‘Who are you?’ she asked, and leaned forward to look past him, expecting to see Walter Conkley lurking in the background. ‘You shouldn’t be up—’
The man stepped towards her before she could move away, and she felt his breath on her cheek. At the same moment she felt a sharp pain in her side, shocking and icy-cold. Just for a brief moment she was overcome by a sense of weightlessness, and felt the whisky glass being taken out of her hand. Then her legs gave way and she began to fall down a long, darkening tunnel.
FIFTY-FIVE
‘It’s done.’
Benson heard the words on his cell phone as he drove through the Washington DC suburbs, and experienced a mixture of relief and apprehension. Relief because he’d had no other choice but to take care of Conkley for good. The little man was a cancer that had to be excised. As for Cready, that was different; that was payback and worth every cent of the fee demanded.
The apprehension was something else. Drastic action always carried risk, no matter how cautious you tried to be. He had no reason to distrust the man he knew as Two-One, the one he’d ordered to arrange the hit on Conkley and Cready. He knew enough about him – not everything, but enough – to ensure his silence on the matter. But as he’d learned in over forty years in politics, nothing was ever one-hundred-per-cent certain. And people had a way of surprising you all the time.
He shook off the doubts and dismissed the subject as closed. ‘Good. Thank you.’
‘I’ll look forward to payment as usual.’
‘You’ll get it, don’t worry.’
Benson disconnected the call. But the apprehension stayed with him. Even after he’d arranged another meeting of the Dupont Group, there was a niggle that simply wouldn’t go away.
He wondered if it was the way Two-One had asked for his payment that had got to him. The man usually did the jobs he was asked to do, no questions asked. And Benson arranged payment within twenty-four hours of completion. It was the way they worked, each dependant on the other, a disconnected but satisfactory arrangement.
He wondered if it was time to review his arrangement with Two-One. Perhaps the man was getting greedy. Greed, as he knew well, had a way of cutting ties and breaching any feelings of loyalty. If that were the case, so be it – in this city there was always somebody else who could handle the same kind of work.
He rang Jason Sewell for an update on the Watchman situation. Having kept a close eye on it thus far, it might seem odd if he were to suddenly lose interest.
‘I’m sorry, Senator, but I’m not able to discuss the matter.’ The unmistakeable tone of finality to Sewell’s response came as a surprise. He was accustomed to having his questions answered instantly and saw this as a personal affront.
‘What do you mean, you can’t discuss it? Do I need to remind you that bringing down the shutters on this operation might be perceived in some quarters as a form of stonewalling? You of all people should be aware that there has already been quite enough of that in Langley.’
‘I’m aware of the views expressed about us, Senator. But we have our procedures. Part of our mandate is to ensure that live operations are not compromised in any way. There are times when circumstances mean we have to raise our security level, and this is one of them. The section of our facility dealing with the Watchman operation is now closed to non-essential personnel.’
‘What the hell are you saying, Sewell?’ Benson snarled, momentarily forgetting himself. ‘I’m not some two-bit politician in town on a social junket, and I shouldn’t have to remind you of my position in the Intelligence Community in relation to the approval of special activities, especially of your organization.’
‘I’m mindful of that, Senator.’ For a man who had always shown appropriate deference, Sewell sounded surprisingly unperturbed by Benson’s bluster. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to brief the White House.’
There was a click and he was gone.
FIFTY-SIX
‘I hear Walter Conkley got hit by a car.’ Chapin was staring at the library ceiling, his expression thoughtful. He didn’t seem too distressed by the news, but was clearly intent on making a point. ‘Did you hear that, Howard?’
‘I heard something about it.’ Benson was checking his phone messages, stabbing at the buttons and scowling at the lack of response. ‘A pity. He was useful to us. That’s the trouble with traffic in this town; it’s getting so out of hand now it’s not even safe to cross the darned streets anymore.’
‘I didn’t say he was crossing a street.’
‘No, you didn’t.’ Benson put down his cell phone and gave a cool smile. ‘But my source in the White House did. They got a call the moment the police saw Conkley’s ID.’
Teller and Cassler, seemingly unaware of any hidden messages passing between the two men, expressed shock and regret at Conkley’s passing. But their comments lacked real depth; Conkley had never quite been one of them, and they soon moved on to other more pressing matters, such as discussing the current European and world market movements. In particular they talked about matters surrounding the potential energy supply problems via the Ukraine pipelines.
‘We’re getting closer,’ Benson told them. ‘It’s slow progress but events over the past couple of days have helped to focus a few minds.’
‘Such as?’ asked Teller.
‘Such as Travis being in jeopardy and CIA assets being arrested or killed while trying to help him. Moscow has finally started complaining about US interference and sending in a negotiator to talk to what they call “disparate groups”, but that’s their shorthand for pro-Russian rebels and how we should mind our own business because they’re minding theirs.’ He grunted. ‘As you may recall, I suggested this might happen when the CIA took it upon themselves to send in a contractor to get him out.’
‘Yes, and you were perfectly correct, Howard,’ Chapin congratulated him. His tone carried a faint air of condescension. ‘What’s the situation there? You haven’t said much about it.’
Benson shifted in his chair. Chapin was showing signs of becoming difficult, and he wondered if it was a result of his health issues. Not that he cared one way or another, as long as the old man stayed onside.
Privately he was still furious at finding that he’d been shut out of the loop at Langley, and questions from Chapin only served to remind him of his sudden inability to exert some pressure where it could count. The operations support room responsible for helping Watchman was now under red light rules, effectively prohibiting entry to all but immediate and senior personnel. He’d tried pushing Jason Sewell further on the issue, and even approached the director himself. But the answer had been the same: the facility was now closed to all non-essential staff, including himself. Not that he was about to tell these men, as he regarded it as a point of pride that he could go almost anywhere without let or hindrance.
‘It’s gone beyond any control I might have had,’ he muttered vaguely. ‘In any case, whatever happens now won’t affect our plans for the future. President Putin has seen to that.’
‘What’s his latest word on the situation?’
‘Not much. He’s continuing to deny any Russian involvement and suggesting any “foreign” fighters assisting the rebels are “patriots”.’
‘Good.’ Chapin stood up and looked at Teller and Cassler. ‘Let’s meet again when something develops. Keep checking the voicemail box for messages.’
As the men filed out of the room, Chapin touched Benson’s sleeve. The senior lawyer waited for the others to move ahead along the corridor before saying softly, ‘I think there have been enough accidents, Howard, don’t you? I’m not sure how far you think you can take this, but I should hate for it to spread further.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’ Benson did his best to look innocent, but the glint of devilment lurking in his eyes was unconvincing. In spite of the momentary setback with his access to Langley, he was enjoying the secret power he was wielding elsewhere far too much, and exerting a terminal control over Conk
ley and Cready had been like a shot in the arm.
The senior lawyer was too experienced to have missed it. He had seen similar expressions in the eyes of other men over the years; mostly people like Benson, who liked giving orders but rarely if ever had to carry out the deed. Over time he had come to the conclusion that for them it was a need, something primeval long hidden by circumstance and lifestyle, but which eventually found its way to the surface. He studied the senator’s face for a few moments and wondered what they had created between them. Or whether it had always been there, waiting to surface. Had Benson been hiding another persona all these years, and their current situation was now allowing him an excuse to vent some secret desires?
If so, it was time to rein him in before he went too far and ruined them all.
His grip intensified on Benson’s arm. Although he clearly wasn’t well to those who knew him, the lawyer still had strong hands. ‘I’m not a fool, Howard. I know what it’s like to have the power to make life and death decisions. I had to use it more than once in my time. But I never got used to it, not like some. Not like you.’
Benson tried to shake him off, but failed. ‘What are you saying, old man?’
Chapin leaned closer as an intern walked past and disappeared down the corridor. ‘I’m saying, just in case you consider that any of us closer to home might become – what was it you called them once – “casualties of war”? – you might take note that I have a great deal of information that might prove … damaging, if I should meet with a fate similar to Conkley. Or Marcella Cready.’
Benson shook his head and jerked his arm free, his mouth dropping open. ‘What the hell are you—’
‘I just heard the news, Howard.’ Chapin held up his smart phone. ‘The wonders of modern technology and rolling reports, you see. Something we could have done with in my day, I have to say. I didn’t want to air this in front of the others because I doubt they would have understood the significance. They’re simple money men, not versed in the dark arts of intelligence work. But I might tell them yet, if the need arises. Cassler probably wouldn’t give it a moment’s thought; he’s too wrapped up in his portfolios and making the next million. But Teller? He might care. A lot. He was once very close to Marcella Cready, did you know that?’ The lawyer noted the flash of concern that appeared briefly in Benson’s eyes. Then it was gone, to be replaced by an amused frown.
‘I said before, Vernon, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Truly. Are you sure your illness isn’t having an adverse effect on your judgement? I’d hate to think you might consider talking outside this building. In any case, what’s this “information” you say you have? Haven’t you noticed how careful I’ve been in the past not to put anything in writing?’
Chapin smiled. ‘Who said writing, Howard?’ He raised a finger, making a circular movement which took in their opulent surroundings and the very fabric of the building. ‘You should bear in mind that old wartime saying: walls have ears. Walls have ears.’
FIFTY-SEVEN
‘Watchman, you have two miles to go before you reach a farm building marked as deserted. Just past it is a turning on your left. We’re advised that this is an unmarked access road for forest workers and border patrols, although rarely used. Take this turning and you will be on a thousand-metre track to the border itself.’
‘Copy that. Are there any active patrols in the area?’ We were now so close I was ready to blow through anything that showed itself. But the proximity of freedom is a siren call to the unwary. Border patrols are usually connected by radio with regular checks by their control room to make sure all is well. And in a country where civil and military unrest was compounded by threats from across their borders, they would probably now be at a severe level of awareness. Running into a bunch of armed and touchy troopers under such conditions wasn’t something that would end well.
‘None visible and no marked obstacles that I can see. The track runs through a stretch of woodland to a simple fence. Beyond the fence is Moldovan territory. Your ride will be waiting for you there.’
‘Good to hear. Is Callahan there?’ I had to ask him about the leak; not that there was anything I could do about it right now, but the sense that we’d been betrayed had been digging away at me ever since Voloshyn’s appearance at the Tipol, and I wanted him to know that I wasn’t about to let it go. He could always refuse to discuss it, but I didn’t think he would; he came across to me as a straight kind of guy with a bagful of experience and would go as far as he could to put things right.
Callahan came on. ‘Go ahead, Watchman.’
‘You’ve got a serious leak in the system. You know that?’
There was a long sigh. ‘Yes, I know. I’ve initiated a background check of certain people. I’m sorry, Portman. My hands are tied. I can’t say more.’
He sounded sick with anger, and I figured he knew or suspected who the likely leak had to be. It made me think the suspect must be someone of note, and not a staff member low down in the pecking order. But he wasn’t about to tell me any names, and with good reason; although I was working for the CIA on this job, I wasn’t part of their club, the inner circle of intelligence professionals. Like any organization with a pride in its own integrity, the CIA likes to clean house itself without involving outsiders.
‘You know it’s not Lindsay, though, right?’ I had to make sure of that.
If he was surprised that I knew her name, he didn’t say so. ‘I know. She’s in the clear, don’t worry. I’m afraid it’s a lot higher than that; somebody with top-level access to the facility. Be assured we will deal with it. Hold one moment.’
I heard him talking in the background. Then he came back. ‘I have to go. Before I do there’s something you should know about the man Voloshyn: he’s almost certainly an FSB officer on secondment. His employers, BJ Group, have security contracts with the Russian government, and in turn have connections with Russian organized crime.’
It provided answers to some questions about how Voloshyn might have been able to gain the knowledge that he had. It also ramped up the kind of opposition we were facing. It made me wonder which side of the fence Voloshyn was currently working on – or whether there was even a divide at all. ‘Sounds to me like your mole must have the same connections.’
‘Yes. Uh, Watchman, let me put you back to Lindsay. She’ll help you with anything else you need. Stand by.’
It sounded like Callahan was having problems, and I wondered what was going on inside the bubble that was Langley. Work enough with people in the world of security and intelligence and you learn to pick up on their love of nuance and hidden meanings. It’s almost as if it’s a requirement of their job. But it’s easy to get led into seeing things that aren’t there, understanding things that aren’t actually said. People talk in ways that imply without being clear, and after a while everything has a dual meaning, even when it shouldn’t. However, I had a feeling that Callahan wasn’t simply being elliptical; he’d found a way of sending me some kind of message.
Lindsay looked questioningly at Callahan as he moved away from the console. She had heard every word of the exchange between him and Watchman or, as she now knew from his slip of the tongue – if indeed it was a slip – the man named Portman.
‘Sir?’ she said quietly, her hand over the mouthpiece. She had a feeling she was about to step into unknown territory here and instinct told her she had to be very careful.
Callahan hesitated. He looked conflicted, and she wondered at the huge pressures being exerted on a man at his level. His reference just now to somebody with top-level access clearly referred to Benson; it had to. But she knew he was bound by his position as much as by the rules governing all staff of the CIA into secrecy at all times.
‘I want you to conduct Watchman’s debriefing. You think you can handle that?’
She was surprised, but nodded. ‘Yes, sir. If you think so.’ She knew that debriefings were usually handled by the Staff Ops Officer responsible, in this case Callahan.
But if he decided to hand it over to her, how could she argue? In any case, it would be good experience for her.
‘You’ll do fine. Watchman’s not one of ours, so we can’t expect him to jump through post-operational hoops for us and write out a full report. But we need to know what went on over there. We’ll have Travis’s input, anyway.’
‘Right, sir. Do I do it here?’
‘No. I doubt he’ll come here, anyway. Set up a meeting somewhere in town. Can you do that?’
‘Yes, sir.’ She hesitated, feeling a thrill running through her that she couldn’t explain. Was this what it was like to be accepted? ‘What do I tell him, sir?’
‘He knows the background. Fill it in at your discretion. Tell him what went on in this room. You know what I mean.’
‘Yes, sir. And afterwards?’
‘Afterwards? Well, you come back and report to me. If you want it, there’s a job waiting here for you. You’ve earned it.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Lindsay sat for a moment as Callahan walked out, stunned by his words, by his confidence in her abilities. She turned to her desk and checked that Watchman was still on hold. She was surprised to find that she already knew what to say. She spoke into the headset, ‘Watchman?’
‘I hear you. What’s up?’
‘My apologies for keeping you. How well do you know the Washington area?’
FIFTY-EIGHT
The track led into a stretch of trees ahead of us, the tops curving inwards to form an arch, lending the area a soft atmosphere. I couldn’t hear them but I was betting that birds were singing. At any other time and place it would have been scenic, serene, a place of tranquillity.
But not now.
A Mercedes four-wheel drive was standing in our way.
Two figures were next to it, one carrying a rifle. The other had a splash of white on one leg. They looked as if they’d known we were coming.
Close Quarters Page 26
