by Mark Leggatt
“No, it’s his attractive assistant, Miss Brodie,” replied Kirsty. “How’s life, Sassenach?”
“Ah, our resident grumpy Jock. You still...?”
“Enough of the pleasantries, mate, where’s the fucking missile?”
“You may well ask, and I’m assuming that you did not recover it. And since you’re asking, I take it you have no idea who did. That’s disappointing, considering the lengths I have gone to and the risks I have taken to supply you with information. Perhaps I should…”
“Oh, stop whining, posh boy, I’m not your nanny. We were set up. Only good luck and good shooting got us out. Let me say that anything you care to share with us from now on will be taken with a pinch of salt. Which is a polite way of saying I think you’re talking shite.”
Linden laughed. “Take it or leave it, Jock. I couldn’t give a toss if I’ve hurt your feelings. If you can’t do the job I’ll find someone else. Anyway, I’m not sure you have the temperament for this job, so why don’t you let me speak to your boss?”
Pilgrim rapped his fingers on the armrest of the wheelchair then tapped his wristwatch.
Kirsty nodded. “Good try, bawbag. You are speaking to him, he’s right beside me.”
“How touching.”
Montrose leaned forward to the phone. “You don’t have it, and we don’t have it, so who does? Give me your best guess, Linden, because it’s out there and we have to know what the hell is going to happen next.”
There was a pause on the line. “I have no idea. Though I can tell you the CIA don’t have it, judging by the noise they are creating. What happened at the pickup?”
“We’ll talk about that later. Have you got nothing we can go on?”
Priti held up a hand and stared at the screen.
“Call me an old cynic, but …”
“C’mon, Linden,” said Kirsty, “you can do better than that.”
“Listen Jock, you’re not so naïve. I’ll bet you’re well past your first kiss. I’m sure you’ve been around the block a few times, so you don’t need me to tell you how the Yanks play their games.”
Kirsty looked up at Montrose and drew her finger across her throat.
“Linden,” said Montrose, “remember, I was there when that plane got blown out the sky. I heard the CIA coming and they weren’t taking their time. And the guy who fired the missile knew that they would be too late.”
“Yes, and if you remember, I was there too. And the reason I was there was because of the CIA. You know, Mr. Montrose, maybe you’ve been playing me all along. Because all I’m getting from MI6 is a lot of noise about one person. And that’s you. We have just moved to threat level Critical. And you know what that means. I think you...”
Priti punched the keyboard. “Too close. I had no choice.”
Pilgrim nodded. “I understand. Mr. Linden was more than helpful.”
“What security level?” said Kirsty.
Montrose looked down at the phone. “Imminent attack expected. They think that the missile is going to be used very soon.”
Kirsty ran to the window and looked up into the sky. To the east, a faint contrail traced the path of a jet as it descended over Rome. “How far is it to the airport?”
“There are two major airports,” said Priti. “Leonardo da Vinci to the west, near the Mediterranean coast, about thirty minutes from here. Their flights come in over the sea. The other is Ciampino to the south-east of the city. There are other smaller airports in the metro area, but I’m not sure where.”
“They’ve got us by the balls,” said Kirsty. “It would take…”
Priti’s laptop beeped. “The tracker!”
“The phone?” said Kirsty.
“No, the suitcase. I can see it.” On the screen a red dot flashed on a map of Rome. Priti zoomed in. “Colosseum Metro station. They’ve been underground.”
Pilgrim looked up from his phone. “The entire Rome police have been mobilized on a terror threat. It’s being broadcast on television as we speak, though they’re giving no details.”
Montrose stared down at Priti’s screen. “They’ll never make it to the airport. They must know that.”
“We are making assumptions on the capability of this missile,” said Pilgrim. “We know from the attack at the village that it uses line of sight. However, we do not know the maximum distance at which it operates. I suspect that a flight path over Rome is sufficient. From my experience, a portable device will have a shorter range, but we can’t be sure of the power of this new variant. All it may need is a few miles.”
“You can’t just fire from the street,” said Montrose, “all the buildings are in the way. And everyone in Europe is switched on to terror attacks. You stand on the sidewalk and stick a missile on your shoulder, people are going to notice. And it only takes one brave guy to knock them to the ground.”
“Or one woman,” said Kirsty. “But this isn’t central New York, all flat land and skyscrapers.” She pointed to the map on the screen. “The seven hills of Rome.”
“The what?”
Priti expanded the map. “Rome is famously built on seven hills. Each one would provide a line of sight. They don’t have to be anywhere near an airport. Just in sight of a flight path.”
“What we know,” said Pilgrim, “is that they came out of the metro instead of continuing to an airport. So, your hypothesis fits. If they are going to launch an attack then a vantage point is where they are headed. What was the name of that metro station?”
“The Coliseum.”
“What if it’s just a high building?” asked Montrose.
“Perhaps, but that involves a tricky escape. And a modern, high building is less likely in central Rome. They have preserved the integrity of the architecture to some degree.”
“Okay, so where’s the nearest hill?”
Pilgrim closed his eyes. “That would be…”
“Look here,” said Priti, and switched to 3D Google maps. “What is that?”
“Most likely the Palatine,” said Pilgrim, “the nearest of the hills to the center of Rome. May I see?” Priti carried the laptop towards him. “Can you superimpose a map of the flight paths over Rome on top?”
They gathered around his wheelchair and Montrose watched the red dot moving along the map. “That’s the suitcase?”
“Well, it’s the tracker,” said Kirsty, “we’ve got to hope it’s still with the suitcase.”
“The Palatine is closed to traffic,” said Pilgrim. “I know it from my youth in Rome. They will approach on foot.” Blue lines appeared on the map, showing the flight paths over Rome.
Kirsty pointed to one of the lines, where the symbol of a plane tracked slowly to the south east. “That’s heading for Ciampino airport. It’s a few miles south east at most.”
“That’s close enough,” said Pilgrim, “and the suitcase is heading towards the Palatine Hill. It’ll take around ten minutes to walk to the top. We have no choice. We have to call it in. We’ll never get there in time. The CIA and the Italian police can stop them.” He looked down at his phone. “News has just gone out to the police. The airports around Rome have been closed. That flight will be the last to land.”
“Thank God,” said Kirsty.
“No,” said Montrose. “This is too easy.”
Pilgrim sat up in his wheelchair. “Explain.”
“They know they can shut down airports any time. These bastards aren’t stupid. If we know all the flights are cancelled, so do they.” He pointed to the screen. “So why are they still heading to the top of the hill?”
“That,” said Pilgrim, “is what I want to know. By the time they reach the top, the skies will be clear. We may be wrong in assuming it is an attack, but I can think of no other reason. It may be that they are playing the long game. They know that the security services will scour the city. Per
haps they intend to wait it out amongst the ruins of ancient Rome. But, right now the immediate threat has gone. It gives us a little breathing space.” He looked closely at Montrose and then Kirsty. “Get to the top of the hill. Recover the missile. I will make sure that it is returned to Washington to discover its secrets.”
“Yeah, or maybe this time I’ll get the chance to hand it over personally. Then they’ll see I’m not a traitor.”
“What about the men?” asked Kirsty.
“Identify them if you can, but I’m not concerned with their welfare.”
“Me neither,” she said, “so I’ll just shoot them, if that’s okay with everyone. What’s the fastest way to get there?”
“Scooter,” said Priti. “There’s a shop around the corner. Use the fake ID. I’ll take the SUV and meet you to collect the suitcases.”
Montrose checked his weapon. “Let’s go. But, you know, something is bugging me. Something doesn’t fit.”
“I understand,” said Pilgrim. “If we see an immediate threat, we will inform you. And if there is, then I will also inform the security services and you must disengage immediately. Is that clear?”
Kirsty nodded.
“Understood,” said Montrose.
Pilgrim pushed himself upright, wincing in pain. Priti hurried over, but he waved her away. “I’m not going to allow two terrorists with a surface-to-air missile to establish themselves at a firing position above a major European city. If you cannot stop them and recover the missile in fifteen minutes, then I’m going to call in the security services.” He looked at his watch. “Go.”
Faber cut the call. “It’s done. The skies will be clear in ten minutes.”
“What did you tell them?” Napier looked down at the street.
“Imminent threat of attack.”
“And if nothing happens, I’m dead meat. This will cost the economy millions. If this thing blows over then it’ll lead right back to me. Maybe the panic is what they want. Maybe they’ll lie low for a few weeks, then do it all again.”
Faber said nothing.
“Shit, that’s what I get paid for. Are the choppers down too?”
Faber nodded.
“It’s a cheap target anyway. But we need an eye in the sky.”
“I’ll send out for information on drones and high-altitude recce aircraft. I have no idea if we have any in the area.”
“Yeah, if the Italians see a Reaper drone in the sky, that’s not going to go down too well. Every two-hundred-pound virgin jammed behind his computer is going to have an orgasm when they see it on YouTube. But it might come to that. Find out where they are.”
“What about the Italian Air Force? They have Typhoon Eurofighters at Ciampino airport. The military base is right next door. And we have F-22 Raptors about twenty minutes away.”
Napier turned towards him. “If you could have a gold medal for a SAM strike, what would it be?”
“A USAF stealth aircraft. Like a Raptor, or the B-2 bomber.”
“Right. Since there’s no way in hell there’s gonna be a B-2 over Rome in daylight, they’d settle for a Raptor or maybe a Typhoon Eurofighter.” He shrugged. “Do it anyway. Get the fast jets in the air. That’s what they get paid for. Tell them to circle Rome, maybe ten, no, make it twenty miles out. If they are a target, they’ll be over the countryside. Those guys have got ejector seats.”
Faber picked up the phone. “And Montrose?”
“No change. As far as I’m concerned, the first man to drop him dead can marry my daughter. Is his photo out there?”
“Every cop has it on their phones. If we need to, we can send it to every cell phone in Rome.”
“Yeah. Let’s keep that one for last. I don’t care if a fucking meter maid beats him to death on the street, I just want him dead.”
The phone rang. Campbell appeared on the screen.
“Deep breaths,” said Napier and hit the speakerphone. “Director Campbell.”
“Napier, I told you to find Montrose and the next thing I see is him on video, stealing the missile under your very nose. Give me a good reason why I should not have you charged with negligence and hauled back to Langley to explain yourself before the Senate Intelligence Committee.”
“One good reason?” Napier tilted his head back. “Just one?” He saw his face in the bottom corner of the screen, showing what Campbell could see on his monitor. He walked forward until his face filled the space. “How about you don’t have the authority?”
Campbell blinked. “You appear to have lost your mind, Napier, I have...”
“I don’t give a shit what you have. But what I have is a situation where I have a known terrorist on the run, armed with a surface-to-air missile. A terrorist you initially refused to let me deal with directly when I had the initiative, including preventing my staff from accessing information, then gave conflicting advice as to the priorities supposedly held by Langley. If you want to bring me back to Langley, then I suggest you scuttle off to your desk jockey friends, get your little bit of paper signed and send me the airline ticket. Then we can meet the Director of the CIA and go toe to toe in front of his desk. I’d like that. Because I’d hand you your ass on a plate. Meanwhile, I’ve just closed the airspace over Rome and two of the busiest airports in Europe. So, if you’ve got anything useful to contribute, you go right ahead, otherwise stay out of my fucking way.”
Campbell leaned forward slowly. “I warned you before, lose the emotion, Napier. You see, your turf may be running around the streets after the Russians, but mine is Washington and Government. I’d squash you like a bug, and you know it.”
Napier was silent.
“I could ruin your career before you stepped off the plane. You wouldn’t even make it to the gatehouse at Langley. So, you listen carefully, because you are on very thin ice. The Russians have set this up and you are walking straight into their trap. There is a Russian delegation flying in from Moscow. He might want to talk to you, or he might go straight to our Ambassador in Rome. I may recommend you keep your hot head out of things. You’re clearly not up to the task.”
“What do you mean they are…?”
“Shut up. The Russians have got you like a puppet on a string. If they have the same information as us, and there’s no reason why they shouldn’t, then they have a video of an ex-CIA agent wanted for treason, multiple first-degree murder and terrorism, collecting one of the stolen missiles in Rome. It’s all they need to prosecute the case in The Hague, on the grounds that the USA are perpetrating a false flag operation resulting in the deaths of their own troops. And you are walking straight into it. Tell me, Napier, what if the next attack is on a NATO plane? Or a civilian carrier? Because that’s what the Russians are waiting for. And it could destroy NATO in a matter of minutes. That’s something that the Russians have been planning and dreaming about for nearly seventy years. And you, Napier, are in the eye of the storm.” Campbell pointed a finger at the screen. “You do what you are damn well told, or step aside right now.”
Napier stared at the floor. “Back up a bit.”
“What?”
“Back up. You said flying into Rome? The Russians?”
“Pay attention, Napier. They will fly into the Italian Air Force base at Ciampino, then…”
Napier turned to Faber and jerked a thumb behind his head towards the screen. “Switch that asshole off and get me NATO Air Traffic Control. Now!”
Chapter 14
“Hold on tight,” shouted Kirsty, “you’re all over the bloody place.”
Montrose wrapped his arms around her and stuck his chin on her shoulder as she weaved between the traffic. “How come you get to drive?”
“I was first on. Tough luck.”
“All they had left was a bicycle with a flat tire. Not much of a choice.”
“You can bloody walk if you don’t stop moaning.�
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In the distance he could see the Colosseum. “The Palatine Hill is on the right.”
She swung the scooter across two lanes of traffic, beeping her horn to scatter pedestrians. The scooter slid sideways on the cobbles and a tourist guide dressed as a Roman soldier stood in the middle of the wide pavement, holding up his hand to stop them. Kirsty drove straight down the center and high-fived him as she passed. She headed along a passage lined with ancient, broken columns, and pedestrians stepped to the side as they heard her coming. At the end, she followed the signs for the footpath and turned between the trees, bordered by a high hedge. The throttle was wide open, but they began to slow with the gradient. She grabbed the brake hard and stopped at the top.
“We need the highest point,” she said. “Look.” She pointed to a sign indicating the best photo spots. “That’s got to be it.” She swung the scooter right, bouncing along a dusty path, then left through a copse of pine trees. The ground opened up flat and Kirsty stopped before a group of ruined buildings.
Montrose stepped off and looked east. Trees obscured the sky. “We need to go higher, and away from those trees.”
“Over there,” said Kirsty, pointing to a path running through a crumbling brick wall. “Follow the signs. And connect to Priti.”
Montrose pulled the helmet from his head and punched a number on his cell phone.
Kirsty shoved in her Bluetooth earpiece. “Priti?”
“Loud and clear. I’m on my way.”
“We’re here,” said Kirsty. “We’ll start looking.” She began to walk towards the gap in the wall. “Connor?”
“Yeah, I know. If the skies are clear then there’s no target to attack, so why would they be up here? If they’ve got the means to set up deliveries underground, then what the hell are they doing? A meeting, or a swap?”
“Whatever. As long as we can just kill them all and get those suitcases, I’ll be a happy bunny.”
“Kirsty, there might be another way.”
“I thought you Yanks liked guns and shooting? You seem to be….”
“Holy shit.”
She followed his gaze towards the wall, as a man walked past dragging a metal suitcase. “You reckon that’s him?”
