The London Cage

by Mark Leggatt

It was the first time Montrose had seen her worried. “Can we change the encryption setting? We can’t be sure Pilgrim still has the phone.”

  “I’m on it,” said Zac. “Go to encryption setting Five. I’ll send out the details. It’s fitted with a password that only Pilgrim knows.”

  “We’ve been here too long,” said Kirsty. “Just let me do this, then we go.”

  You got that right. He held the phone in his pocket. If they know the text message got through, they may have already located the phone. He thumbed the power button. One last check. It won’t tell them anything new. Maybe Pilgrim sent a message. The phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen.

  Tell us what you know. Your country is in grave danger. Keep your phone switched on. We’ll come to you. We can forget the past. We need your trust in us. - Kane.

  He stopped himself from a bitter laugh. They would betray me as easily as breathing. They know who I am. That’s enough. They’d never let me live. But the kind of manpower they are using tells it all. The US is under serious threat. Pilgrim might be dead and I’m in a department store with a chick and a wig. This is way out of my league. But there has to be a way to give them the information without compromising Kirsty. Yeah and me too. He powered off the phone. Why did they let Arkangel go? A diplomatic passport seems too easy. Or it means they have no idea what he was up to. It was just the fat dude that took a dive. And Arkangel walked away. No, that stinks. “Kirsty, get us out of here.”

  She pointed towards the ornate glass entrance. “This way.”

  He looked at the door and a stream of shoppers on the street. Assume they have your location. Assume they are close. Assume they’ll blow your fucking brains out. Move.

  *

  The pain made his eyes shoot open and he lay still until it receded. He could hear the muted thumping of insistent music and then the rumble of a nearby railway line. He slowly turned his head to the left and saw the bag of blood and fluids, then traced the pipes leading to his arm and a morphine trigger. On the table next to him his BlackBerry buzzed. He shifted himself to reach for it when he heard a voice and a nurse came into view.

  “Good news,” she said. “The bullet missed your liver, but it’s going to hurt for quite some time. You lost a lot of blood. Keep still or you’ll burst your stitches. You can’t risk internal bleeding.”

  Pilgrim saw her long, blood-red fingernails as she stretched across to adjust the fluids and the latex uniform that stopped way too short on her legs, exposing red suspenders and stockings.

  “Relax,” she smiled. “I’m a real nurse, but I have to do something to pay the bills.”

  “Thank you. I, uh, appreciate it,” said Pilgrim. “Where am I?”

  “You don’t look like the type of gentlemen who frequents this kind of place.” She tidied his hair and adjusted his spectacles before lifting him gently by the shoulders and propping him up on the pillows. “You have a visitor.” Her killer heels clicked as she walked away and another figure approached the bed.

  He blinked, imagining a priest.

  “Madame Raymonde sends her best wishes,” said Purley.

  He recognized the black trouser suit. She never dressed in anything else. “Thank you. She is a woman that I endlessly admire. Before I lost consciousness, I heard her talking to ‘Elizabeth’. I should have known.”

  “We have been friends for many years,” said Purley. “She made the right choice.”

  “Am I to assume, Miss Purley, that this conversation is not taking place?”

  Purley nodded. “I have a situation where I cannot act as freely as I would wish.”

  “Ah, the CIA?”

  “I couldn’t possibly confirm that, I’m sure you understand. I’ll come straight to the point, as I know you need to rest. I’m not going to ask you about Operation Red Star, but I understand that you have a man in the field who may require some information. I am making an assumption, Mr. Pilgrim, that you are acting in your country’s interest, but not, shall we say, in concert with the CIA.”

  “I couldn’t have put it better myself. I appreciate your candor and let me also be clear that I think Operation Red Star should stay buried deeper than the pits of hell.”

  She took a deep breath. “Then we have a common purpose.”

  Pilgrim saw her shoulders relax.

  “Let me tell you about your brother. And please, do not ask me where I got this information. We all have our secrets.”

  “I understand.”

  “Your brother was the bravest of men. But there are few people who know his name or what he did, not only for his country, but for all the free countries of the world. And now there are powerful forces scrabbling around trying to piece together the information that will reveal his secret.” She looked out of the window for a moment as a train whistle blew. “And since the CIA are running around London like gunfighters in a Western saloon, I know that they do not have the information that they require.” She closed her eyes for a moment and then edged closer to the bed. “The man you need to talk to is called Warrender.”

  He heard a slight tremble in her voice.

  “Roger Warrender.” Her long fingers tightened around her purse. “He was an MI6 agent. He met your brother at the Russian border. What happened that night...” She looked away.

  “I know who Warrender is, or was,” said Pilgrim. “Where can I find him?”

  “I don’t know. The only man who may lead you to him is Captain Kenneth Wolff, a retired Naval officer. If anyone knows where Warrender is, it will be Wolff.”

  Pilgrim didn’t reply, allowing her to continue. It seemed, he thought, that this was an operation she could not, or would not, perform herself. Or a bluff to allow the CIA to find his team in the open.

  “I’m sure you have questions, Mr. Pilgrim. I will answer them as best I can.”

  Pilgrim nodded and shifted on the pillows. “Warrender is the missing link that the CIA has been hunting for decades. Why is he still alive?”

  “Roger Warrender disappeared. We never heard of him again, although we searched the globe for many years. The received wisdom is that the Russians killed him. But I have always suspected he is still very much alive and living in London, which is the last place they would look for him.”

  Pilgrim closed his eyes for a moment. Both the CIA and the KGB had spent decades scouring the globe for Warrender. And this confirmed what he had suspected all along. Someone powerful was hiding him, for their own reasons. And he had no doubt that if Purley had wanted to find Warrender she would have done so already. Something was holding her back and had held her back for many years. But he was sure she would never admit it. “Tell me of Captain Wolff.”

  Purley cleared her throat. “Warrender and Wolff were once the closest of friends. That was many years ago. The fall of Captain Wolff is a tragedy, but... that is a story for another time.” She looked out of the window, towards the railway. “Captain Wolff lives on the streets, usually in the railway arches behind London Bridge station.”

  A bolt of pain shot through Pilgrim and he squeezed the morphine trigger. He felt his muscles relax as the drug took hold, then he pushed the plastic pump to the side, letting it drop down the side of the bed and out of reach. He needed a clear head.

  Purley turned back and leaned over the bed. “The CIA knows you have two people on your team. One of whom is called Montrose. I realize that it is not a name they will be glad to hear again, but personally, I wish him the best of British luck. And you too, Mr. Pilgrim. However, allow me to be very clear.”

  He heard the steel in her voice.

  “The CIA, MI5 and the Metropolitan Police are searching the whole of London for your team. They have every means at their disposal, every security clearance and if required, any method authorized. It is only a matter of time before they are found. If they are, then I will kill them before I allow them to talk to the CIA.�
��

  *

  Kane stood with his nose against the full-length glass, staring out at the sea of desks in the office. The small room was soundproofed, but his fury was silent. He turned his head when Campbell stood up and looked over. He went to pull open the door then stopped and beckoned Campbell towards him. MI5 had fucked this up from the start. There was no reason to keep them in the loop.

  Campbell pushed the door open.

  “Give me good news,” said Kane.

  “Sir, we have the video of the street where two of our men were killed. There was an old woman in a house behind Soho and a younger woman with an automatic weapon. The property is now empty. We’re checking all the cameras. Montrose and a young woman left on foot and took a taxi. We’ve tracked the taxi to this address, right here, but it was empty.”

  “Fuck! He’s winding me up, the prick!”

  “The old woman left in a car with another man. There’s no trace of them. She has a long security services history and connections with the Soviets. All of which makes me very concerned about how much MI5 are helping us.”

  Kane felt the blood rush to his head. “Get me Elizabeth Purley. Right now.”

  “Sir, I’m told she is not in the building.”

  He thumped the glass so hard people outside jumped at their desks. “Then find her. I want that bitch back here!”

  Chapter 9

  Kirsty fixed a strap to her purse and slung it across her chest. “Move fast. Stick with me for the moment.” She stepped off the busy sidewalk and into the narrow road.

  “Where are we going?” He looked behind. Would I spot them? Probably not. Until it was too late. This is what they do.

  “Oxford Circus tube station. Fastest way out of here.”

  “The underground? Is that a good idea?” We’ll be trapped like rats in a sewer.

  “Staying here isn’t. There’s no other way. This is the Regent Street containment zone. We have to beat the cops before they close in and shut it down.”

  “Where’s the station?”

  “End of that road.” She pointed straight ahead.

  “We should run.” He looked towards a pedestrian zone, devoid of cars, leading to the line of traffic along Oxford Street and began to pick up the pace.

  “No.” She pulled him back. “Follow me.”

  “Damn it, Kirsty, that’s the quickest route.”

  “Listen to me. If you run, you’ll give yourself away. You see that old lamp post over there?”

  Above him he saw an ornate Victorian streetlight at the entrance to the pedestrian zone.

  “That isn’t a lamp post. And it isn’t old.”

  Below the elaborate twists of metal he saw a black glass dome hanging where the light should have been.

  “In here.” She turned into a shop and he followed her across the sales floor where he could see an exit to another street. We’re gonna need more than this.

  Her phone rang. She stopped and pulled it from her bag. “It’s Mr. Pilgrim. Thank God.”

  Yeah, let’s hope it’s him on the line. And not someone who worked out how to use his phone.

  She handed him an earpiece then faced him, stepping in close and holding the microphone between their lips. “Mr. Pilgrim?” she said. “You okay?”

  Montrose heard a calm assurance in his voice, but not the usual strength.

  “Nothing to worry about, my dear,” said Pilgrim. “I’m safe. I just won’t be running around for a while. Listen carefully, I need to keep this succinct. I have some important information. Don’t tell me where you are. Are you safe?”

  Montrose was about to speak when Kirsty pressed a finger to his lips.

  “We’re good. Zac has cracked the access password. You’re not going to believe this, but it’s a Soviet Cold War satellite loaded with bombs.”

  “Oh, I believe it,” said Pilgrim. “It makes sense.”

  Then you’re one step ahead of us, fella, so spit it out.

  “Have you heard of the Star Wars initiative?” said Pilgrim. “Not the movie, the defense project started by President Reagan, perhaps thirty years ago?”

  Kirsty looked at Montrose and shrugged.

  “Yeah, I know the one,” said Montrose. “He was going to have a ring of satellites with lasers to blow any enemy ICBM missiles out of the sky. Specifically to stop any nuclear attack by the Soviet Union.”

  “Exactly,” said Pilgrim. “And it was all a bluff. They never had the technology to make it work, but they convinced the Soviets that they did. And that satellite, called the Red Star, was the Soviet response. Those bombs that it carries can be directed to fly into the path of any satellite orbiting the earth. They could have taken out the Star Wars satellites anytime they liked. The technology was basic, but effective.”

  “But there are no US Star Wars satellites.”

  “That’s true, but things have moved on from the Reagan years. The Earth is now ringed with every type of satellite that humanity can build. They are integral to the defense of the US and many other countries, not to mention international navigation, the internet and currency transfer and banking. Whoever controls the Red Star has control of near space. The potential for terrorism is incalculable.”

  “Shit. No wonder the CIA are going ballistic.”

  “Indeed,” said Pilgrim. “Twenty years ago, my brother Michael stole the access codes to the Red Star satellite. When he was found, I assume he killed himself rather than divulge the secrets to the Soviets. You have two of the passwords. I take it that Zac has not yet discovered the third password?”

  “Not yet,” said Kirsty.

  “The third?” said Montrose.

  “You will remember the writing on my brother’s arm. There are three sections, if I’m not mistaken. First, the code to wake up the satellite. Second, the access password, from piseag. Identifying that the first two parts exist leads us to the identity of a third. And the third, I fear, is the most dangerous. That is where we must focus our efforts. And I suspect it is not written in a code that can be easily solved. My brother was a cautious man. He would have deduced that if the Soviets recovered his body, they would eventually work out the code. I think the last part, ‘Two Ekland’ is rather more esoteric.”

  “It’s someone’s name?” said Kirsty.

  “In a way, yes,” replied Pilgrim. “One of the most popular actresses at the time was a young lady called Britt Ekland. My brother greatly admired her beauty.”

  “Okay,” said Montrose. “Someone called Britt? Near the border where he was found?”

  “I believe it may be ‘Brit’ with one ‘t’,” said Pilgrim. “And I had a visit today that led me to that conclusion. We have a lead. A British agent called Roger Warrender. The only other man known to be involved in Operation Red Star and I suspect the only man who could have talked to my brother before he was captured. His whereabouts are unknown, but the man who may know where to find him is Captain Kenneth Wolff. I’m told he can be found under the railway arches of London Bridge station. And I believe that Roger Warrender is our ‘Brit’.”

  “I know where that is,” said Kirsty.

  “Go now,” said Pilgrim. “Contact me only when absolutely necessary. I will not always be in a position to communicate.”

  “We’re on our way.” Kirsty cut the call, pulled the earpiece from Montrose’s ear and headed for the door.

  Montrose followed close behind. They emerged into crowds of shoppers under the arches of Regent Street. He could see the underground entrance fifty yards away.

  “Cross the road,” said Kirsty. “You take one entrance, I’ll take the other. They’re looking for two people. I’ll meet you at the ticket barriers. Don’t stand beside me. I’ll get the tickets.”

  “Understood.” He dodged a line of red buses crawling through the traffic to reach a concrete curb in the middle of
the road, then stood by a streetlight and looked up. There were six CCTV cameras at the top. They have us in real time. This is a fucking nightmare. He ran through a gap in the cars and headed for the Tube, weaving around groups of tourists and street vendors. No wonder Kane is kicking down every door in London. His mouth became dry as the scale of the threat opened up. The whole US defense system is based on satellites. Cruise missiles, artillery, smart bombs and every intelligence gathering system. The list was endless. If someone had access to the Red Star they could hold the world to ransom.

  He glanced up as he turned into the entrance to the Tube station and glimpsed Kirsty’s head ducking below street level on the opposite side. And we’re looking for some old spook called Warrender? Why is Pilgrim telling me all this? A chill ran through him. Because he’s going to die. If he doesn’t make it, someone has to know. And that’s me. He ran down the steps and along a short corridor, then saw her at the ticket machine. But he’s told her too. She disappeared behind the stream of people making for the barriers. Holy shit, if a terrorist cracks all the codes before we do... He caught her blond wig in the crowd, moving towards him. I have to get her safe. But I have to tell Kane. No, man, grow a set of balls. This is bigger than her. The whole of the US defense system is at stake.

  She held her hand low, a ticket sticking out from her fingers. “Walk past me and keep your distance,” she said. “Victoria line. Northbound.”

  He palmed the ticket and made for the barrier. The roof above the escalator was lined with CCTV. Keeping his head low, he pulled out his phone. I’m gonna lose the signal. Just do it. Tell them we can talk. Make sure she’s safe and then tell them what they want to know. His phone buzzed and a text message appeared on the screen.

  Montrose, your country is in grave danger. I know your history. I will guarantee protection. For you and the girl. You have my word. The two men she killed were British agents. She can walk away. Trust me. I have authority from the President. We are at DEFCON 3. We need you.

  He stumbled as the foot of the escalator came up quickly. I have to do this. This is no time for Pilgrim’s spy games. He typed into the phone as he pushed his way onto the platform.