Devil's End, page 1
Devil’s End
A MASON NASH NOVEL
DAVE SINCLAIR
This is where it all ends.
* * *
Mason Nash was retired. He was a pacifist. He was trying to be a good man.
Then Tartarus came after him – and now he has nothing left to lose.
Tartarus is a private spy agency who have fooled world governments into believing they’re benevolent and honourable. Mason Nash knows otherwise.
Framed for Tartarus’ misdeeds, Nash and his partners – Eva Destruction and Charles Bishop – are the most wanted ex-spies on the planet. Now they’re all that stands between Tartarus and their ultimate victory.
Hunted by every secret service agency around the globe, including their own beloved MI6, the team must prevent a staged terrorist attack without becoming victims themselves.
With the odds stacking up against them and the authorities closing in, Nash must stand alone and face his darkest demons to defeat Tartarus once and for all.
Not everyone will survive.
A non-stop page-turner, Devil’s End will keep you guessing until the very end. No reader of Sinclair’s novels can miss this thrilling conclusion.
Contents
Also by Dave Sinclair
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
Epilogue
Afterword
Also by Dave Sinclair
Acknowledgments
Also by Dave Sinclair
Mason Nash Novels
Past Transgressions
Shadow Hunting
Devil’s End
* * *
Atticus Wolfe Novels
Out of Time
It Takes a Spy
The Coldest War
* * *
Charles Bishop Novels
Kiss My Assassin
Agent Provocateur
Venetian Blonde
* * *
Eva Destruction Novels
The Barista’s Guide to Espionage
The Rookie’s Guide to Espionage (novella)
The Amnesiac’s Guide to Espionage
The Dead Spy’s Guide to Espionage
For Piers Morton.
My old housemate who, after one too many sessions of me complaining about some piece of writing, said the words, “Well, why don’t you try and do better?”
That little phrase put me on my long journey as a writer.
What a bastard.
Chapter
One
Nash had to concede that for the first time in his life, he was fully content.
Not just happiness, but true contentment. Happiness is fleeting and generated by external factors based on emotion, whereas contentment is a state of mind. Happiness is a reaction; contentment is a lasting calmness. And it had indeed lasted. In the five weeks he’d been in Nepal, Nash had experienced a peace he’d never known before.
It was the state he’d hoped to achieve after he’d retired from MI6 and moved to the English countryside but had never quite attained, in spite of all the yoga and meditation. It had taken total isolation in this far-flung little town to reach this higher level of inner peace.
Meandering down a dirt track beside a small creek, he was in no particular rush. None of the friendly locals he passed appeared to be either. The occasional dog would amble up for a scratch behind the ear and then wander off to find some shade from the midday sun.
Panauti was thirty kilometres southeast of Kathmandu. Nash was staying with a lovely local family in their guest house, as there were no nearby hotels. It cost him the equivalent of six pounds a night including meals, which was fortunate, as there were no restaurants to speak of.
Nash was living his idyllic life. He only wished he could stay, but knew he couldn’t—for so many reasons.
Dressed in the local garb of a linen kurta and three-quarter pants, Nash slowly made his way to the old part of the city with its forty-odd temples. Panauti was laid back and unhurried and nowhere near as busy as the touristy Kathmandu or Bhaktapur. There was hardly any traffic on the patchy roads, and despite being the only Westerner, no one had tried to sell him anything.
Part of the reason Nash was here was to heal, mentally and physically. It had taken weeks for his body to recover from recent incidents, longer still for his mind to start to mend. No matter how comfortable and at peace he was, there was always a splinter in his mind, the reminder that his work was not yet done. There was one task only Nash could complete.
He had to bring down Tartarus.
The evil private spy agency had grown even stronger, more powerful, more ambitious. It had killed hundreds of innocents, manipulated world governments and framed Nash and his friends for the worst of it. Former MI6 espionage agents Nash, Eva Destruction, Charles Bishop and Paul Cavendish were now the most wanted ex-spies on the planet. Every major government was on the lookout for them while the heads of Tartarus only strengthened their grip on power, moving ever closer to legitimacy and acceptance by those they wished to overthrow.
Despite appearances, Nash wasn’t hiding, he was biding his time. Tartarus had their people embedded in every major espionage agency and would be scouring every corner of the globe for Nash and his team. Even with the combined spy networks of the legitimate secret service organisations, they would be hard-pressed to find him in Panauti. They might be good, but he doubted any were that good; although the Himalayan sheepdog nearby was eying him suspiciously. He gave pooch a belly rub and sent him on his way, hoping he’d keep Nash’s secret.
Tartarus were still out there, somewhere, but for Nash to take them on he needed to be whole again; Nepal had given him that. Part of him, a large part, wanted to stay, to ignore the rest of the world and its frivolous global politics and endless wars and just be. But as strong as the pull was, Nash knew deep down he could never stay, not until his role in the story was done. His moral core could never allow that level of malevolence to win. No, this tranquillity he felt was only fleeting. He couldn’t stay, not until Tartarus’s house of lies had been burnt to the ground. But there would be no burning today. He had temples to investigate.
Reaching the old town, Nash took time to admire the traditional Newa architecture. He waved to the local children, who felt comfortable saying hello to the man with the unruly grey beard who had been in their midst for weeks and didn’t seem to be going anywhere.
Today’s trek took him to the Indreshwar Mahadev Temple, which was over seven hundred years old. Dedicated to Shiva, it was Panauti’s oldest and most beloved temple. Nash had deliberately left this pagoda as his last to explore. His thinking was that you don’t start a meal with dessert, you finish strong. This would be his last temple before he left his little isolation bubble for the real world. He wanted to make it count.
Various smaller monuments surrounded the main temple. Stone lions guarded each of the entrances. Several puja, or shrines, containing offerings were scattered around the temple.
Nash slowly circled the ground level, where two small doors were surrounded by round panels with high blind windows positioned near the corners. Roof struts depicted various goddesses, some in sensuous poses. It was a breathtaking building. Using his digital SLR, Nash snapped photos from various angles. Soon, that wasn’t all he was taking photos of.
Over the last few weeks Nash had learned to identify the locals on sight; their mannerisms, their habits. While he didn’t speak the local dialect, a friendly wave or mimes to induce a laugh had endeared him to most. The locals seemed to like the strange tall man in their midst. Nash could spot a tourist miles away. He chuckled to himself. Tourist. He was even beginning to think like a local.
The three newcomers arrived at the same time Nash did. Two women and a man. Under the pretext of photographing the temple, Nash surreptitiously took pictures of each of them. Entering the temple alone, he zoomed in on the images to confirm his suspicions.
By the time tourists reached Panauti they were well and truly dishevelled. No one started a holiday in a town this far from civilisation. It was only the most ardent and dedicated long-term travellers who came this far off the beaten track. So why, then, were these tourists’ backpacks and clothing brand new? Why were their fingernails so clean, their hiking boots straight out of the box and the man clean shaven?
There was a simple explanation: they weren’t tourists.
They’ve found me.
In an instant, all of Nash’s contentment was washed away by the firehose of reality, leaving behind a square-jawed professional. He placed his hemp bag and camera quietly on the wooden floor and did his best to mentally prepare for what was to come. He cracked his neck and stepped outside.
From their facial features, the three were likely of Chinese heritage, though that was hardly a definitive gauge of nationality. All did their best to cast their eyes in any direction but his.
Shoddy spycraft, guys.
Most people took at least a fraction of a second to glance at anyone exiting a temple. Not these three. They were careful to ensure they didn’t gaze at Nash at all, even though he was the only white guy for kilometres. A reliable sign they were, in fact, shadowing him. To be visible lik
Throughout Nash’s long career he’d learned that sometimes the best form of defence was attack. Equally, he’d learned that sometimes, it was running away. And yet at other times, defence was best served by completely confusing your enemy.
He quite liked the latter.
Stepping towards the non-tourists, he waved a friendly hand. “Hey there, I’m Mason Nash. I believe you’re looking for me, as I’m wanted by… well, everyone.”
The three stared at him in stunned silence. Coloured prayer flags fluttered in the wind.
There was surely nothing in their handbook for this eventuality. How to strangle a man? Sure. Countersurveillance in a built-up area? Undoubtedly. What to do when your surveillance target identifies themselves and walks over to you with a big stupid grin? Unlikely.
They all gawped at him, shocked. But not shocked enough to keep them from reaching for their very un-tourist-like Chinese manufactured QSZ-92 pistols and pointing them at Nash.
“You’re… giving yourself up?” the male asked.
His accent was thick. English wasn’t his native language.
Nash stepped close to the man. The two women sensibly remained close, but out of striking distance.
Still grinning, Nash replied, “Well, I don’t know about giving myself up, per se. Perhaps we could have a little chat and see where things lead, hmm?”
Confusion crinkled the man’s forehead. “You’ve admitted you are the criminal, Mason Nash.”
“I admitted the latter, not the former. That’s all Tartarus propaganda.”
“What’s a Tartarus?”
That one took Nash by surprise. “So… you’re not Tartarus?”
The man shook his head in genuine confusion. “My name’s Feng.”
“No, I mean who do you work for?”
“I work for State Security Ministry.”
So, they were Chinese secret service. The organisation was the principal civilian intelligence, security and secret police agency of the People’s Republic of China. No slouches in the world of espionage. One should never underestimate them.
Nash’s eyes narrowed. “Who do you really work for?”
“Mr Zang?”
“And who’s he then?”
“My supervisor at the Ministry.” Feng scratched the back of head but made sure the QSZ-92 didn’t stray from Nash. “Look, I’m going to be honest here, I’m a bit lost with this whole conversation.”
“You and me both, buddy.” Nash planted his fists on his hips. “You’re telling me you’ve never heard of Tartarus?”
“Is that a sports drink?”
In retrospect, assuming they were Tartarus was unrealistic. Tartarus were good, very good, but even they couldn’t be in all places at once. That was part of the reason Nash and his compatriots had been framed for Tartarus’s crimes: so legitimate spy agencies could do Tartarus’s dirty work for them.
None of them had even flinched when he’d mentioned Tartarus. The organisation wasn’t all-powerful just yet. Although they’d infiltrated every major spy agency, not all spies in the world were on their payroll. It was conceivable these three weren’t Tartarus at all, just sent to investigate a vague lead about an unidentified bearded man in an out-of-the-way place. They likely had many such innocuous leads to follow up, it just so happened these three had been sent after the real Mason Nash. If it were a simple lead follow-up, that likely meant there wouldn’t be backup or legions of Chinese spies about to descend on the temple complex. To Nash, that may be the only glimmer of hope in this whole situation.
If these three weren’t connected to Tartarus, that meant they were just doing their job, and Nash wished them no ill will. Although he wasn’t sure that sentiment would be reflected back.
He held up his hands. “I don’t want a fight. I’m a pacifist and don’t wish to harm anyone.”
The taller female frowned. “I’ve seen your file. You’re no more a pacifist than I am a hamster.” Her English was flawless.
Nash pinged her as the lead of the operation. “I’ve changed.”
Feng stepped forward and thrust his gun in Nash’s face. “On the ground, now!”
Driven by pure instinct, Nash reacted. Taking a confident stride forward, his lightning-fast hands grasped the pistol and twisted it painfully away from Feng. His right hand dug into his opponent’s palm, peeling the weapon from his grasp. Once in his possession, Nash ejected the cartridge and peeled back the slide to eject the bullet in the barrel then dropped the weapon, holding his hands up in surprise. It was a motor reflex reaction that took all of a second and a half.
Apparently unimpressed with Nash’s disarming skills, the now unarmed Feng screeched in anger. He lunged forward, throwing a telegraphed right fist at Nash. Sidestepping it neatly, Nash let Feng’s forward momentum carry him past then, utilising the man’s off kilter mass, grasped the back of his head and introduced his face to Nash’s knee. The loud crack told him they had been suitably acquainted. With Feng still on his feet, Nash grabbed the back of his jacket and bum rushed him headfirst into a nearby offering shrine, sending incense, flowers and fruit flying.
Standing legs akimbo, Nash held his palms up, doing his best to appear as unthreatening to the two remaining Chinese agents as possible. He suspected the gesture was unsuccessful.
The lead female raised her pistol to Nash’s head but remained a respectable distance away. “Changed, have you?” She flicked a thumb towards her subordinate. “His broken nose says otherwise.”
“The fact that he’s still breathing is evidence enough.” Nash sighed. “Believe it or not, I don’t wish to hurt anyone. I made a vow that wherever possible I will inflict no harm, try to make up for the life you read about in my file. And as comprehensive as it is, I’m sure it doesn’t cover all my sins. Believe me, I want you to walk away from this unscathed as much as you do. This doesn’t have to end in violence and bloodshed.”
Her face fell into a scowl. “A little late for that, isn’t it?”
“It’s never too late to stop violence. Believe me, I know.”
The three remained in a tense stand-off while Feng quietly moaned and cradled his bloody nose.
The youngest of the three, who had been silent until that moment, finally spoke up. “What happens now?”
The senior agent tossed Nash a pair of handcuffs, which he caught with his right hand. She growled, “We take him in and let the higher-ups sort it out.”
Nash thought her course of action wise and well-reasoned. He clicked the cuffs on each wrist and then extended his hands to show they were securely in place. More at ease, both women stepped forward, the youngest holstering her weapon. Both were within arm’s length.
That was a mistake.
Nash attacked the senior first; his right jab to her face stunned her enough that he could relinquish her of her weapon. He aimed it at the stunned junior, who stared open-mouthed at the now unsecured handcuffs hanging from his left wrist.
Nash cracked a smile. “Pro tip. Never trust a man who went to magic camp instead of regular camp as a kid.”
He leaned down and took her unwisely holstered pistol before patting all three down for additional weapons. Finding none, he took their phones, as well as a shortwave comms device. The last thing he did was take off their boots and tie all the laces together.
“You’re… taking our shoes?” the senior woman asked. “Why?”
“It’s harder to give chase without shoes. Imagine you somehow get loose? Further imagine you have enough time to catch up with me? I have no wish to harm you, so, if I’m smart, which I like to think I am, I’m going to do everything I can do to slow you down.” To emphasise his point, Nash waggled the shoe collection at them.
