The Silk Road

by Mark Leggatt

  “Will the Russians discover it?”

  “The CIA have an entire mountain hollowed out in Colorado, dedicated to their cyber criminality. There is absolutely no way that the Russians will find any evidence that the CIA bought that missile.” He lifted a glass of water and took a sip. “So, I’m going to give it to them.”

  Every face at the table looked up at him. He turned and walked to the window and waved a hand towards the landscape. “You know, it was around eighty years ago that the Russians swept across this plain heading for Berlin. The endless columns of tanks and trucks full of men, charging unopposed through the fields. Are we so sure it won’t happen again?” He pointed to the east. “Through that forest they came, down the road and found the ruins of Rhiandorf.”

  He turned back to the table. “Then they bulldozed and flattened the entire site and laid two feet of concrete for their tanks. If you look down to where the trucks are parked, you’ll see it still survives. ‘Hard standing,’ gentlemen. Vital for military transport in the spring when winter has left the roads a sea of mud. And the roads from here point to all corners of Europe and to Asia Minor. In East Germany this was an important military hub. The Russian army knew the logistical importance of this site. And if the Russians come back to Germany, then they’ll be coming though those trees and heading straight here.”

  Several of the men shifted in their seats.

  The Director returned to the table. “Relax, my friends. Even the next terrorist outrage will not get the fat Russian bear moving again. Today’s Moscow is only interested in making money. Anything that threatens the pockets of the people in charge of Russia is off the table. And that includes war. It’s a very expensive business. Especially when the Americans could freeze their bank accounts in every country outside Russia. And they have many, many accounts outside Russia. Europe and America could strangle the Russian economy within a week if they ever chose to do so. And the Russians know it. I am unconcerned with the bellicose Russian threatening hellfire. It will never happen.” The Director sat back in his chair. “And there is one thing of which we can always be sure. Greed will win the day.”

  Chapter 10

  “C’mon, Connor, get your knickers on.” Kirsty pulled a thin woolen sweater over her head.

  “Hey, I’m ready to go. I’m not the one wandering around half-naked.”

  “I didn’t hear you complaining earlier.” She peered down at the laptop. “Mr. Pilgrim is online.”

  “Good, we need to talk.”

  Pilgrim’s face appeared on the screen. “My dear Kirsty, it’s always a pleasure to see you.”

  “Likewise, Mr. P.” She jerked a thumb to the side. “Trouble is here too. I rescued him from all the lonely MILFs at the bar.”

  Pilgrim gave a slight smile as Montrose sat behind her on the bed. “I take it that Linden from MI6 was in touch?”

  “Yeah,” said Kirsty, “Priti patched him through. She’ll have the whole recording. He got straight to the point. Starting price was $1 billion. Then he cut the call due to security and called back. By that time, the missile had been sold.”

  Pilgrim nodded slowly. “It sounds to me like they already had customers.”

  “He said it wasn’t the Russians. That they were going crazy.”

  “I’ll check that for myself,” said Pilgrim.

  “I don’t trust him,” said Kirsty. “He says he’s getting this information from GCHQ, so either the Brits just became the best hackers ever, or he’s talking bollocks.”

  “Both are possible,” replied Pilgrim. “It depends on his motive. But we have no other choice than to use his information, it’s better than any I can find. The CIA really do have this sewn up tight.”

  “He’s expecting more info from them,” said Montrose. “They are trying to locate the delivery. And you know, what he’s not saying directly is that he thinks it was the CIA who bought the missile.”

  “And your reasoning?” asked Pilgrim.

  “He said that if Downing Street find out what GCHQ are doing, they will shut it down. Downing Street would only do that to protect the CIA, either because the CIA didn’t buy the missile and are keeping this whole operation to themselves, or they did buy it, and Whitehall will do what Washington says and back off. But that makes no sense.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you can take it from me that the British intelligence services are the sneakiest bastards on the face of this planet. They’d tell Washington whatever Washington wanted to hear and keep right on doing what they do. Linden is sharing some of the best results I’ve ever heard. GCHQ would not want this to get out. So, either Linden is a fantasist, or the British really are panicking that the CIA have gone rogue for some unknown reason, and are trying to false flag and blame Russia by blowing one of their own planes out of the sky. That is madness.”

  “Well, I can’t disagree with you on the last point. But let me step back a bit. You said they are trying to determine the delivery point?”

  “Yeah, and he thinks it’s right here in Rome. Why here?”

  “All the major players are here. Italy is a strategic location for the Middle East and home to a number of NATO and US bases. We have about twelve thousand troops here. And the Russians have a pretty big diplomatic operation in Rome. Let’s just say information is easier to come by in Italy.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” said Montrose. “I’ve been down that road. But what if Linden comes back with a delivery point?”

  “Well,” said Pilgrim, “I think it would be very interesting to see who collects the delivery.”

  Kirsty pointed to the hotel telephone on the desk. “Connor, get on the blower to reception. I want a limo. Right now.”

  “You think they’ll have one waiting? We could…”

  “Connor, they have gold-plated taps in the crapper and a frickin’ helipad. They’ll have a limo. And don’t get a stretch limo. I don’t want to look like a dick.”

  The technician stood in the open doorway as Napier and Faber approached. “I received your orders, sir. Director Campbell is online.”

  Napier looked up to the screen on the wall and saw Campbell sitting alone at a desk, staring at his cell phone. “Can he see us?”

  “No, sir,” said the technician, “you have to activate the call at this end.” He pointed to a button on the speakerphone. “The sound is muted too.”

  “Got it,” said Faber. “That will be all.”

  The technician closed the door behind him.

  Napier held out the printed report to Faber. “Shred it.”

  “We should tell him, sir.”

  “He’ll know. When someone raids a Russian missile base and steals the latest SAM missile, it gets out. I just wish it had got out before and we didn’t have to go asking our men in Moscow to go looking for it. That makes me suspicious. And in the meantime, the missiles are out of Russia and halfway across Europe and we only find out when a C-130 drops out of the sky.”

  “You don’t think it was the Russians, sir, and this is just a cover-up?”

  “I don’t know what to think. But you saw Dimitri. You saw his fear. He nearly had a coronary. I’ve never seen him that angry. Whatever is going on, he didn’t know.”

  Faber straightened his tie. “Then we’re no closer to knowing who stole them.”

  “It’s whoever got those two bastards in the village to take down a plane. But this isn’t terrorism. They may want it to look like that, but this is different. They could have taken down an Airbus A380 with nearly nine hundred people heading to New York. Yet they chose a military target.” He pointed to the screen on the wall. “I want to hear what he says.” He hit the mute button. “Director Campbell?”

  Campbell’s head lifted from the phone. “Director Napier. I hope you have some good news for me.”

  “Good and bad.” He watched Campbell straighten in the cha
ir. “Good news first, we won the auction.”

  Campbell didn’t move. “And?”

  “I don’t think it’s the only missile out there. Someone raided a Russian SAM missile store. We know where it was because of the spectrum analysis and chromatography of the paint on the missile parts we recovered. What we don’t know is how many missiles were stolen.”

  Campbell checked the screen on his phone. “My report tells of a raid and that two missiles were stolen. You are telling me that this is incorrect, yet you cannot counter this figure with an exact number?”

  “No, I can’t. But I saw the look on Saitsev’s face. There are more out there, I’m sure of it.”

  “I’m not interested in your concerns or assumptions. Have you recovered the missile?”

  “We are awaiting collection instructions. We’ll get it. Though that’s not my concern. If there are more out there, what the hell happens next? We keep buying them? It’s only going to take one plane down over a European capital to set this continent alight.”

  “I’m not interested in your concerns, Napier, we need that…”

  “Or the next one might be a flight to New York, so you know, you might want to be fucking concerned!”

  Campbell blinked. “Lose the emotion, Napier. I don’t have to remind you of my seniority, but if you would like me to demonstrate by having you marched from your office and have someone more competent put in charge, I shall do so in an instant.”

  Napier glowered at the screen.

  “I want you to retrieve that missile, and I want it on a fast jet within the hour. There is a team waiting for you at the Ciampino airport outside Rome. Refueling planes have already taken off from RAF Mildenhall in England to provide cover across the Atlantic.”

  Napier said nothing.

  “I suggest you start moving, Napier. The sooner we get that missile to the USA, the sooner we can counteract its capabilities and our Air Force, including the President’s plane, will be safe in the skies. We look after Americans first, Europeans second. Remember that. I am capable of making tough decisions. If I think you are not, you know what will happen. You have my full authority, and that of the President of the United States to do what is necessary. I suggest you use it.”

  Kirsty had her laptop open by the time Montrose had settled into the soft leather seats, and the chauffeur had closed the door. “Okay, this is Rome. The eternal city. Pick a destination.”

  “Well, we’ve no idea where the hell we are going, just head for town.”

  The chauffeur settled into his seat. “Signore, signora, where would you like to go?”

  “The Colosseum,” said Montrose.

  “Interesting choice,” said Kirsty. “Why there?”

  He leaned forward, his face turning white as he remembered the blood, the body of the young woman, and the brains of the old man scattered across the floor.

  “Connor? You okay?”

  He rubbed his face and sat back. “Yeah. Another time. Another life.” He leaned forward to the chauffeur. “Signore, I changed my mind, can we go to the Forum?”

  “Certamente.” The car pulled away. “The wifi password is ‘Mercedes.’”

  “You read my mind,” said Kirsty. She pulled her phone from her bag and handed an earpiece to Montrose. “Mr. P is online. He can hear you.”

  Montrose shoved in the earpiece. “Pilgrim?”

  “Loud and clear,” he replied.

  “We’re mobile and heading for town. We’re going central to give us the best chance of responding.”

  “Understood,” said Pilgrim. “Priti will inform you if she receives the delivery point.”

  “Yeah. Let’s hope we get there first and see what the hell is going on. I have no idea what our chances are.”

  “Understood. We can only do what we can.”

  “Listen, if we do get there first…”

  “I expect no heroics,” said Pilgrim. “If we have an opportunity to recover the missile, we should take it. We do not know for certain who bought the missile, only that it may not have been the Russians. Though we can take nothing for granted.”

  “I hear you. But if we do, we want to give it to the CIA, yeah? We want them to take it apart and see how it works, so we can stop another attack.”

  “Indeed,” said Pilgrim. “I can ensure that it reaches safe hands.”

  “I’m sure you can,” said Montrose, “but if I handed it over…” he looked over at Kirsty.

  “I’m listening,” said Pilgrim.

  “If I handed it over, then they would see I’m not a terrorist. Or a traitor. They would know, yeah?”

  Pilgrim paused before replying. “I’m sure it would go some way to rehabilitating your reputation, but I fear it will take much more than such commendable action to reverse your current situation. However, I am not averse to such a scenario. Therefore, if it emerges as a possibility, I am willing to consider it, if it does not threaten the operational security of the team.”

  “That was a yes,” said Kirsty, “as long as you don’t put the rest of us in the shit.”

  “Quite succinctly put, my dear,” said Pilgrim. “Let us see what opportunity we have before we make any plans. We have to rely on GCHQ cracking the information, and Linden…” Pilgrim paused.

  “What is it?” said Kirsty.

  “You have a text message coming through,” said Pilgrim.

  Montrose lifted the phone and it buzzed in his hand. He brought up the message and held it out to Kirsty. “It’s a code. There’s directions down some steps. It says the street is near the Via Arenlua.”

  “Oh, shit. That’s on the other side of town. We’re never going to… Signore!” She leaned over to the chauffeur. “Can you find us the nearest scooter hire?”

  “Scooter, signora?”

  “Yeah, we’ve got to be somewhere very soon, and no matter how fast you can drive, this is Rome. The fastest way is scooter.”

  “You sure?” said Montrose.

  “Oh yeah, it’s big business for tourists who like a near-death experience and Italian hospital food.”

  “Maybe we should…”

  “Connor, shut up for a moment, I have to send an email. I need to know more about that address.”

  “There is one not too far,” said the chauffeur, tapping on the satnav screen. “It’s right here. But in this traffic…”

  “Where exactly?” said Montrose.

  He pointed down the street. “Second on the left and fourth on the right.”

  “Okay, we’ll walk. Or run!” Kirsty pulled the earpiece from Montrose’s ear and grabbed the door handle. “Let’s go.”

  “The cars are ready, sir.”

  Napier nodded, pulled his jacket from the back of the chair and headed for the open door. “Any news of the location?”

  “Nothing yet, sir.”

  “It’s going to come to my phone?”

  “It’s all set up.”

  “Okay, let’s move. We’ll formulate the plan once we have the location.”

  “Italian police will monitor and clear roads as necessary. We have a blue light passage through town with a police helicopter and traffic light control if required.”

  “So much for covert ops. We should just broadcast it on TV.”

  “It’s the traffic in Rome, sir, it’s crazy.”

  “Understood. Get the cars rolling. Head for town.” Napier looked down at his phone. “They promised an address. What the hell are they waiting for?”

  Chapter 11

  Kirsty straddled the scooter and held up her phone. “It’s about a mile from here and the traffic is solid. Don’t lose me. And wear your helmet. It’s the only traffic law the Italians obey. Ready?”

  Montrose threaded the Velcro loop under his chin and hauled the helmet down hard. “What’s the plan?”

&
nbsp; “The plan is to follow me and do what you’re told. You might know Naples, but I know Rome. This is urbex heaven. Urban Explorers, remember?”

  “Yeah, though if it’s the same as the last time, the missiles are going to be in suitcases. How are we going to get them on a scooter?”

  “Duh! How the hell do I know? I’m making this shit up as I go along. You said they’re on wheels, right?”

  “Yeah, normal wheeled suitcases.”

  “Well, Connor, that pickup address is part of an excavation of ancient Rome. It’s closed off to the public. But this is Europe. Everything has to have around five disabled and fire exits. And it’s right in the middle of Rome. It’s a tourist spot. That excavation has more than one exit, you can bet your life on it. Whoever picked it knows what they are doing. They would need a hundred policemen to find us down there, and if we’re on the streets with a couple of suitcases they haven’t got a chance. The entire bloody city is full of bloody tourists dragging bloody suitcases. And we have to get there first, so let’s go!” She wound the throttle open and darted through the traffic.

  Montrose followed her, trying to keep his balance and wrestling the narrow handlebars between cars.

  Kirsty turned right and down a narrow street, the scooter’s engine screaming as she weaved around pedestrians. They heard her coming and stepped aside.

  Montrose held up a hand to signal a right turn then thought better of it and headed down the street, holding on tightly to the handlebars. In front, he could see no cars, but pedestrians parted in waves as Kirsty stabbed the horn. People moved to the side without looking behind. This was Italy. Two scooters racing down a street full of pedestrians was par for the course.

  She stopped at the end and turned into the traffic. Montrose watched her force her way to the middle of the road and join a line of scooters screaming along the white line in both directions. He spun his scooter around a car and shoved his way into the line. Other riders started shouting but he ignored them and twisted the throttle. He edged up to the rear of the scooter in front, an old lady in a voluminous black dress, with plastic shopping bags hanging from both the handlebars and her arms. Up front, he could just see Kirsty about half a block ahead. He waited for a gap and tried to sweep past the old lady, then pulled back in when another scooter tried the same coming from the opposite direction. In his mirror, he caught a flash of red and glanced back to see an elegantly dressed young lady in sunglasses, bright red lips pursed tight, edging her scooter alongside. “Back off!” he shouted and accelerated up to the old lady, narrowly avoiding hitting her rear wheel. In the distance, he saw Kirsty stick out an arm and point to a side street. Montrose looked around, trying to keep an eye on the oncoming traffic, the old lady’s shopping bag swinging out in front of her, and the girl right behind him. He stood up on the footplate and saw a gap in front then twisted the throttle and pulled alongside the old lady.