The Silk Road

by Mark Leggatt

  Campbell’s voice came over the speaker phone. “I am unconcerned at Moscow’s dilemma.”

  “We have an address on the Silk Road,” said Napier. “One billion dollars.”

  There was a pause from the speakerphone. “We will have the money waiting,” said Campbell. “But if they have an auction, why state the price?”

  “I believe it’s a minimum bid, Sir,” said Faber. “It’s a closed auction between certain parties. We don’t know who the other parties are but we can expect the Russians.”

  “Bid two billion,” said Campbell.

  Faber looked over at Napier.

  “How do we pay?” asked Campbell.

  “They give out a bank account to transfer the funds. Usually open for about thirty seconds, then it disappears.”

  “Understood. Get the Russians on.”

  Napier hit the mute button, then the cell phone speaker. “Dimitri, the line is secure.”

  “Hey, no hurry, yeah? One of our stolen missiles is up for sale and you tell me you’re making the line more secure? Bullshit. I assume you were connecting this call to your superiors in Langley who are trying to track the call. Well, I’m in Rome, if that’s any help. But it’s good I’m being broadcast, because at least I’m talking to the organ grinder and not his fucking monkey.”

  “Get to the point.”

  “You know who I am. You know what authority I have. So, you and the other monkeys on the line listen to me very carefully. You will not bid for the missile. We will bid, and we will win and we will recover our missile. If you try to undermine us in any way, then you will leave us in no doubt that you are behind these attacks.”

  “Hey, hold on Dimitri, that’s just Moscow bullshit, you…”

  “Listen to me! You will address me as Colonel Saitsev and you will treat me with the respect that my rank deserves. The time for nice chat is over. The next call may be from the president of Russia. Do you want to take that call? Or your president? Or your friends in Langley who are listening? If they are, they can tell you about the two men at the top of the hill in the village when the attack took place.”

  Napier said nothing and threw out his hands.

  “You have nothing to say, Napier? We have our informants. We have our intelligence. I’ll leave you to guess who they are. But these two men, these Syrian terrorists who were trained by the CIA, who attacked our troops in Syria with American weapons, a whole regiment of them, all funded by Uncle Sam. Did they do one last job for you? The only two who survived?”

  “Look, Dimitri, who’s yanking your string? Who’s feeding you this line of…”

  “That’s pitiful. You know, the way I see it is, you lost control of your own terrorists. Maybe it’s payback time for abandoning them in Syria. They all died, you know, when your president did what he was told and stopped funding or sharing intelligence. You left them there and abandoned them to their fate. They were attacked from all sides. You do know that, don’t you? Hundreds died because you walked out on them. I tell you, I never want to be your ally.”

  “Dimitri, I have no time for this conspiracy shit.”

  “We can see what is coming our way, and we can see where it is coming from. And we will not stand by and watch it happen. Russia is ready to take whatever action is necessary to expose your lies. So, you listen to me. We will win the auction. We will recover that missile. If there is any other outcome then you leave us no choice. We will expose your hypocrisy to the world.”

  Napier said nothing.

  “Our army has been given mobilization orders. Your move, Napier. But I will give you one last piece of advice. Do not play Russian Roulette with us. There are no empty chambers in this gun.”

  The call ended. They stood in silence.

  Campbell’s voice came over the speaker phone. “Listen carefully, Napier. Ignore those Russian thugs. You will win that auction. You will recover the missile. I will take care of the intelligence leak. Expect some guests. But if the Russians win that auction and another US plane falls from the sky, I will have you back in Washington within hours and you can explain it to the President himself. Focus, Napier. The next attack will not happen if you recover the missile. The Russians are bluffing.”

  “Mr. Campbell, we can’t be sure… Look, there’s no way they could have found out from us about the two men at the village. I hand-picked my team. And he doesn’t know about Montrose.”

  “I don’t care who you picked. And if he knows about the two Syrians then do not make such an amateurish assumption that he does not know about Montrose. If they have found out that the only man left alive in that village is an ex-member of the CIA, then they have all the evidence they need for the conspiracy theory and false flag attack by the US on its own troops. The world’s press will have a field day, and the Russians will have won. This must be prevented at all costs. You will win the missile. Use any means necessary. And kill Montrose.”

  Chapter 9

  The phone buzzed in his pocket. Montrose hauled his t-shirt down over his head. “It’s Priti.”

  Kirsty shrugged off the bathrobe. “So, you’ve met the Quartermaster? What does she say?”

  “It says ‘ask her.’ What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means she doesn’t trust you yet. And she knows exactly where you are.” She unlocked her phone and tossed it to Montrose. “Check the messages,” she said, and pulled a pair of panties from a suitcase then sat on the edge of the bed.

  “It’s a message from the MI6 contact, Linden. My God.”

  “What?”

  “There’s another missile for sale. The Silk Road. And she has the asking price. One billion dollars.”

  Kirsty stood up from the bed. “Who the fuck is it? Austin Powers?” She grabbed her laptop and opened it up on a desk. “Time to go work, Connor. Get your knickers on. I’ll establish comms to Mr. Pilgrim and Priti.”

  “Where is he?”

  “No idea. Best not to know, eh?” She sat at the desk and began typing on the laptop, then took a sheet of hotel letter paper from the desk and folded it over the laptop camera.

  “You could just put some clothes on,” said Montrose.

  “Mr. Pilgrim wouldn’t mind, but I’m so very shy.” She hit the keyboard. “He’s not responding, though there’s no alarm signal. They should be online any moment.” Her screen beeped. “Message from Pilgrim. Your MI6 contact left a message with the information on the phone he gave you. Pilgrim wants you to find out anything you can about the missile for sale and then we’ll talk.”

  “The Silk Road,” said Montrose, “can you access it?”

  “Sure, if I’m looking for three tons of methamphetamine or a bus full of underage Russian prostitutes. But not the part of the Silk Road that Austin Powers is using. That’s like finding a needle in a galaxy of haystacks. It’s the most secure internet on the planet. You can find it, but only if it tells you where to look. It’s invitation only.”

  “Seriously? I know there’s a dark web, but…”

  “This is the internet your mother warned you about. Not the one with the boobies. This is eBay and Amazon for criminals and fraudsters and sex traffickers. Though hidden away in the corner is the place where the big boys play. If you’re invited, and you have enough money, you can buy anything. Chemical weapons, government assassinations or plutonium. Where do you think North Korea got all that shit to build their missiles?” She stared down at the keyboard. “I’ll tell you who’s got access.”

  “Pilgrim?”

  “No. MI6, your new bestie.”

  “Kirsty, I’ve got serious doubts…”

  “You and me both, mate. Let’s see how much your new friend really likes you. Get him on the phone.”

  “You want me to call him?”

  “Well, we could just sit here half-naked, but one thing would lead to another, and I think you need a re
st from what happened in the shower. Besides you’re not getting any younger, so let’s get some work done, yeah?”

  “Okay, I’ll call him.” He lifted the phone.

  “Not yet, Priti will send you a number. You call that and it will be routed to him. That way, he’ll never find out where you are, super spy.”

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “In fact, he’ll never find out where you are if I do the talking. Remember, half the world is looking for you to put a bullet up your arse. Nobody knows me. Let’s see what Mr. Linden of MI6 has got to say for himself when he’s not patronizing a Yank.” She checked the screen, whispering to herself as she typed. “This is Connor Montrose, super spy…”

  “Kirsty…”

  She began to roll her vowels in a Scottish accent. “Welcome to my world of guns and girls…”

  “Can you just…”

  “And foxy Welsh chicks in fancy hotels with remarkably spacious showers for hochmagandy…”

  “Kirsty, can’t we maybe…?”

  “D’ye mind? I’m trying to channel Sean Connery and all I’m getting is Fat Bastard from Austin Powers.”

  “Why do you need a Scottish accent?”

  “Connor, I’m Welsh. Wales is a country of three million people. Assume that half are female. The percentage of Welsh women that are likely to be chasing a missile around Europe is going to be quite narrow. But in there, somewhere, will be a Welsh chick that is very technically savvy and who appears on most security and police databases, even if they don’t know her name. That’s too close.”

  “I got you. Why don’t I do the talking?”

  “Because I want to wind him up and see what makes him tick.”

  The phone buzzed in his hand.

  “Hit it.”

  He pressed the link and switched it to speaker.

  The call was answered immediately. “Montrose? Hello?”

  Kirsty held a finger to her lips, then leaned over to the phone. “This is the Connor Montrose residence, how can I help you?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Miss Jean Brodie.”

  “Montrose?”

  “I’m here. Keep talking.”

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “Technical support,” said Kirsty, “all calls come through me. The last time you two had a nice wee chat, someone was tracking the number. So, what do you want?”

  There was a pause on the line. “This is for Montrose, not for you.”

  “Linden, Miss… Brodie is on the team.”

  “Well, I’m glad to have a Brit onboard. I hope, Miss Brodie, like me, you are keen to do your bit for your country.”

  Kirsty grinned at Montrose. “Oh aye, and what country is that?”

  “Well, Britain of course, unless…”

  “That’s not a country. That’s a state. Basic geography, bawbag.”

  “Oh, I see, a Cybernat, eh? I wonder which side you’re on, then?”

  “Less of your cheek, posh boy, now piss or get off the pot.”

  “Well, I’m sure Mr. Montrose got my message about a second missile being for sale. Correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m expecting more information very shortly. GCHQ are accessing the Silk Road to get as much information as they can.” Linden cleared his throat. “That’s my news. Anything you’d like to contribute?”

  “Yeah,” said Montrose. “The phone number you gave me had the goons descending on my tail as soon as I called. What’s going on?”

  There was a pause then Linden spoke. “I’m sorry to hear that, Montrose. I take it, since we are talking, that you managed to evade them and resolve that situation. But you may have just saved my life. I shall cut this call and find a new number.” The line dropped.

  Kirsty shook her head. “I don’t trust him.”

  “Neither do I, though he’s all we’ve got.”

  She stood up and grabbed a t-shirt from the suitcase. “What’s bugging me is GCHQ hacking into the Silk Road. Sure, they’ve got access to all the usual criminal areas, that’s where they do business. But without the links to that site where the missile is for sale, that single transaction, then they have no chance of finding out the price. Someone is feeding Linden information. The CIA?”

  “I doubt they would be chatting to the Brits about this. That’s why Linden and MI6 are on the case in the first place, because the CIA were up to something and they weren’t sharing.”

  “I know the security on the Silk Road. Sure, if you are looking for drugs, moneylending, credit card numbers, you can find a way in. But at the top end, the underground banks, the arms sales, the people trafficking, the trade in refugees and children, the security is so tight that even governments cannot break in, though they don’t have to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Because they are the best customers.”

  “C’mon. We’re talking the intelligence services here.”

  “Exactly, that’s where they get their intelligence. They pretend to be customers and make bids, find out about the deals, and use all the information to their own advantage. You know when it’s all going to kick off in an African or Middle East country when the orders start coming in. Especially if you’re the one that’s doing the selling.”

  “Kirsty, there’s no way the CIA…”

  “Oh, get real, Connor. How do you think the Syrian rebels got all those arms? From Santa? The CIA learned their lesson from the Iran-Contra scandal. The Silk Road is the best thing to happen to them in years. They can arm rebels at the drop of a hat anywhere in the world, and there’s no scrutiny by the Washington Post or any budgetary committees. All they have to do is buy it on the Silk Road and it will be delivered to wherever they want. There are container ships in Jo’burg, London and Rotterdam, ready to be delivered anywhere in the world. Business is business.” The laptop beeped and her head snapped back to the screen. “It’s our friend from MI6. Looks like he’s still alive.” She hit the keyboard and the phone buzzed. “Is that London calling?”

  “No time for fun, Jock. We were too late. The missile has been sold. And whoever the buyer was, it wasn’t Ivan in Moscow. I can hear some of the SIGINT chatter, and you take it from me they’re going ballistic.”

  “So, who was it then?”

  “We have absolutely no idea. I have to go, but I can tell you MI6 are getting closer. The geeks in GCHQ tell me that the deal had a delivery time. Two hours.”

  Kirsty threw out her hands. “How did they get…?”

  “Listen, Jock, I don’t know how they do what they do, I just get the info. And they tell me that if that missile has a delivery time of two hours, then it’s here. In Rome.”

  “How can they possibly know that?” said Kirsty.

  “Because I’m in Rome and I see what’s happening. Our cousins in the CIA have all got their shades on and are running around in blacked-out SUVs with police escorts. All the SIGINT chatter is coming from here. The first missile attack was only a few hours north of here. It seems that whoever stole the two missiles held them in a central Italian location.”

  Kirsty nodded to Montrose. “That makes sense. Did they say anything else? GCHQ?”

  “No, but if someone finds out what they are doing, this could come to an end very quickly.”

  Kirsty leaned forward, closing her eyes and held her head in both hands. “Listen, if they have been able to access the delivery time, have they found out the delivery address?”

  “All I can say is that they are working on it. Though I get the feeling that’s not going to last. If Downing Street find out, they’re going to shut us down. They’ll do what Washington tells them. If I get any more I will pass it on, but this could be the end of the line. Understand?”

  “I got you,” said Montrose.

  “I have to go. I’ll be offline whil
e I sort out some new communications. The numbers will stay the same though I will have to keep them moving. And Miss Brodie?

  “Aye?” relied Kirsty.

  “We’re on the same team for this operation. Lives will certainly depend on it. I want you to consider your allegiances to the people of our island.”

  “Yeah, alba gu brath, bawbag.” The call dropped. Kirsty closed the laptop. “Get some clothes on.”

  The Director looked down at his phone and tried to stop himself from smiling. “Two billion dollars.”

  The fat Dutchman slapped the table. Others began to punch into calculators.

  “The money has been transferred into a Swiss account and will be transferred again immediately. The original account has already disappeared. The funds will be divided evenly and deposited in the escrow account and then transferred to your nominated accounts.”

  “And there will be no trace?”

  “The Swiss banking industry are very accommodating when you can afford their services. There will be no trace of the bank, the transfer method, the country or the continent where it originated. Nothing.”

  The Dutchman drank greedily from his glass of water, spilling some onto his tie. “I can’t believe the Russians are so easily fooled. They are the masters of this game.”

  This time the Director couldn’t help but laugh.

  The Dutchman looked up, the water dribbling from his fleshy lips. “Did they really try to outbid the Americans?”

  “No,” replied the Director. “They were very far behind. They must have thought that Uncle Sam was going to let them win. How very naïve.”

  “But they will know?”

  “Not for certain. The Russians think they have the monopoly on being the most immoral, duplicitous and ruthless government in the northern hemisphere. In reality, they lost that title many years ago. But Washington is content to entertain their fantasy.”