‘Brilliant Jack. What about Nadège then, what’s happened to her?’
‘I’m really not sure yet but we’ll find out. Now, I must leave soon but I want you to come and meet someone on Friday before we fly you back to France. Her name is Pearly. You may remember her from your training days at Fort Monkton. She was our disguise expert.’
Chapter 54
London
Fletcher Barrington was a man of ritual and habit. This had helped One-Eyed Damon immensely in the three days he had been following the man across London. Time spent on recce was seldom wasted, he hummed to himself, as he sat for dinner in Kaspar’s seafood and grill restaurant at London’s Savoy Hotel.
One-Eyed Damon had a table for one and had been assured the very best of hospitality as he arrived at the restaurant, prodding with his white stick and tapping a few chairs and tables to make his entrance known. He’d made sure he’d eaten there on the previous two nights and he’d become very friendly with the maître d’, who had ensured he’d received the very best of Savoy attention. Fletcher Barrington sat at his normal table next to the centrepiece bar, where uniformed chefs would mingle with the customers. But it was the large table in the centre of the room that caught One-Eyed Damon’s working eye. Positioned next to thirteen diners was a two-foot statue of a black cat on the table, with a napkin around his neck and a plate in front of him. This was Kaspar, the most famous occupant of the hotel. Kaspar's story began in 1898, when a diamond magnate held a dinner party for fourteen guests at the hotel. One dropped out at the last minute, reducing the number of diners to thirteen and prompting a diner to predict that death would befall the first person to leave the table. Weeks later that diner was shot dead. To this day, you won’t find a table of thirteen anywhere in the Savoy’s restaurants. Instead, diners are accompanied by a black feline sculpture, which becomes the fourteenth guest.
Within the hour Barrington had paid his bill and exited the hotel into Savoy Court to start his walk up the Strand to his favourite pub, a ritual One-Eyed Damon had observed on each of the last two nights. One-Eyed Damon walked right behind him, carrying his white stick, and tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Excuse me, sir, can you see a blue Mercedes van parked anywhere near? The driver tells me he’s parked here somewhere but my eyes aren’t what they used to be.’
Barrington, somewhat shocked to be confronted by the battle-scarred face of One-Eyed Damon, hesitated before realising he had a civic duty to help the blind man.
‘I’m a war veteran, lost my eye in Iraq,’ One-Eyed Damon continued.
‘Thank you for your service,’ Barrington replied, almost bowing to the huge beast of a man in front of him. ‘There’s one at the end of the road parked on the wrong side - can I assist you?’
Barrington held One-Eyed Damon’s arm and walked him across the hotel’s small roundabout.
‘Would you mind opening the side door?’ One-Eyed Damon asked as they approached the vehicle. ‘The registration is HNY, right?’
‘Yes, it is. I’m sorry to ask, but do you mind telling me how you got your injuries? I was in the CIA a long time ago.’
One-Eyed Damon watched Barrington slide the side door open, revealing two bench seats inside the privacy-screened rear cabin. Swartz lay out of sight, ready to deal with the package that would soon enter the vehicle. He cussed as One-Eyed Damon decided to overplay his role by continuing chatting to the man.
‘Long story, but I’d just rescued six soldiers who had broken down in Basra,’ One-Eyed Damon began, handing Barrington a business card with a Blind Veterans’ logo on it. The conversation had all the air of normality on a balmy summer’s evening in the heart of London. ‘I put my head out of the wagon and got shot by a sniper.’
A bullet had entered One-Eyed Damon’s left cheek and exited through his right, shattering both cheekbones, destroying his left eye and severely damaging his right. Damon was rushed to nearby Basra Palace for emergency treatment, where he was given a lifesaving tracheotomy to let him breathe. Then he was airlifted by helicopter to the base hospital, where he underwent the first of many operations to rebuild his face.
‘Half my face is now titanium,’ One-Eyed Damon explained with a smile. ‘Here, have a look at my eye.’
One-Eyed Damon leant over the man, who was now utterly mesmerised by the story of a hero and whose horror-strewn face intrigued Barrington.
‘Looks like a reindeer to me,’ Barrington said, peering into One-Eyed Damon’s left eye.
‘Spot on. It’s Rudolph the Red Nose,’ One-Eyed Damon said, tilting his head backwards. The headbutt to Barrington’s nose that followed was so quick and brutal that no one would have had any time to think anything untoward was going on. Barrington flopped backwards and was assisted by a huge pair of hands, which bundled the body neatly into the back of the van. One-Eyed Damon casually folded up his white stick, walked around to the passenger seat and nodded once at Phil ‘The Nose’. ‘Drive on please young man.’
Chapter 55
London
Sean knocked on the door of Jack’s office in Devereux Court, just off the Strand. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect from this final meeting of the operation and certainly wasn’t prepared for the surprises that followed. Curiously, he’d received a text from Jack an hour earlier stating that Pearly was ill and couldn’t make the meeting. But he had someone else Sean should meet.
Sean knocked again, just as the door began to open.
‘Sean. Great to see you. Come on in.’
Sean followed Jack into D’s old office, the decor of which threw so many nods to the cold war it made him catch his breath with surprise. The second surprise was sitting in a high-backed chair opposite an antique oak desk that Jack walked towards. Sean caught a glimpse of the blonde hair of a woman who didn’t turn to greet him. She sat with her legs crossed, leaning gently on the chair’s arm, her hair flowing along her shoulders and down her sleeveless arm.
‘Let me introduce you to Petra,’ Jack said knowingly. ‘I believe you have both met once.’
‘Christ Jack, what on earth is she doing here?’
‘Take a seat Sean and all will become clear.’
Sean gazed at Petra’s face as he crouched to sit in a battered and beaten high-backed chair. He immediately grabbed its arms with both hands and began fiddling with some twine that had come loose on the right arm.
‘Petra is one of us Sean. She’s one of The Court. Coffee or water?’
Sean was stunned. His mind couldn’t compute what Jack was telling him. She was Nadège’s lover. Or was she? Why on earth had Jack used him to try to turn Nadège when Petra was already embedded right in her arms? Sean studied Petra’s face. She was smiling and now offered a hand across the divide between the two high-backed chairs. Sean reached over and gripped it.
‘I bloody well knew there was something about this woman Jack. Incredible. Tell me more.’
‘Well, as you know it’s a little complex, but the crux of the matter is that Petra was failing. She was failing to convince Nadège that her life would be better if she turned to us. You see, Nadège wanted to keep her professional and love lives fully separate. Never would she burden Petra with her missions or her formal role in the MOIS or drag her into the killings she conducted as part of her Iranian terrorism. She loves Petra and wants to always protect her, especially given what happened in Bosnia. So Petra asked me for a little extra help. Two people influencing Nadège and changing her mind would work better than just her lover. And that’s where you came in and succeeded.’
‘So where is she now then?’
Jack nodded at Petra, indicating that the question would probably best be answered by her. ‘She’s safe, courtesy of your British intelligence services. Eventually, she agreed with my view that we’d all be much safer as a family under British protection instead of being on the run forever in South America. She’s quite ill at the moment but in a private clinic where me and Maxim can visit her.’
‘And Maxim? Is he OK?’
‘Your son is fine and will grow up to be a wonderful young man now his mother is getting the right medical treatment. Nadège collapsed because of the traumas of the last few weeks, but you’ll never see her again I’m afraid. I’ll be caring for her from now on, along with the people Jack’s assigned to us.’
‘Petra will still be working for us,’ Jack chipped in. ‘She has connections in the Balkans that are gold dust for us and you’ll be assigned to help her over the coming months as the Russians are beginning to play around there I’m afraid.’
Jack explained how he was concerned that the next phases of hybrid warfare would begin in the Balkans and how the Russians had already established the conditions for tensions amongst the nations there to grow. He also explained how Petra was not trained or able to penetrate Nadège’s varied communications equipment but provided details of her movements and contacts, to help Sean on the mission.
‘But how did you recruit Petra then Jack? What’s the story?’
‘You remember when the Mayor of Sarajevo was killed? Burrić?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, on his deathbed, he told his best friend about the two women who had trapped and shot him. His best friend was one of our agents permanently established in the Balkans and linked to a number of paramilitary and drug-running gangs. He’s still there but we used his information to explain to Petra that she could either work for us or go to jail for a very long time. She’s a very bright woman and has been a perfect star for us ever since.’
‘By that time my life was in absolute tatters,’ Petra said, looking at Sean. ‘The best way to describe my life was as a whore being bought and sold by sex-trafficking gangs in Bosnia and across the Balkans ever since the arrival of NATO and the UN police monitors in 1995. Nadège pulled me out and rescued me some years ago. Then we made a plan to kill off the ones who had trapped me in a life of hell.’
Jack and Petra spent some time explaining the background to her tragic story. From 1992 to 1995, thousands of women and girls suffered rape and other forms of sexual violence during the conflict in Bosnia and Herzegovina, including abuse in rape camps and detention centres scattered throughout the country. With the signing of the Dayton Peace Agreement in December 1995, violence against women and girls in Bosnia did not cease. The grim sexual slavery of the war years was followed by the trafficking of women and girls for forced prostitution. Worst of all, many of the trafficked women were exploited by some members of the International Police Task Force, who were often complicit in supporting underground operations across the country.
‘Trafficking first began to occur in 1995,’ Jack explained. ‘The estimate was that as many as 2,000 women and girls from the former Soviet Union and Eastern Europe found themselves trapped in Bosnian brothels alongside local girls. Petra was one of them.’
‘We were all held in debt bondage,’ Petra chipped in. ‘Forced to provide sexual services to the police and clients, falsely imprisoned and beaten when we did not comply with the brothel owners.’
In dozens of interviews with Human Rights Watch, women and girls, mostly from Bosnia, Croatia, Moldova, Romania and Ukraine, described brutality - including physical violence and rape en route to Bosnia and Herzegovina - at the hands of traffickers. Their testimonies proved that most of the purchasers were local Bosnians, like Burrić. But, in many cases, women and girls were purchased by members of the UN, Western contractors and members of the International Police Task Force.
‘Burrić, Barrington and Duff were one secretive part of a much bigger problem,’ Jack said quietly. ‘Despite the detailed investigations by Human Rights Watch, everything was covered up by the international organisations operating in places like Tuzla.’
Petra added more to her story. ‘After Burrić released me, Duff sold me to their High Chaparral club. After he left the country I was then sold to another American contractor who lived in Dubrave near Tuzla. He told me he had paid $2,000 for each of five girls. My movement was completely restricted. I could not go anywhere. In one club, two or three UN policemen were very often there. Every time we refused to work we were beaten and threatened with being sold to Serbia. It was horrific.’
Trafficked women and girls reported that brothel owners forced them to provide free sexual services to UN police, and particularly to officers employed in the unit responsible for issuing work and residency permits. Brothel owners received tip-offs about raids and document checks from local police, allowing them to hide the trafficked women and girls before a police sweep. Human Rights Watch investigators also found evidence that some NATO contractors had engaged in trafficking-related activities. There was evidence that some civilian contractors employed on US military Stabilisation Force bases in Bosnia engaged in the purchase of women and girls. Not one foreign contractor ever faced prosecution in Bosnia or their home countries. Instead, when they came under suspicion, they were returned to their countries and their crimes were hushed up. Such brisk repatriation precluded Bosnian prosecutions and prevented NATO contractors from serving as witnesses in criminal cases against the traffickers.
‘So, what’s next then Jack?’ Sean asked. ‘I need to deal with Barrington first and I have him nicely tucked up.’
‘Get as much information as you can from him Sean. All of his connections, his postings and the extent of the sex gangs he operated across the globe and everywhere he was posted.’
‘How much do you already know about his activity?’
‘We have enough to push this to Congress for a full investigation. Laura is setting it up through her channels. Petra has provided Laura with details of many of the women who were abused during that period and it will be handled by reopening the Human Rights Watch investigation with new evidence and material. The original evidence was never acted upon by any nation involved and it was effectively shoved under the carpet when Human Rights Watch completed their reports in 2003. But there is now enough political will to push this to Congress and to expose the nature of corruption on the part of US contractors, police, diplomats and soldiers.’
‘Christ. Whose idea was that then?’
‘Laura’s of course. She’ll hand it on to the relevant diplomatic and Justice Department investigators, but it will be well known that Laura will have uncovered all this and fed it into the right places.’
‘Presumably with a promotion then?’
‘She was always destined to become Director of the CIA Sean, it was just a matter of time after a couple of previous fuck-ups.’
‘What about Redman?’
Jack stood up and walked over to the safe. He’d always wanted to kick it like D used to so he toe-punted it once before turning to explain. ‘There is a lot of incriminating evidence in here Sean. Video and photo evidence against Redman when he visited the High Chaparral. Your mother’s evidence from her encrypted note will also expose significant members of the US government, the CIA and the US Army and reveal their nefarious activity when they were stationed in Berlin. We also have a host of Kompromat we can use against Redman to ensure we can still exert influence at the White House.’
‘Good. It will be nice to see all this in the US press. I assume I have permission to use some old fashioned leverage on this last piece of work with Barrington then?’
‘Not my preferred option Sean but hey, why don’t you pair go for a walk for an hour and get to know each other? Discuss it a little bit. It’s a beautiful day out there.’
Chapter 56
London
‘Do you want to kill him?’ Sean asked Petra.
‘I suppose it depends on what you mean by ‘kill’,’ she replied. ‘Is it to slaughter, or is it a decisive act that conclusively secures something?’
‘Well, we have trapped him I suppose. He has no life to live, whichever way we choose to go with it.’
‘I vote we watch him suffer in court. Feel his humiliation, watch his pain slowly kill him.’
‘OK, I’m with you. It’s a bloody good kill in its own right.
Conclusive. We win. He loses. We get justice.’
Sean and Petra sat on a wooden bench in nearby Lincoln’s Inn Fields, the largest public square in London and the scene of several important executions in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. It was a fitting place to finalise their kill, a carefree space surrounded by the Inns of Court, and a place to find their minds amongst the well-manicured lawns and in the shade of trees. It was a time of contemplation and a time to plan the execution of their captive.
‘Who do we hand him over to?’ Petra asked, punching a text into her phone.
‘Probably an American diplomatic investigator but Laura and Jack will probably decide on that. We’ll just warm him up for it first and get as much information from him as we can. Do you still have witnesses that will testify?’
‘Lots of women, yes. Jack has made sure they’ll be well looked after. The evidence he’s accumulated alongside the testimony of the witnesses will be overwhelming.’
Sean was relieved in a way. It felt good to share his thoughts with another victim of the same evil perpetrator. Petra had experienced the most horrific depravation and abuse, but here he was, sharing his inner thoughts with a woman he’d only met once under gruelling circumstances, but one with a common purpose: to see the man who had killed his mother and propelled Petra into a life of sexual abuse publicly shamed and slowly killed through the justice system.
The Kompromat Kill Page 36
