Lord of the Swallows

by Gérard de Villiers

  The interrogation had begun. Malko hadn’t noticed that they’d set an IV catheter on the back of his left hand to maintain a constant level of the drug in his blood. They were using a substance like sodium thiopental that reduced his psychological defenses while stimulating his memories. Later, when he woke up and the drug was flushed from his system, he wouldn’t remember anything about the episode, even though it had gone deeply into his memory.

  The Russians, whose research on chemistry and poisons was always on the cutting edge, had developed a perfect truth serum. It wasn’t available commercially, of course, and the intelligence services used it only under carefully controlled conditions.

  The interrogator asked his next question in the same monotonous voice, as if talking to someone who was hypnotized. He figured that within two hours at the most, he would have plumbed his subject’s memory.

  The interrogator was exceptionally skilled at his work, which is why he’d been specially flown in from Moscow the night before. He traveled on an expertly forged Dutch passport, seemingly coming from Greece. British immigration hadn’t noticed anything amiss.

  When his job here was done, the man would fly back to Moscow with the recording of the interrogations, surrender the passport, and return to his regular job in the Krasny Bogatir poisons laboratory.

  —

  “Richard, why didn’t you tell us that Malko Linge was here on a risky assignment?” asked Wolseley reproachfully. “We could have put one of our A4 teams on him. That saved his life once before, you’ll recall.”

  “We had no idea he was in danger, Sir William,” said Spicer. “It was a routine background investigation on a matter that didn’t concern Great Britain.”

  “Still, he was kidnapped here in London.”

  The meeting was being held on the fourth floor of Thames House. In addition to the MI5 and CIA men, it included the head of British counterintelligence’s Russian section, and a Special Branch representative.

  “We absolutely have to find him!” said Spicer. “I’m sure his life is in danger.”

  “Given what we have to go on, that’s going to be difficult,” said Wolseley, looking discouraged. “No descriptions, nothing about the ambulance, and even less about its destination. Prince Linge could be anywhere.”

  He turned to the Russian counterintelligence specialist.

  “What do you think, John?”

  “I was notified two hours ago and immediately increased surveillance around the FSB rezidentura and the SVR office in Kensington,” said the man, “but we didn’t see anything unusual. I also talked to Cheltenham, and they haven’t noticed any recent spikes in communications traffic. Naturally, we’re going to keep a close eye on the agents we’ve identified in the past, but that’s about all we can do.”

  The Special Branch representative spoke up:

  “We’ve alerted the airports and all the country’s exit points. I’m having the area ambulance companies questioned, to see if someone rented or stole one of their vehicles. We won’t hear anything for a couple of hours at least, and I wouldn’t count on that too much anyway.”

  Feeling increasingly gloomy, Spicer started when Wolseley spoke to him.

  “Richard, would you like us to apply for a search warrant for the Khrenkov flat? It’s already under permanent surveillance.”

  The CIA station chief had been forced to share his little family secret with the British, so the cousins now knew all about Malko’s assignment.

  Spicer thought for a moment, then said:

  “That can wait, since you’re already watching them.”

  Wolseley made a show of looking at his watch.

  “Then I don’t think we have anything else to discuss for now. Naturally I’ll let you know if I hear anything new. I’m personally very fond of Prince Linge and I wouldn’t want…”

  He let the sentence trail off.

  They shook hands in silence. It made Spicer sick to know that his kidnapped operative was being held somewhere in London and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

  “I’m heading to Grosvenor Square,” he said. “I have a briefing scheduled.” The station chief had asked Gwyneth Robertson to come aboard, to help him understand what might have happened. The former case officer had dropped her usual carefree manner and was chain-smoking Dunhills, right under a sign that specifically prohibited it.

  “I should have trusted my gut!” said Gwyneth bitterly. “I felt like seeing him last night after dinner, but I didn’t want to bother him. If I’d gone there, maybe this shit wouldn’t have happened!”

  Spicer raised his hands in an appeasing gesture.

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Gwyneth. What I want to understand is: Who kidnapped him and why?”

  “Who? The Russians, of course.”

  “Because they found out we had suspicions about the Khrenkovs?”

  “Seems pretty obvious, don’t you think?”

  “But Malko had wrapped up his mission. Zhanna turned him down, so the project was dead in the water. We’d have stayed on the Khrenkovs, of course, but as part of a long-term investigation that didn’t involve Malko. Nobody had any reason to put him out of commission.”

  “That might not have been the idea,” she said. “If they wanted to kill him, it would’ve been easy to do it in his bed last night.”

  “So why kidnap him?”

  “Maybe he found something out….” The ex–CIA case officer sounded uncertain.

  “He would’ve told me,” said Spicer.

  A hush descended on the two. They were at a loss.

  Gwyneth lit another Dunhill and thoughtfully blew out a plume of smoke.

  “I have an idea!” she said suddenly. “There’s no point in questioning the Khrenkovs; they’ll just clam up. But we still have Lynn Marsh.”

  “Alexei’s girlfriend?”

  “That’s right. As it happens, I know her. If I can talk to her, we might be able to understand what happened.”

  Gwyneth quickly explained how she knew the dentist, which came as a total surprise to Spicer.

  “That’s a good idea,” he said. “But you’ll have to tell her the truth. And as far as we know, Alexei Khrenkov isn’t aware that we suspect him. Aren’t you afraid Marsh will turn around and tell him everything?”

  “That’s a risk,” she said, “but if we want to get Malko back, we better take it.”

  “So you’re going to tell Marsh exactly who Khrenkov really is?”

  “I don’t see any other way.”

  “In that case, you’ve got carte blanche,” said the station chief. “Let’s keep our fingers crossed.”

  Chapter 16

  Lynn Marsh flashed her usual bright smile as she welcomed Gwyneth Robertson into her office. With the contrast between her white coat and her long, black-stockinged legs, the young dentist looked very attractive.

  “You were lucky a cancellation opened up,” she said. “What can I do for you today?”

  “My teeth are fine, Lynn. I needed to see you for another reason. And it’s urgent.”

  “Really? What’s that?”

  The two women had never discussed personal matters, and the dentist was a little taken aback.

  “I’ve never talked much about my life,” said Gwyneth, “but I have to tell you that I spent fifteen years working for the CIA.”

  Lynn was now quite puzzled.

  “What does that have to do with your being here today?”

  “A lot, actually. And I suggest you sit down, because you might find what I’m about to say upsetting.”

  Mystified, the dentist sat in her desk chair.

  “You’re seeing a man called Alexei Khrenkov,” Gwyneth began.

  Lynn started.

  “How do you know about that? And what business is it of yours?”

  Unruffled, the former CIA case officer continued.

  “Mr. Khrenkov is Russian, as you know. What you don’t know is that he and his wife are fugitives from Russian justice. They f
led the country after embezzling seven hundred million dollars. But that’s not why I’m here today. The reason I’m here is that Mr. Khrenkov is also suspected of running a spy ring in the United States.”

  The blood had drained from the dentist’s face. Her throat was so tight, she wasn’t able to say a word.

  Gwyneth proceeded to tell her the whole story, including Malko’s alarming kidnapping the night before. Lynn seemed stunned, overwhelmed.

  Gwyneth waited for some color to come back to her face, then asked:

  “Were you aware of what I’ve just told you?”

  “No, of course not,” she said in a dull voice, shaking her head. “But—”

  “Do you believe me?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “If you have any doubts, I can take you to MI5 headquarters, where they’ll confirm my story.”

  Lynn Marsh shook her head again and roused herself.

  “I don’t need that. But why did you come to tell me all this? It doesn’t concern me anymore.”

  “It doesn’t? Why not?”

  “Because Alexei broke up with me a few days ago. I haven’t had any word from him since.”

  To the former case officer, this came as news.

  “Did he say why?”

  “No, and he didn’t even send me a text to explain himself. Nothing; just silence. But I didn’t know anything about the stuff you just told me, so it couldn’t have been for that.”

  Now it was Gwyneth’s turn to be astonished. Khrenkov had ended his relationship with Marsh. So that’s why Zhanna broke off contact with the CIA. She was rid of her rival and no longer had any reason to give up the network.

  Coming here sure wasn’t a waste of my time, thought Gwyneth to herself, even though the breakup didn’t explain Malko’s kidnapping. Aloud, she asked:

  “What do you plan to do?”

  “Nothing. Try to forget him.”

  “We think that Mr. Khrenkov doesn’t know we suspect him,” said Gwyneth. “If he finds out, it might have pretty serious consequences. We’re still hoping to arrest him.”

  “He won’t learn about it from me,” said Lynn, her voice now stronger.

  “Do you have any idea what happened to Malko Linge?”

  The dentist stared at her.

  “How could I? I barely know the man. I’ve only seen him twice in my life, and I had no idea who he was. I thought he was just a playboy who wanted to get me into bed.”

  That’s actually not far from the truth, Gwyneth thought wryly. Then she looked at her watch and said:

  “I think I’ve told you everything. Do you want protection?”

  “Protection?” The dentist was surprised. “Whatever for?”

  “We don’t know the whole story yet. You’ve been in close contact with Alexei Khrenkov. As long as we don’t know why Mr. Linge was kidnapped, we have to be careful.”

  She handed Lynn her business card.

  “If you notice anything unusual, call me. Otherwise, don’t hesitate to call nine-nine-nine. I expect I’ll see you again soon.”

  Lynn walked the former CIA agent out to the landing. Then she returned to the office, sank into her chair, and burst into tears. It was too much for one day. Learning that your lover is a crook and you’re surrounded by spies is more than most people can handle.

  Feeling unable to go poking around in yet another mouth, Lynn told her assistant to cancel her next patient.

  —

  “It doesn’t make any sense!” said Spicer. “They had no reason to attack him.”

  Gwyneth was sitting in a deep leather armchair across from the station chief’s desk. She shook her head.

  “We don’t know the whole story,” she said, “but let’s see what we do know. First, Malko is approached in Monte Carlo by Zhanna Khrenkov, who offers him a weird deal: she’ll reveal a sleeper Russian spy network in the United States if the CIA kills her husband’s girlfriend.

  “Malko investigates and finds that most of what Zhanna said checks out. The girlfriend exists—that’s Lynn Marsh—and Zhanna knows the name of a very important Russian spymaster. Then, at their last meeting, she tells Malko the deal is off.”

  The station chief picked up the thread.

  “Thanks to you, we now know why,” he said. “Alexei spontaneously breaks up with his girlfriend, so Zhanna’s problem is taken care of.”

  Gwyneth smiled slightly.

  “I don’t believe in ‘spontaneously,’ Richard. A man doesn’t break up with a woman he’s crazy about without a very good reason. I think someone from the outside pressured him into it.”

  “Like who?”

  “I’m not sure, but whoever created the network and put Khrenkov in charge must still be watching over it. The Russians have always been very cautious. I imagine the Khrenkovs are under close surveillance. To my way of thinking, that’s where we should look. The people watching the Khrenkovs probably felt Malko was getting too close to the pot of gold and went into action.”

  “I can understand their wanting to get rid of Malko,” said Spicer, “but why make Alexei dump his girlfriend? She wasn’t involved in any of his secret activities.”

  Gwyneth lit herself a fresh Dunhill and said:

  “If we assume the Khrenkovs were under surveillance, the Russians would extend that surveillance to Lynn Marsh the moment she got intimate with Alexei. We know Malko met Marsh twice. Maybe the Russians figured he had targeted her and was trying to get information about the network. In that case, Moscow Central would order Khrenkov to leave her. An order he couldn’t disobey since the Russians have him by the short hairs.”

  Spicer nodded at her analysis.

  “I can buy all that, but it still doesn’t explain why they would take such a big risk in kidnapping Malko.”

  “There, you’ve got me.”

  Silence fell on the CIA office, eventually broken by Gwyneth.

  “Do you have any news from MI5?”

  Spicer shrugged.

  “They don’t have any evidence, so I don’t expect much from them. Remember the Litvinenko affair. The FSB or some other agency killed the guy right under the Brits’ noses, and it took them weeks to figure out how it was done.”

  “What if the two operations were run by the same person?” asked Gwyneth. “Think of it, Richard. They used the same methods, and both required a lot of people and logistics to be carried out. I doubt Malko’s kidnapping was done by the local rezidentura. They probably didn’t even know about it.”

  “That’s not a bad thought,” said the CIA station chief. “And Zhanna Khrenkov did finger Rem Tolkachev, and by extension the Kremlin. In the Litvinenko affair we were always convinced that the orders came from the Kremlin, and that’s where Tolkachev hangs his hat.”

  Gwyneth tensely stubbed out the Dunhill she had just lit.

  “So what are you doing to get Malko back? Do you plan to lean on the Khrenkovs?”

  Spicer shook his head.

  “I doubt they’re in the loop. And there’s nothing we—”

  The young woman interrupted him.

  “Do you think he’s already dead?”

  “I didn’t mean to say that,” protested Spicer. “But it’s not looking good.”

  “In that case, we better start praying.”

  —

  In his darkened world, Malko had lost track of time. Every so often, someone removed his gag and gave him a drink or a piece of chocolate, but he never saw the person.

  Malko was again thinking clearly, though he couldn’t remember exactly what had happened. He also had no idea why he was being held prisoner.

  No one had threatened him, or even spoken to him. He didn’t know where he was and, especially, what lay ahead. As long as he was still alive, there was hope. He trusted the CIA and the cousins to do everything in their power to get him out of there. The question was, could they?

  Fatigue again overwhelmed him, and he fell asleep.

  —

  Feeling gratified, Rem Tol
kachev closed the file containing the transcript of the Malko Linge thiopental interrogation. He now knew exactly what had happened. There was just one person to blame. Well, one and a half persons.

  Once again, Tolkachev’s method had worked: knowing all the ins and outs before taking action.

  He now faced two equally significant decisions.

  First, what to do with the Khrenkovs. After this, the couple would be carefully tracked by the Americans and the British. They were burned, and would forever be suspect, even if they stopped all their espionage activities.

  And there was an additional risk, about which Tolkachev had no illusions. If the couple ever faced a real threat, like the prospect of spending the rest of their days in an American or English prison, would they hold out and refuse to talk?

  Highly unlikely.

  The Khrenkovs had the power to destroy years of his painstaking work. They were replaceable; the network wasn’t. But Tolkachev would have to act fast, and harshly.

  The second problem was what to do with the prisoner. Linge had told them all he knew, and was of no further use. They could liquidate him, which was simple enough, and make sure his body was never found, just to be on the safe side.

  That was the approach Tolkachev was inclined to take, on the principle that a dead enemy is no longer dangerous.

  But that was a decision he couldn’t make alone. Russia and the United States had worked to create a façade of cordial relations. All sorts of fierce struggles were being waged behind it, but the façade had to be maintained.

  Tolkachev took his fountain pen, wrote a memo a few lines long, and initialed it. Then he rang for an internal Kremlin courier. The memo was addressed to the only person with the power to make the decision.

  For the first problem, the Khrenkovs, Tolkachev gave himself a couple of hours before taking action. He had the authority and the means to act on his own. He couldn’t afford to fail, however. When he was younger, he’d hunted brown bears. A dangerous sport, because if you only wounded the animal, it often had the strength to kill you before dying.

  Rem Tolkachev didn’t want anyone touching his precious lastochkas.

  The red light above his door came on; the courier was outside. Without a word, Tolkachev cracked the door open and handed him the note.