Looking grave, Sir William broke the silence.
“Our colleague Jane Hill was poisoned, apparently by gaseous cyanide. Death was practically instantaneous.”
“Did you find the woman who killed her?” asked Richard Spicer.
“No, not yet. As with the Litvinenko affair, the operation was very carefully prepared.”
“Anything going on at the rezidentura?” asked Spicer.
“Nothing,” said Wolseley. “They were kept out of the picture. It’s lucky we had our suspicions about Helen O’Brien. Otherwise Dr. Marsh would have been killed instead.”
“What about the blond woman who was with her?” asked Malko.
“That’s Josefa Svoboda. She was easy to locate, because she went back to her hotel. The Yard people are questioning her now. She doesn’t seem to be part of the plot, and her story holds together. She says O’Brien suggested she have her teeth fixed and volunteered to pay for it. Naturally, she agreed.”
“Why would O’Brien use her?”
“Because no one would think twice about a model wanting to improve her smile. Svoboda’s in shock, afraid she’ll never be able to come back to England.”
“Couldn’t she tell you anything about what O’Brien did?”
“No. It seems the women separated right after they came out. A car was waiting for O’Brien, and Svoboda took a taxi.”
A heavy silence fell on the room.
For MI5 and the CIA, this was a major black eye.
Wolseley turned to Spicer.
“We’re in an awkward situation, Richard. After what happened, we have to give Dr. Marsh total protection, but this isn’t actually our case.”
“I’m sure you understand the problem, Sir William,” said Spicer. “The Russians are doing everything they can to protect the spy ring led by the Khrenkovs. They will only stop if one of two things happens: either they eliminate the people who can cause them problems—Lynn Marsh and Alexei Khrenkov—or we manage to shut down the network.”
“Do you have an idea of how to do that?”
Malko chose to answer this.
“We might,” he said. “Our plan all along was to convince Khrenkov to give us the network in exchange for our protection and the chance to live with Dr. Marsh—though not in London, of course. Only we had to convince him. Initially Dr. Marsh agreed to help, but then backed out.”
“So where do you stand now?” asked the MI5 chief of staff.
“After what happened today, Dr. Marsh may well change her mind again. She didn’t want to see Alexei Khrenkov again for fear of being sucked into a dangerous world. She now has proof that she’s a target of the Russian services even if she doesn’t see him. I’ll try to persuade her to change her mind about breaking up with Khrenkov.”
“She’s here in the building right now,” said Wolseley. “Why don’t the two of you take her to dinner and see if you can convince her. If you can’t, we’ll have to take her out of circulation for a while and put her in a safe house.”
Spicer and Malko exchanged a long look: this was their last chance.
—
The City Café was on John Islip Street, a short walk from Thames House. It was very British and quite empty, probably because it was still early and most MI5 staffers went home for dinner.
When Lynn Marsh entered the restaurant, she was moving like a sleepwalker: silent, eyes vacant, face drawn. Malko put a menu in front of her, but she didn’t even look at it.
“I’m not hungry,” she said faintly.
Spicer ordered roast pork loin. Malko opted for the lamb stew.
“I understand how shocked you must be feeling,” Malko began. “We are, too. But your fate is in your own hands. Scotland Yard wants to put you in a safe house for a while, to protect you. Which doesn’t solve anything in the long term.”
Lynn gave them an anxious look.
“You mean I wouldn’t be able to work?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Spicer.
“That’s impossible!” she blurted. “I’ll lose all my patients!”
Malko gently put his hand on hers, and said:
“The other solution is to go back to the plan I first suggested: contact Alexei and persuade him to cooperate with us.”
“I’ll never be able to do that,” she said quietly. “I’m scared. I just want to sleep for days and days….Anyway, if I see Alexei again, they’ll just keep after me.”
“No, they won’t,” Malko assured her. “Once the network is shut down they won’t waste their time seeking revenge. And you’ll be able to live with Alexei if you still want to.”
The waiter set a glass of water in front of her, and she eagerly drank it.
Malko leaned across the table, his face close to hers.
“Lynn, please text Alexei. Say you agree to meet him.”
She didn’t answer. She seemed to have lost the use of her vocal cords. When she finally spoke it was to ask, almost inaudibly:
“Where?”
Malko felt like jumping for joy.
“I’d suggest Vienna,” he said. “Alexei can travel to Austria, even with an expired passport.”
“Why Vienna?”
“Because we can protect you there.”
In the back of his mind, Malko was thinking that Lynn Marsh would probably be safest at Liezen Castle. But one step at a time, he thought.
With exasperating slowness, Lynn reached into her purse and took out her iPhone. The two men held their breath while she typed a short text message. She showed it to Malko before sending it:
I will be happy to meet you. In Vienna. Lynn.
Once the message was sent, Spicer tore into his pork loin as if he hadn’t eaten for a week.
“I hope you aren’t making me do something stupid,” she said with a sigh, gazing thoughtfully at her iPhone. “I want to go home now. And sleep.”
Spicer snatched up his own phone.
“Let me see if I can arrange that.”
—
In a way, William Wolseley was relieved to hear the news. Round-the-clock surveillance for Lynn Marsh was expensive and tricky. On the other hand, he wasn’t quite happy about handing an Englishwoman over to the American cousins.
“And you guarantee you’ll give her total protection?” he asked, sounding dubious.
“Absolutely!” said Spicer. “It’s in our interest. And if Khrenkov says yes, as I think he will, we’ll soon be leaving Britain with her.”
“I’ll need a sworn release from Dr. Marsh saying that she’s going with you voluntarily and absolving us of responsibility.”
“You’ll have it, Sir William. As soon as we finish our dinner here I’ll bring it to you personally. And we will take over Dr. Marsh’s protection starting this evening.”
—
Alexei Khrenkov immediately read the text message, and when he did, he read it three times. Vienna—well, why not? he thought. He didn’t know why Lynn had chosen the Austrian capital, but it was a place he could travel to. His future still looked cloudy, but the thought of seeing her again gave him wings. He quickly typed a short answer:
Great! When and where?
Walking into the pantry, he asked Boris to make him a truffle omelet. Khrenkov was still carrying the Sig in his waistband, but his appetite had returned.
—
The two cars exited Thames House by the wide gate on Thorney Street. A CIA Mercedes led the way, followed by an MI5 escort vehicle.
Lynn Marsh had signed Wolseley’s release. Actually, she would’ve signed almost anything to be allowed to go home. Two CIA case officers had joined the station chief and now sat on either side of her in the back of the Mercedes.
Khrenkov’s answer arrived immediately, so all that remained was to arrange Lynn’s flight to Austria.
Wedged between the two CIA men, she sat with her head back, dozing. They had to shake her awake when they reached Harrods Village, and it took her a few moments to find her keys.
Malko opened the door to t
he apartment for her, and she ran to her bedroom and collapsed on the bed, without even getting undressed.
Spicer looked at his watch and said:
“I’ll have the cousins drive me back to the shop and leave my two guys with you. And this, too.” He handed a 9 mm Glock to Malko, who slipped it in his belt.
“We’re off to a good start,” said Malko.
“I just hope she doesn’t change her mind in the morning,” said Spicer, sounding worried.
“I don’t think she will.”
“Of course there’s one big problem,” said the station chief. “When Khrenkov shows up in Vienna, he might be trailing a bunch of Russian thugs.”
Chapter 24
Alexei Khrenkov ignored the view of the artesian jet rising above Lake Geneva, gleaming in the spring sunshine. Instead, he was staring at the front page of the International Herald Tribune. Someone had tried to kill Lynn!
He hadn’t known about this when he answered the message suggesting the meeting in Vienna, and was glad to realize she’d texted him after the attack.
Khrenkov had made up his mind: he wasn’t going to risk returning to Russia. What had just happened in London proved that the Kremlin had declared all-out war against him.
He folded the newspaper and began working out his travel itinerary. It would be Geneva to Zurich to Bergenz, then across Austria to Vienna. He didn’t make reservations. He would buy his ticket at the station.
But before that, there were some precautions to be taken. Going to his wall safe, he took out a sheet of paper listing the members of the lastochkas network. He sat down at his desk and began to copy it, adding as many biographical details as he could, including the cover names the swallows used in the United States.
Anna Kushchenko (Anna Chapman)
Mikhail Vasenkov (Juan Lazaro) and Vicky Peláez
Andrei Bezrukov (Donald Heathfield) and Yelena Vavilova (Tracey Foley)
Vladimir and Lidiya Guryev (Richard and Cynthia Murphy)
Mikhail Kutsik (Michael Zottoli) and Nataliya Pereverseva (Patricia Mills)
Mikhail Semenko
Pavel Kapusin (Christopher Metsos)
Then Khrenkov moved to a second document: the list of dead drops, electronic connections, and meeting places—mostly coffee shops and train or subway stations—where he hooked up with the swallows and paid them for their information.
Khrenkov smiled bitterly. The Americans would give a fortune for these documents. But he didn’t need money. All he wanted was to live in peace with his lover, as far as possible from his former existence.
He stowed the precious documents in a large manila envelope. Now he just had to put it in a safe place.
“Boris,” he called. “We’re going into town.”
The butler went to the garage and brought the Mercedes out.
Khrenkov went downstairs and joined him, with the Sig stuck in his belt.
“We’re going to Crédit Suisse, on rue du Rhône.”
The bank always rolled out the red carpet for Khrenkov, and no wonder: his account there held twenty-seven million dollars.
Heading down the villa driveway, Khrenkov peered around but didn’t see anything suspicious. In half an hour, his life insurance would be in place.
—
Standing in the busy main terminal at Vienna International Airport, Malko scanned the arrivals screen. He was flanked by his old partners in arms, Chris Jones and Milton Brabeck, who had arrived from Washington the night before.
The husky CIA bodyguards wore their hair short and their trench coats long, hiding an arsenal worthy of a small aircraft carrier. Because the Vienna CIA station didn’t have the manpower, they had been assigned to protect Khrenkov and Marsh against any unpleasantness.
Arriving two hours earlier, Malko had been greeted by his two favorite “knuckle-draggers” and his butler/bodyguard, Elko Krisantem.
The arrivals screen showed that a flight from Copenhagen had just landed. This was the flight Lynn Marsh had taken that morning, leaving London under a false name and escorted by Richard Spicer and Gwyneth Robertson.
Fifteen minutes later, the first travelers began to emerge. Malko stepped close to the two CIA men and muttered:
“If anything’s going to happen, it’ll be now.”
Chris Jones didn’t seem worried.
“If somebody so much as scratches his balls within ten yards of us, I’ll waste him,” he said. “Milt’s ready too. If you knew what we’re packing, you wouldn’t have even bothered coming. Just show us the lady to protect, and we’ll take care of the rest.”
Milton Brabeck gave a low chuckle.
“Knowing the prince, I’ll bet she’s a hottie.”
The two Americans only had to protect Dr. Marsh while she crossed the terminal. An armored Mercedes was waiting outside at the curb, along with an escort vehicle from the U.S. embassy.
More passengers now began to come out, and Malko held his breath. Then suddenly the tension eased when Gwyneth appeared, with dark glasses and a coat over her arm. She was followed by Lynn, escorted by Spicer. The young dentist didn’t seem to have completely recovered. When Malko went to greet her, she barely smiled.
“All’s well,” he assured her. “We’ll be at the hotel in half an hour.”
The two CIA men immediately took up positions around her, with Jones leading the way and Brabeck behind, walking backward. They practically shoved her into the heavily armored Mercedes, whose doors closed with a reassuring thunk! But Malko was still on edge. Vienna was a nest of spies, a place where the SVR and other Russian services were particularly well represented.
Lynn didn’t open her mouth during the whole trip to Kaerntner Ring. At the Hotel Imperial front desk, she only had to scrawl a vague signature before Malko and Gwyneth led her up to her suite. The two guards took up positions in the hallway.
“You can take a bath if you like,” Gwyneth said to her. “You’re completely safe here. I’ll be with you all the time, and Malko is in the next suite.”
Lynn took off her jacket and lit a cigarette.
“Do you know where Alexei is?” she asked.
“No, I don’t,” Malko admitted. “But he knows where you are, so he should be here soon.”
That was an example of the power of positive thinking, disregarding the likelihood that Khrenkov would show up with a slew of spooks on his heels.
Malko went down to the lobby and settled in to wait. He was the only one of them who could recognize Khrenkov. And the Russian didn’t know where Lynn Marsh was, or what name she was registered under.
—
The train from Innsbruck slowly pulled into Vienna’s main train station.
Khrenkov was in the lead car. He’d spent the trip studying his fellow passengers, without spotting any suspicious faces. The Sig was in his raincoat pocket with a round in the chamber. To his key chain, Khrenkov had added the key to the Crédit Suisse safety-deposit box. He also needed a code that gave access to the vault. The Kremlin would expect something sophisticated, so Khrenkov had simply chosen his birth date.
His plan was simple. Once in Vienna he would arrange a meeting with an SVR representative in a public place and offer him a deal: if the Kremlin left him alone to live in peace with Lynn Marsh, the lastochkas information would stay in the Crédit Suisse vault forever. Khrenkov was no intelligence agent. All he wanted was to enjoy his money and his mistress.
Hailing a taxi, he gave the Hotel Imperial’s address. On this, his first visit to Vienna, Khrenkov was impressed by the majesty of the Austro-Hungarian Empire–era buildings.
When he’d left the Cologny villa that morning, he’d taken a basic precaution, telling Boris that he wanted to leave the house without being seen. So he went to the garage and climbed into the Mercedes’s enormous trunk. The Moldovan respectfully closed the lid on him and drove out of the garage. Nobody watching the house could tell that the car had a passenger. Boris drove to the second subbasement in the vast Rhône parking garage, wher
e he let his boss out. Khrenkov exited onto Quai du Général Guisan and took a taxi to the airport.
“We’re at the Hotel Imperial, mein Herr,” the cabdriver announced.
They had just pulled up at 16 Kaerntner Ring.
Khrenkov paid and entered the hotel lobby, which looked vast enough for Versailles. He felt anxious. How would he find Lynn?
He didn’t have long to wonder. As he headed for the front desk he spotted a familiar face: Prince Malko Linge, the man at the root of all his troubles!
Khrenkov stopped dead, about to turn and leave.
But the CIA operative was already walking toward him, a friendly smile on his face.
“This isn’t a trap, Gospodin Khrenkov,” Malko said in Russian. “I’m only here to help you. Without our involvement you would have never seen Lynn Marsh again. We’re the people who thwarted the attempt to kill her.”
“Where is she?” Khrenkov croaked.
“She’s here in the hotel,” he said. “But before you see her, I’d like to have a talk with you.”
—
Rem Tolkachev had summoned General Pyotr Ribkin to report on developments in the Khrenkov operation. Though a respected senior military man, he stood shifting from foot to foot in the spymaster’s little office.
“Alexei Khrenkov has just reached Vienna, Gospodin Tolkachev,” he said. “We have been following him from Geneva since intercepting his cell phone communications.”
“What about the Marsh woman?”
“She has disappeared from her home and office in London and is not taking any new appointments.”
“She’s almost certainly in Vienna too,” said Tolkachev.
After the botched killing at the dental office, Helen O’Brien had made her way to Russia by way of Moldova and Transnistria. The spymaster didn’t blame her. No one had thought to give her a photograph of Lynn Marsh.
In a way, Tolkachev was glad O’Brien was out of England. With MI5 and Scotland Yard up in arms, a second attempt on Marsh would be suicidal.
It would be much easier in Vienna.
“What are your orders, Gospodin Tolkachev?” asked the general nervously.
Lord of the Swallows Page 17
