by L J Morris
Carter took the printouts. ‘I’ll have a look at those later. Can you give me a quick rundown?’
‘Basically, it seems that the Americans want to keep ultimate control over NATO’s new nuclear weapon. They want a little insurance that it won’t fall into the wrong hands.’
‘What kind of insurance?’
‘Using the European based Kraken requires British and American agreement. The Americans wanted to be sure that, if Britain fell or was taken over by insurgents, then the US still had control of the Kraken’s missiles.’
Carter had seen this before, during the Cold War. Some in the American military didn’t trust anyone, not even allies. ‘How were they planning to do that?’
‘A little something they call the Apocalypse Protocol. The US executive can take over the European Kraken and re-target it, even against Britain if necessary, from terminals in the US.’
Carter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘No British government would sign up to that.’
‘Maybe that’s what MI6 are keen to hide. Maybe we’re covering the arse of the person who did sign up to it.’
‘Is the agreement mutual? Could Britain take control of the US side of Kraken?’
Kinsella shook his head. ‘The Americans would never allow that. The Apocalypse Protocol allows the North American missiles to be launched from Britain, but only by US officials based there. The terminals would be housed in secure American facilities.’
‘But what would Bazarov get from that information? It would cause a scandal if it leaked out, but that’s it.’ Carter couldn’t see what Bazarov could hope to gain. ‘Could it be used by anyone else? Could someone like you hack in to it?’
‘No, that would be impossible. The Kraken isn’t connected to the outside world. It has its own secure network of control centres. Even if it was possible for Bazarov to get the launch codes, which it isn’t, they would be useless unless he was at one of the control terminals.’
‘Would Leatherback Cay have a terminal?’
Kinsella nodded. ‘That’s where all the testing was done, but the American missiles still couldn’t be launched from there without valid codes.’
‘What if the Apocalypse Protocol was activated?’
‘That could bypass the normal requirement to have the codes, but Bazarov would still need the biometric data of the President, or Vice President to launch. If the protocol was being used, then it’s probable that all normal processes had already failed. The US introduced the biometric data as a backup to allow the missiles to be used even if the launch codes were lost.’
There seemed to be plenty of fail-safes in place, but Carter had a feeling in his gut. Bazarov wasn’t stupid, there must be something in this for him. ‘Can anyone else issue a launch command?’
‘The Apocalypse Protocol can be set in motion by two people named on the survivors list. That’s the list of who takes over if the top brass gets taken out.’
Carter had heard of the list before. He knew there was always a pecking order of senior military and politicians who took over if the executive fell. ‘Can you find out exactly who is on that list?’
‘I’ll see what I can do. This list exists for all US nuclear weapons, the current executive and senior military are on there, but the Apocalypse Protocol’s list will be out of date. It was probably tested using the list that was in place when it was developed a few years back. It won’t have been refreshed in the same way when the administration changed. Once phase two goes live, the list will have to be updated with the new executive’s details and agreed with the British anyway.’
‘We need to be sure, Danny. We need to know if there’s a credible threat. Did you have any luck with Lone Star and the number?’
‘No, too many hits. Have you any idea how many businesses and places in Texas are called Lone Star something or other? There’s even a city called Lone Star. So far, there’s nothing I can connect Bazarov to.’
‘I’ll see if Frank has come up with anything else when I contact him later. Keep looking, Danny. I’m starting to get an uneasy feeling about this one.’
‘I’ll let you know when I find something.’
The two men stood up and Kinsella patted Carter on the shoulder before walking off across the park. Carter was worried. The Kraken sounded secure enough but there was always something that got missed. He finished his coffee and threw the empty cup into the bin beside the bench.
* * *
Across the Atlantic, FBI analyst Robert Tyler was giving a briefing to his boss, Special Agent in Charge Thomas Johnson. Tyler tapped the touchpad on his laptop and an image from the projector filled the screen that covered one wall of the meeting room. ‘This is the still from the one-sided gang shootout at the motel. I’ve cleaned it up and run it through our facial recognition software to compare it with the image database.’
‘And what did you find?’
He tapped the laptop again; an image of Sinclair appeared next to the motel still. ‘The system flagged up this woman.’
‘Who is she?’
The analyst brought a document up on the screen. ‘Alison Sinclair, British national, escaped from a prison in Mexico.’ He slid a paper copy of the document across the table.
His boss picked it up and looked through the details. ‘She was in for drug smuggling?’
‘That’s right.’
‘That makes this easier. She’s smuggling in drugs, the gang didn’t like it, and they had a shootout. No mystery there.’
‘I don’t agree. She, and an unknown male, took out six heavily armed gang members before they could fire a single shot. That takes training.’
‘Says here she’s ex-military.’
‘They’d have to be more than regular military to do what they did.’
‘So, what do you suggest?’
‘I just need a little more time. I’ll run the image through some more databases, see if she pops up anywhere else.’
‘Okay, do a bit more digging and see what you can find. Don’t spend too long on it though.’
‘Right Boss.’
Chapter 12
Jo Quinn walked into the kitchen from her office. ‘Bazarov wants me over in the bungalow. What am I going to do?’
Sinclair stood up from the table. ‘Go. See what he wants. He can’t hurt you, you’re too valuable to him.’
‘But what about you?’
‘I’ll be fine. If he wanted to hurt me he would have done it this morning. You go, I’ll try and contact Frank. When the time comes, he can take care of Bazarov, but MI6 need to come up with a plan to get your kids back.’
Quinn left the kitchen and went outside. She walked round the back of the house and headed for the pool. Once Quinn was out of site, Sinclair went to one of the rear windows and looked out. She knew McGill had planned to be there, but she had no idea if he actually was. She took her small torch from her pocket and pointed it out of the window; two short flashes followed by a longer one, their agreed signal.
McGill was watching as Quinn left the house and crossed the patio. He watched her momentarily before turning his binoculars back to Sinclair’s position. The torch signal was clear; Sinclair had something important to pass on to him. He lifted his MP5 and switched on the laser sight. The red dot momentarily appeared on the window next to Sinclair, she knew he had seen her signal and would make his way towards the house as they had planned.
Quinn walked into the bungalow, Bazarov was sitting at the table with a laptop open in front of him. The light from the screen lit up his face and reflected off his glasses. ‘Have a seat, Josephine.’
Quinn sat opposite him, fidgeting, her facial tick getting worse. ‘What do you want? I’ve done everything you’ve asked.’
‘That’s right, Josephine, you have. I thought you’d like to see your children.’ He turned the laptop towards her. On the screen was a video feed showing Quinn’s two young boys staring wide-eyed at the camera. Quinn held her hand to her mouth, the image reflecting off the m
oistness in her eyes. She cleared her throat and tried to appear calm. ‘Hello, guys, are you okay?’
The two boys sat close to each other, hand-in-hand, terrified. Tom was the eldest, eight years old, and the spitting image of his dad. Aiden was six and looking to his elder brother for support and protection. Tom’s voice was faint, ‘When are you coming to get us mom?’
Quinn’s chin trembled as she fought to hold back the emotion that threatened to burst through her calm veneer. ‘Soon, boys, mommy will be there soon.’
Bazarov took off his glasses and placed them on the table. ‘I’m going to ask you a few questions, Josephine. Please don’t insult me by trying to lie.’
‘Questions? About what?’
‘About your friend, Alison Sinclair. I want to know what she’s up to.’
‘I don’t know what you mean. She’s escaped from that hellhole of a prison and just needs a friend. I’m sure you can check up on her.’
‘I have checked, but there’s something she’s hiding, and I think you know what it is.’
Quinn shook her head. ‘I ... I don’t know anything. I mean, she’s not hiding anything.’
‘Then tell me this, Josephine, who was it that sneaked into the Bungalow while we were away? Who was here alone when one of my men died?’
‘But that was an accident.’
‘NO.’ Bazarov slammed his fist on the table. ‘I don’t believe that.’ He pointed at the laptop screen. ‘Now, tell me everything. Your children’s lives depend on it.’
On the screen, Tom and Aiden hugged each other. A man stood over them, a nine-millimetre automatic in his hand.
Quinn stood up, her hands held out towards the screen as if she was trying to grab the boys. To hug them to her chest and protect them. ‘No, No, please. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything.’
* * *
After acknowledging Sinclair’s signal, McGill had crawled, a few inches at a time, towards the house. It had taken him over an hour, but he was now crouched underneath the window that Sinclair had stood at earlier. He raised himself up, just enough to see over the bottom of the window, and looked into the house.
Sinclair sat at the dining table, alone, drinking coffee. McGill placed the laser sight’s red dot on the back of Sinclair’s hand. She brushed at it, as if to wipe it away, and checked behind her. She moved over to the window and opened it a few inches. ‘Frank?’
‘Who were you expecting, the tooth fairy?’ McGill moved into the light. Wearing his ghillie suit, and with his face coated in camo grease, he looked like a talking bush – only his wide grin gave him away. ‘You ready to get out of here yet?’
‘Not just yet.’ Sinclair handed him a folded sheet of paper. ‘I’ve written everything down on there, you need to get it to Carter.’
‘He sent us a message. The map you found is Leatherback Cay. It’s a private island in the Caribbean, not far from the Mexico Belize border. He wants you to question Quinn about it, but I’m not happy with that.’
‘I already have, she came clean about everything. Bazarov is holding Quinn’s kids hostage, and he’s forcing her to break in to the Kraken system using something she called the Apocalypse Protocol. Bazarov is trying to launch a nuclear strike.’
McGill tucked the paper into his jacket. ‘Holy shit, I don’t think Carter was expecting anything like that.’
‘Not even close. MI6 need to arrange a rescue for the kids, we can deal with Bazarov ourselves.’
‘I’ll get this straight to Carter, you watch your back, Ali. With this much at stake it could go pear shaped really quick.’ He handed her one of the Glocks and a spare magazine. ‘Keep this with you. If there’s a problem, protect yourself. I’ll be near.’
‘Who are you, my mother? You worry too much, get out of here, McGill.’
He disappeared into the shadows and Sinclair closed the window. She didn’t want to risk keeping the weapon with her all the time, so she went upstairs and hid it under her mattress. She returned to the kitchen just as Quinn arrived in the house. ‘Are you okay, Jo? What did he want?’
Quinn was trembling, her face damp and streaked with mascara. ‘It was just more questions about the Kraken and Leatherback Cay. He did let me speak to the kids though.’
Sinclair put her arms around Quinn. ‘That’s good, did they look okay?’
‘They were frightened, Ali. I have to protect them. I have to do whatever he wants.’
Sinclair could see that Quinn was close to losing it. It wasn’t surprising, husband killed and kids kidnapped, it must be hell. ‘It’s okay, I understand. We can get out of this. I promise.’
‘I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to them.’
‘When Frank gets the message back to London they’ll know what to do. You’ll be back with Tom and Aiden in no time.’ Sinclair hated herself for telling such a blatant lie. Quinn must know that the chances of getting the boys back were slim. ‘Come over and have a seat.’ Sinclair guided Quinn over to the sofa and they both sat down.
‘Whatever happens, Ali, I need you to know that everything I did was for them. I never meant to hurt anyone.’
‘I know that, Jo, and so will everyone else once this is all over.’ She had to get Quinn’s mind on to something else, even if it was just for an hour or two. ‘Why don’t you use your magic and rustle us up something to eat? I don’t know about you but I’m starving.’
Quinn ran her fingers through her hair. Her hands came to rest on the back of her neck for a few seconds, and then, with a deep breath, she stood up. ‘I could use a drink. You go down to the cellar and get us some wine and I’ll get started in the kitchen.’
Sinclair felt a little uneasy; Quinn’s mood swings weren’t a good sign. Hopefully Frank could get some sort of decision from the suits in London and get back here. It was looking more and more likely that they would have to grab Quinn and force her to get out without the boys. She watched her in the kitchen, wandering from fridge to sink to cooker, almost in a daze.
Quinn returned Sinclair’s gaze. ‘What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?’
Sinclair got up from the sofa and held up her hands in mock surrender. ‘Okay, okay, I’m going. Do you want red or white?’
‘Red, I think, unless you prefer something else. Better make it two bottles, the good stuff is at the back.’
Sinclair crossed the kitchen and walked down the corridor to the cellar. She flicked the light switch and opened the door. A set of wooden stairs, with a handrail, led down into the coolness of the cellar. Several rows of wine racks stretched away from the bottom of the stairs. The wine cellar was the biggest Sinclair had ever seen – although, it was only the second one she’d been in. When it came to wine, all she knew was that it came in red and white. Other than the odd glass with a meal, her preference was beer, occasionally a cocktail if she was feeling exotic. After a quick look at the first few racks she went to the back of the room, picked two bottles of red at random and hoped she’d made the right choice.
Back at the top of the wooden steps she kicked the door shut behind her. ‘I picked a couple of bottles of red, Jo. I’ve no idea if they’re any good but—’ A sudden noise behind her warned her too late. A powerful forearm was already tightening its grip across her throat, cutting off her air. She didn’t have long. She had to stop herself from blacking out. She lifted her knee and brought the heel of her boot down hard on the top of her attacker’s foot. He gave a pained grunt and the grip around her neck loosened. She moved her head to one side and, twisting her body, smashed the first bottle of wine in his face. He staggered backwards, spitting out blood and teeth.
As Sinclair tried to follow up with a punch, another assailant appeared from behind her spluttering victim. He rushed at her, arms outstretched, aiming for her throat. She swung the remaining bottle in front of her and made contact with the second attacker’s head. The bottle shattered and the blow knocked him to the floor, writhing, hands clamped on the gaping wound that the
broken glass had left in his skin.
A third attacker hit her with his shoulder in the small of her back, knocking her off balance. As she hit the floor, a fourth and fifth pair of hands held her down. She felt the scratch of the hypodermic pricking her arm, her vision blurred, and noises echoed inside her head. She felt her strength and feeling drain away from her body and then everything was dark.
* * *
Sinclair’s eyes flickered open. Her head felt like it was full of cotton wool. The throbbing pain began behind her eyes and seemed to travel down to her neck in waves as her heart pounded. She could make out a dim light but her vision was still blurred, she screwed up her eyes and shook her head to try and clear the fog but it was no use. She realised she had a canvas sack over her head. Her hands were zip-tied behind her back and rope bound her to the chair she was sitting on. She didn’t know what had been in the sack before it was placed over her head, but the smell was overpowering. The tape over her mouth meant she could only breathe through her nose and she swallowed hard as she tried to hold back the feelings of nausea. The last thing she needed now was to throw up.
She could hear muffled noises, low murmuring voices, and the sound of feet shuffling. This was about control – fear and control. Bazarov wanted her to know that he was in charge.
Footsteps approached her from behind. Someone hit her hard on the back of the head and shouted in her ear, ‘Wake up.’
The sack was pulled off and she took as deep a breath as she could but only succeeded in sucking in dust. With her mouth covered she couldn’t take in the air she needed between coughs and began to choke. She couldn’t breathe and began to struggle against her bindings in panic.
‘Let her breathe.’ Quinn pleaded with Bazarov.
The guard behind Sinclair grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. Bazarov took a step forwards and bent over her, staring into her eyes. Just as she began to lose consciousness again, Bazarov ripped off the tape. Sinclair breathed in hard with a loud rasping sound as her lungs re-inflated, coughing and spluttering as her body tried to clear out the dust she had taken in. When the coughing had subsided, she cleared her throat and spat on the floor. She sat up straight, defiant, as her breathing, still heavy, began to return to normal.
