hooked over a branch. Both feet were wedged against the tree’s trunk, holding him practically horizontal.

  He hadn’t been seen. There was no urgency or alarm in the men’s movements. It was a routine patrol . . . which by sheer bad luck was coming straight towards him.

  The bough would obscure him until they were a few metres away. Even then, he could be missed. The rain would subconsciously deter them from looking up. They might walk right under him without noticing.

  If they did notice . . .

  His UMP was still in his right hand, held against the branch. Both for concealment – and instant accessibility. He could eliminate both men in a moment.

  But only if he had to. Some team members would already have shot them without a qualm – Stone, certainly. Probably Locke and Blake as well. To Reeve, though, that felt . . . sloppy. He had a specific target; he would eliminate that target. Anyone else would come into his sights only if they posed a threat.

  But the threat posed by the two approaching men was rising.