by Eric Meyer
Both men smiled. "Don't worry, Admiral," Talley replied, "we’ll behave."
"And make sure I'm informed of everything you do. I don't want to see it on CNN before I hear about it from you."
Sergeant Williams was waiting for them in the outer office. Admiral Brooks' aide produced, as if by magic, tickets for the Eurostar that went direct from Brussels to London.
"How the hell did you manage to do that so fast?" Guy asked him in disbelief. "The only way would be if you had the Admiral's office bugged."
"Bugged? I wouldn't dream of it. If you gentlemen would like to follow me, I'll take you to the Eurostar terminal."
He led them to the Admiral's luxurious Mercedes, and they were treated to another ride through the Belgian capital, this time to the bustling railway terminal. Williams explained it was the fastest way to get to central London, particularly as they were on official NATO business. He winked as he told them it avoided the need for travel through airports, and airport security.
Talley smiled. "Yeah, I was wondering how we could get our hardware into England. I thought we'd have to leave it with you, but I guess it won't be a problem."
"I wouldn't guarantee it, Lieutenant. There's always the possibility you could be stopped and searched, but it's not very likely, especially as you are travelling in uniform."
"Understood, we'll just have to take the chance. I hate to go on a mission unarmed. It feels as if I'm not wearing my underwear. Not that this is a mission, not exactly. We’re going for a friendly chat."
Williams smiled. "I've kept up with the reports of Echo Six in the field. All I can say is whoever you're going to have a chat with, would be well advised to wear a flak jacket. Just my opinion, of course, no offence."
"None taken," Talley replied dryly.
He left them at the terminal and they boarded the Eurostar almost immediately. Williams had done them proud, their tickets were booked in the business class section of the train. In less than two hours, they were exiting the Channel Tunnel and rocketing through the English countryside en route for London. As they enjoyed their first decent meal for a long time, brought to them by an unusually attentive and attractive waitress, they discussed how they would handle Anika Frost.
"Are you sure she’s crooked?" Guy asked him. "She seemed committed to the operation, and put her life on the line more than once. She doesn't strike me as someone working for the other side."
"She was working for her father," Talley replied. "I know about Petersen’s wife, her mother, being hit by a drone strike, so maybe that was enough to turn her against everything she believes in. Neither of them looks like the usual Muslim fanatic."
"You think there’s another motive? The usual reason, money?"
"The British Secret Intelligence service has a record of high-level treachery," Talley pointed out. "Most of them, people like Philby and Anthony Blunt, betrayed their country for their beliefs, but more than a few had their own bank balances in mind when they actually did it. My guess is that he got bitter going around the world from posting to posting, seeing how well other people did. The death of his wife was the final straw, and he would have found it easy to go over to the people he was so obsessed with, the Persians."
"But nukes? That's taking it to extremes."
"It is taking it to extremes, although the rewards would be massive. But now that Petersen is dead, my concern is with Doctor Frost. How deeply was she involved? She could still hurt us."
"I noticed you called her Doctor Frost, and not Anika," Guy observed. "It looks as if you've made up your mind. Not using her Christian name is putting some distance between you and her before you take action. It's as if you've already decided she's guilty."
Talley didn't reply.
Maybe he's right, and deep down I know she passed information to Petersen that was enough to get men killed. She betrayed us.
In his world, it didn't require a person to pull the trigger or drop the bomb to kill someone. It was enough to pass on information that would enable someone else to do the killing. In the shadowy world of SpecOps, there was generally only one punishment, death.
They watched the green fields and farms of the county of Kent rush past the fast moving train, and gradually the pastoral landscape gave way to the grimy and sprawling suburbs of London. Soon, the train slowed and they pulled into the soot-covered Victorian splendor of St Pancras Station. Thankfully, they had not seen any customs officials on their journey, and the weapons they brought in their luggage had passed undetected. They took a taxi into central London and checked into the Dorchester Hotel, with NATO paying the tab. When they were safely in their room, they were able to prepare for their confrontation with Doctor Anika Frost. Talley unstrapped the false bottom of his carry on bag and removed his Sig Sauer P226. He pulled out the clip and checked the ammunition load, slapped it back in, and attached the sound suppressor to the end of the barrel. Guy sat on his bed and watched him.
"What? What's the problem, Guy? Something has been bothering you since we talked to Admiral Brooks in Brussels."
Guy seemed to come to a decision, and he sighed. "It's just this, Boss. I'm still not sure about the way this was handled. It’s the involvement of that bastard Ahmadinejad. You know my ancestry, and although I'm not a practicing Jew, most of my family are Jewish, so he's the archfiend as far as we are concerned. Yet it seems as if that nasty little shit has manipulated us all along the line. We’re helping him out, can’t you see that?"
"Guy, what about the warheads? You were there, man! We were nearly killed, and you know that Petersen was behind it. President Ahmadinejad just tried to put a stop to it."
"Yeah? Or did he have something else in mind, like using us to prop up his regime? I don't know, Abe. All I do know is I don't like being pushed by a guy like him. For a long time, I've harbored an ambition to put a bullet between his eyes. And here we are helping him out, so he can keep threatening Israel and anyone else he takes a disliking to. It doesn't seem right."
Talley fixed the SAS man with a hard stare, "Guy, I know where you're coming from. Just because the enemy of your enemy is your friend, doesn't mean that he's any less of an enemy."
Guy nodded, "Yeah, that's about it."
"Think about this. We've prevented a massive threat to the West and to Israel itself. If the time comes when it’s right to put a bullet between Ahmadinejad's eyes, I'll be right behind you, lending you a hand. But in the meantime, we have a problem to deal with here. If she did sell us out to the Pasdaran, then she has to answer for it, and I don't give a fuck about what the Brits feel. We lost a good man in Valois, and someone has to pay. Here's the deal, Guy. Do your job, see this through, and we'll talk about the other thing afterward."
"Okay. Let's see what the little lady has to say, but as for the other thing, someone has to take him down."
Talley could see he was still reluctant. He thought about the repercussions that would follow a hit on the President of the Islamic Republic of Iran.
One thing's sure, the tens of thousands of Islamic fanatics who pose such a problem to the security of the Western world would likely mushroom into tens of millions. It's true the world would be a better place without him, except that killing him could have the opposite effect and tip the politics of the Middle East into a conflagration engulfing most of the world. World War Three!
He watched his second-in-command begin to carry out the checks on his own handgun, prior to putting it out of sight under his coat. Until their conversation, he hadn't given a great deal of thought to Guy's attitude to Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. But he felt a shiver as it came to him that the SAS man showed all the signs of becoming a loose cannon. A loose cannon that could potentially be almost as much a threat to security as the nukes they had just taken care of. If he did go on a mission to assassinate the Iranian President, the Iranian Head of State would die. Talley realized his options were limited. If he thought it was about to happen, he would have to be stopped. And in the case of Sergeant Guy Welland of the
SAS, stopping him would mean having to kill him.
Would I have the cold resolution to shoot and kill a man I've grown to like and trust?
He flinched as he heard a click behind him, almost as if his partner had read his mind and had decided to make a preemptive strike, but when he turned around, Guy had merely opened the door ready to go out. He noted Talley's reaction and raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.
"If we're going to that meeting, Boss, we ought to head out now."
Talley nodded. "Let's go see what she has to say."
They walked through the busy streets of the capital of the United Kingdom. It had been raining, and the downpour had stopped. The streets and sidewalks were wet, reflecting the feeble glow of the streetlights trying to penetrate the gloom. London teemed with scores of people of different nations. In ten minutes he heard as many as a dozen different languages.
"I thought this was supposed to be England," he chuckled to Guy. "I've hardly heard an English accent since we left the hotel, apart from yours."
"I grew up in London," Guy replied, "but it's not the place I once knew. It's become something of a melting pot for the world's populations."
"Including terrorists?"
"Oh, yes, there are plenty of those. The Islamic lunatics seem to make a beeline for this place. We can be sure of one thing, sooner or later, when we've cleared out the cesspit of Iran and the Middle East, we'll have plenty of trade in this city."
There it is again. The focus on Iran, so obviously he's thinking of Ahmadinejad. God help us if they find out that a member of an elite NATO force is targeting their President.
They reached the beautiful old buildings of King's College, London and read the sign outside which gave directions to the lecture to be given by Doctor Anika Frost. People were already going through the doors, and unsurprisingly, considering the subject of Persian history and archaeology, many of them were obviously of Middle Eastern descent. They entered the building and walked along the corridor to the lecture theatre. As they pushed through the doors and walked inside, a girl with her back to them turned, and they came face-to-face. Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped before she managed to control her expression.
"So you came."
Talley nodded. "Didn't you expect us?"
"Yes, I suppose I did expect to see you London, but not here." She made a joke, "I thought you’d had enough Persian history to last a lifetime." Neither of them returned her smile. Slowly it faded.
"So why are you here?"
Still neither of them answered. What was there to say? Finally she nodded.
"I guess you've come here to kill me, is that it?"
Talley shook his head. "All we want to do is talk, Anika, that’s it. Can we meet up afterward? You know that we have to tie up a few loose ends."
"And then kill me?"
He stared into her eyes. Those beautiful, deep brown eyes that he'd once seen filled with passion as they made love. That was a lifetime ago. Yet with a start, he remembered that it was only a matter of a few weeks.
"I guess it'll depend on your answers."
She thought for a few moments. "Okay, when I've finished speaking, you'll find me in the green room at the rear of the lecture theatre. I should be on my own, and we can talk as much as you like.”
She waited a few seconds. Talley nodded, and she turned on her heel and disappeared into the backstage area. He turned to Guy.
"You'd better wait out back in case she tries to make a run for it."
"And if she does?"
He hated himself for giving the order, but knew that if she did run, it would be all the proof they needed that she was bad.
"If it comes to that, kill her."
Chapter Eleven
The lecture began, and Talley listened for a short while but quickly became bored. She was passionate, totally absorbed in her subject. For the first time, it was clear how deeply involved she was with the history and archaeology of Persia, now the Islamic Republic of Iran. To stop himself from falling asleep as she droned on about the technical measurements of rural qanats, he let his eyes wander around the imposing room. It was a throwback to the Victorian era; high ceilinged, with walls clad in dark oak paneling. He was seated, like the rest of the audience, on hard wooden benches that were elevated like the seats in a cinema. Sadly, they were not as comfortable. When the place was built, learning took precedence over the comfort of the listeners. He examined the audience, most of whom were students, checking for any potential hostiles. But they all looked completely innocent, and he began to relax. She talked for almost ninety minutes non-stop, illustrating her lecture with a video projection from her laptop computer; showing digital images she had picked up in Iran. He smiled as he recognized many of the places on the screen, including the dig where they'd hidden when they first arrived in the country. Finally, the lecture came to an end. She smiled to acknowledge the applause and ducked out through the door that led backstage. Immediately, Talley got up to follow her, though he was confident she was going nowhere until he'd talk to her. Guy Welland would stop her, should she be inclined to try and make an escape. He pushed through the door into the room behind the stage. There were a couple of closets, a table and four chairs, and mirrors around the walls. At the rear, there was a door marked 'fire exit'. It was slightly ajar, and the room was empty. Anika had gone, and there was no sign of Guy.
He realized it had been less than a minute since she’d left the stage. He rushed out through the door and found it led into an alley, lit only by a feeble lamp. It was enough to backlight him as he exited the building, and he recognized the sound of a suppressed pistol as a shot chipped stone out of the masonry behind him. He rolled to the ground, dragging out his Sig. He couldn't make out the target but pointed the gun forward into the darkness and shouted to her.
"Anika, don't be stupid. Stop shooting. We need to talk."
Her voice came back, grating and sarcastic. "Talk! Do you take me for a fool, Abe? You came here to kill me. You think I don’t know that? It's too late for talking. I'm leaving now. So don't try to follow me. If you do, the next shot will be in your head.
"Is that what you did to Guy? Did you kill him?"
She laughed, "You don't know a thing, Abe Talley. No, I didn't kill Guy. He has his own agenda, and killing me is not part of it "
He understood with a chill. Guy had decided Ahmadinejad was the man responsible for everything that had gone wrong with their last operation. Could it be true? He reminded himself it was only the word of the CIA Head of Station in Tehran, Miles Preston that had insisted the Iranian President was hostile to the acquisition of the rogue Pakistani missiles. Guy's family was either Jewish or of Jewish descent, so the depth of his hatred for Ahmadinejad was no surprise. The wily Iranian President was on record as repeatedly stating that Israel should be wiped off the map. Nonetheless, the Brit SAS Sergeant was Talley's second-in-command, and he felt responsible for his actions. Somehow he had to stop him. He flinched as another shot almost parted his hair. He was surprised and thankful that Anika was such a lousy shot, but even as he had that thought, her voice called out to him.
"Don't think that I couldn't have put that one between your eyes, Abe. If I wanted to hit you, you'd be dead from my first shot. You can take it as a warning. If you follow me, the third shot won't miss."
"Where are you going? You know damn well you can't get away with this."
"Can't I? You've forgotten where I work. At MI6, we specialize in the art of the illusion, smoke and mirrors. Forget about me and get on with your life."
"Anika, why are you doing this? Can't you see that what you're doing is crazy?"
"Crazy? He was my father, Abe. I know now, he was a true believer. He devoted his life to Persia and everything Persian. When he thought America was planning an invasion of Iran, it drove him to despair. He saw what had happened in Iraq, the destruction of their heritage, of their culture, and civilization. He couldn't allow that to happen in Iran."
Her father! Jesus Christ. That meant when the drone killed Petersen’s wife, it killed Anika’s mother. It explained a lot.
"I’m sorry about your mother, but it was an accident. And Iraq was a dictatorship that threatened the west with WMDs. They had to get rid of Saddam Hussein. He was a threat to the security of the West, and if Iran gets nukes, they’ll be worse."
She chuckled. "A threat to security? You’re talking about the infamous WMDs, I suppose. But there never were any WMDs, were there? All they've done is replace one bloodthirsty regime with another, and as a result, more people are dying today than there were before Iraqi was invaded."
"So you think helping the Pasdaran get hold of those warheads was the solution?"
"I don't know, Abe. But my father did, and maybe he had a point. It wasn’t the Revolutionary Guard who killed his wife. Whatever the reason, I only tried to help him without harming your operation."
"It didn't work, Anika, did it? At least one of my men was killed, and many more people died as a result of collateral damage."
Her laugh was bitter. "I won't argue with you. It’s too late for that. I'm leaving, and remember, don't try and follow me. This is your last warning. If you want to stay alive, stay away from me."
He tried to pierce the gloom at the other end of the alley that was in complete darkness; aware he was still washed by the light outside the fire door. He heard nothing and saw nothing, so he cautiously climbed to his feet and crept along the narrow passage. With every step his shoulders tensed, waiting for the shot that would end his life, but when he reached the end and peered around the corner, she was nowhere in sight. He mentally went through his options.
Where the hell will she go? There's only one likely place, the headquarters of SIS at Thames House, Vauxhall Cross. If she gets there, she’ll disappear completely.
He started to run, remembering he had to reach the River Thames and find the street known as the Embankment. It followed the course of the river all the way to Vauxhall Cross, which was on the opposite bank. He turned into Lancaster Place and powered along the street, scattering shoppers and bystanders, some raised their fists and shouted abuse. He ignored them, seeing ahead the wide ribbon of the river reflected in the moonlight. He didn't hear the shot, but a pistol round creased his arm, glanced off, and buried itself in some innocent who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He ignored their cry, and ignored the pain of his wound. There was no time. In the distance, turning onto the embankment, he saw Anika. She was tucking her pistol out of sight as she disappeared around a corner. He kept running past rows of historic London buildings that held no interest for him. He was entirely focused on one target.
