Line of Fire: (Nick Stone Thriller 19) Read online

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  Nick Stone is back in London but if he thought he was home for a break, he’s very, very wrong.

  Backed into a corner by a man he knows he cannot trust, ex-deniable operator Nick Stone strikes a devil’s bargain. In exchange for his own safety – a life for a life – Stone is charged with locating someone who doesn’t want to be found, currently hiding out in one of the remotest corners of the UK. And for the first time in a long time, he’s not operating alone.

  But Stone and his team don’t find just anyone. They find a world-class hacker, so good that her work might threaten the stability of the western world as we know it. These are dangerous waters and Stone is quickly in over his head. Before he finally knows which way to turn, the choice is ripped out of his hands.

  Most people might think of home as safety but Nick Stone isn’t most people. For him and his team, it’s just another place to get caught in the line of fire …

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  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

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  About the Author

  Also by Andy McNab

  Copyright

  LINE OF FIRE

  Andy McNab

  1

  Zürich, Switzerland

  3 May 2016

  The heavy steel door, which the law dictated had to be thick enough to withstand the force of several Hiroshimas, had been nicely veneered in oak to make it look less intimidating. As it swung open, with a hydraulic sigh, I stood and turned to greet the woman coming through.

  ‘Claudia.’

  The door powered itself closed behind her, with a reassuring clunk. The clack of her heels on the shiny white tiles took over, and she approached with an extended hand. ‘Mr Stone. Very nice to meet you at last. May I call you Nick?’

  She was as I’d imagined her, early thirties, very smart, businesslike black skirt to just above the knee, big professional smile. Her hair was relaxed and pulled back in a bun.

  She was probably running through the same evaluation process as I was and working hard to hide her disappointment.

  ‘Of course. I thought we were old friends anyway.’

  Her polite smile didn’t exactly light up the room. She moved round to the other side of the desk and sat at the same time as I did, maintaining the smile of non-commitment to emotion.

  She took a breath. ‘Nick, I’m afraid there’s still no progress on the release of the funds, if that’s why you’ve come to see me.’ Her English was every bit as perfect as, no doubt, her Russian, French, German and Italian were. ‘We have not only the Russian fiscal and probate systems to deal with but also our own regulatory bodies here in Switzerland. They will need to be content with the process of the release, which, unfortunately, isn’t yet a release. When your funds are eventually transferred, they will be held in escrow until we’ve conformed to both countries’ regulations.’

  She managed a slight widening of the smile that gave her already prominent cheekbones a little lift. She was West African, maybe Nigerian, but Claudia Nangel, I was sure, would never consider retiring there.

  So, no change from what I’d been hearing for months now, not only from Claudia but also from my lawyer in Moscow. Her bank seemed to be making an absolute fortune – not that they were going to see any of it at the moment. ‘You mean I have it, but I don’t have it?’

  Claudia rested her hands on her desk and leant forward. ‘Nick, I’m so sorry for the loss of your partner and son. And I’m so sorry we can’t do any more to help you right now. We will try hard to cut through bureaucracy this end when your funds are released in Moscow, but …’

  It sounded genuine.

  She noticed the brown Jiffy bag I’d placed on the desk. ‘Ah, I see. Is this why you’re here?’

  ‘Could I ask you to look after it for me?’

  She opened the bag without a flicker of interest, concern, or even a smile, and produced a smaller one, white and the size of a CD, sealed, along with a folded sheet of A4. The brown Jiffy bag seemed far too messy for the room. I loved private banking.

  ‘The three names on that piece of paper each have a different code statement next to them. If any of those individuals calls you and gives their statement, could you please courier the package to the address I’ve written on it? If I call in, that would make four of us who can independently authorize the move.’

  She lifted the envelope a little to check the address.

  ‘Do you need to know what’s in there?’

  ‘No, Nick, not at all. But there will be a charge for curation.’

  ‘Ah. The problem for me, Claudia, is that I don’t have any personal money left. I can’t sell the apartment in Moscow because it was in Anna’s name. And even if the court clears probate tomorrow, it clearly isn’t going to be the end of the bureaucracy. I don’t think I’ll be able to find a way through without your help. So I’m skint.’

  She eased herself back in the chair, her hands clasped together as if in prayer. Maybe her English wasn’t as good as I’d thought it was.

  ‘Skint?’

  The diamond band with her wedding ring was on the fourth finger of her right hand. It looked like Claudia was German, not Swiss.

  I had a flashback to the lesson I’d learnt the hard way as a young squaddie stationed in Minden. I was always getting into trouble trying to chat up women after a casual check of their left hand, but that changed the night I got filled in by a very pissed-off German husband outside a nightclub called Stiffshankers. He explained, in better English than I spoke, that in Germany married women wore a ring on the right hand instead of the left.