“Or maybe I just wanted to kill things?” Will could feel the tension and aggression in his voice.
The man nodded. “Yes, either-or.” He smiled. “Okay, now let’s think this through.” He scratched the side of his head. “My military knowledge isn’t great, but I know that within the Legion there’s an elite parachute regiment. And I’m pretty sure that within that regiment there’s a small, highly trained Special Forces commando unit.” He pointed a finger at Will. “But you’d need to check out its name.”
“Maybe my military knowledge is better than yours.” Will swallowed, and the action felt uncomfortable. “It’s called the Groupement des Commandos Parachutistes.”
The man clapped slowly. “Excellent. So that would clear up the first five years of your adult life. What next?” He angled his head and smiled. “I have it. You’ve gotten the boys-with-guns thing out of your system, so you go to England. And now you decide to try to flex your brain. So college beckons-that will get rid of another three or four years-but which one should it be?”
“Nothing too high profile.” Will’s chest muscles had now tensed.
The man shook his head. “No, unfortunately your grades were just too good. It has to be Cambridge or Oxford, I’m afraid.”
Will spoke with an edge. “Make it Cambridge.”
“Cambridge it is.” The man folded his arms. “I think you would have studied politics, philosophy, and economics, and I think you would have graduated with a star first-class degree.”
“As you like.”
“As I like indeed.” The man looked serious. “And now we can really add some spice to your profile. Let’s forget mercenary or military contractor or anything like that. Let’s say you were recruited into the British Secret Intelligence Service-MI6, as we sometimes like to call it-and that you’ve worked there ever since.”
Will said nothing. He felt an almost overwhelming sense of anger. He lifted his head and looked at the man. He could feel his pulse rate throbbing in his temples. “You still need to give me a name.”
The man waved this away as a mere detail. “Oh, that’s easy, because no matter what false names you may give yourself, there is only one true name that can ever be yours and yours alone.” He slowly nodded and lowered his voice. “You are the ultimate killer of killers, the man who terrifies his enemies and allies, the man who can start wars and end them, the man who is the West’s deadliest and most secret weapon.” He raised his hand and pointed. “You are the great Will Cochrane. You are Spartan.”
Will stared at the man, desperate not to show the shock he felt.
The American lifted himself up from the floor and walked over to Will. He crouched down directly in front of Will and gazed at him. His eyes were as silver as his hair. “How could I even know that you’re MI6, let alone the man who has been given its most distinguished and deadly code name?”
Will bunched his hand into a fist.
“After all, you’ve traveled into my country under a different passport and with no links to your real identity and vocation.”
Will narrowed his eyes and slowly exhaled. He thought about the man before him, he pictured the bespectacled doctor and the three large men waiting in the corridor outside, and he mentally rehearsed what he could do.
“So how could I possibly know about you, when your existence is kept secret from most of MI6, let alone other agencies?”
Will smiled and looked away for a moment. When he was no longer smiling, he returned his gaze to the man before him. He decided that, despite his injuries, he could kill this man and everyone outside this room in less than thirty seconds.
The man frowned. He looked quickly down at Will’s hands, then back up at his face. He shook his head rapidly and with urgency. “Not that, there’s no need,” he said softly.
Will watched him for a while.
The man shook his head again. “No need.” His eyes had widened.
Will smiled again but kept his fist tightly bunched. “Our games are over. I suggest you speak with candor and speed.”
The man glanced once more at Will’s large fist and then looked upward. “I know about you because I was called by a friend who asked me to get you. That friend told me that if I did not do so, you would do everything in your power to destroy those who might try to keep you captive.”
Will frowned. “You received a call?” His frown slowly faded. “From someone in my organization?”
The man seemed to hesitate for a moment, then spoke quite deliberately. “Not just someone. A man who knows me very well. A man who also happens to be your Controller.”
“Alistair?”
He nodded.
“Why did Alistair tell you that I was with British Intelligence? And why did you decide to help me?”
The man exhaled loudly. “The answer to both questions is the same, but it’s not my place to give you that answer. Only Alistair can do that.”
Will bunched his fist tighter. “How do you know I am Spartan?”
This time the man showed no fear, speaking with steel. “Because your premier authorized Alistair to tell me. I know all about MI6’s brutal Spartan Program. I know that it allows only one man to go through the program and, if he is not dead at the end of it, carry the title Spartan. No others are allowed to go on the program while the current Spartan lives. That Spartan is you.”
Will’s heart raced faster. His Controller was one of the most senior operational members of MI6. For Alistair to have any form of bond with the man before him could only mean that this CIA officer held a similar rank within his own organization. And the fact that the British prime minister had authorized the disclosure of Will’s code name to the American could only mean that the CIA man was exceptionally powerful and trusted. “What’s your name?”
The CIA man looked back at him. His eyes had narrowed to slits and had now become quite cold. “You can call me Patrick.”
Will shook his head slightly. “I still deserve to know why you would help me.”
Patrick raised an eyebrow. “You deserve nothing of the sort. But I will tell you that Alistair and I share the same debt of gratitude to another man. And that debt brought me to this room today.”
“It’s fortunate for you that you mentioned Alistair’s name.” Will looked toward the door and lowered his voice. “What will happen now?”
Patrick also looked toward the door. “You’re by no means fit to leave this place, but you can’t stay here any longer. Nor can I offer you any more medical support.” He glanced back at Will and frowned. “I’m sorry that someone of your status had to be brought here. I couldn’t take you to an Agency facility. And the men here were the best I could put together at such short notice. But you have to go now, although I suggest you rest up in a hotel somewhere for another week before attempting the flight back to London. One of my men will get you some clothes and set you up with anything else you need. And I presume you have your passport and credit cards safely hidden somewhere in the city?”
“Yes.”
Patrick placed a hand under Will’s elbow and guided him to the exit. But before he opened the door, he turned to face Will fully. He spoke quietly and rapidly. “Take a message back to Alistair. Only Alistair. Tell him the following.” He nodded once. “The strike against us will be massive, and the great or the little will be the victim.”
Four
Will checked the map on his screen and noted that he was nearly halfway across the Atlantic Ocean. He was on a Heathrow-bound British Airways night flight and had paid for a first-class seat to ensure space and privacy. Save for occasional reading lights, the area around him was dark and most of the other passengers were sleeping.