by Rob Sinclair
Sure, the clandestine nature of a JIA agent’s existence and the fact they carried multiple IDs made the matter of matching together all of those facets of information all the more difficult, but it was there and it could be done, if you knew what to look for and how.
And it was a task at which Winter had become an ace.
After a painstaking search, he finally found something. When he did, he could hardly believe what he was looking at.
‘It can’t be,’ he said to himself, not sure whether to laugh or fume.
He quickly went back to Evans’s personnel record, double-checking the information that he had cross-matched, sure that he must have taken a leap somewhere and that he was wrong about what he had found.
But he wasn’t. It was right there, no mistake. The skeleton from Evans’s past.
His brain began to whir, his hands felt clammy and he fidgeted on his seat. This was a revelation that blew wide open his thoughts on what was happening in Russia. And suddenly recent events made a whole lot more sense.
There was a knock on the door and Pam stuck her head around.
Winter jumped at the unexpected intrusion and quickly closed down the pages he had been viewing. As much as Pam had helped him in the last few days, this was something he had to keep to himself.
‘What is it?’ Winter asked, trying his best to sound calm.
‘You said you wanted to see me? Earlier?’
‘I did?’
‘Yeah, before I went out to lunch, you said you were having trouble accessing some of Mackie’s files.’
‘Oh, of course,’ Winter said, remembering. He’d got completely side-tracked digging into Evans. ‘Come and take a look.’
Pam came across and stood over Winter’s shoulder as he clicked through restricted folders and screens until he reached the area in question. Having taken over Mackie’s role, Winter essentially had free access to information on every live agent, informant and case that Mackie had worked on. In reality, as Mackie’s second in command, Winter had been privy to much of that information in any case, but there were some areas that Winter either had been blocked from or just hadn’t needed to know about during his time working for Mackie.
So far, Pam seemed to be the gatekeeper to it all.
‘Any idea?’ Winter said, turning around and looking up at Pam.
He was surprised to see concern on her face.
‘Do you know what these files are?’ Winter said.
‘Yes,’ Pam said.
‘Can you get me into them?’
‘I … I’m not sure, to be honest. Maybe this is one that should be checked with the committee first?’
Winter frowned. ‘Are you serious?’
Pam began to rub at her neck nervously. ‘I just don’t know.’
‘Pam, believe me, if you know what this is and how to get in, you have to tell me. Better involve me than that trumped-up prick Lindegaard, surely?’
Pam laughed anxiously. ‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘So what is it?’
‘I really can’t say much. It’s probably better you look for yourself.’
Pam leaned over and scribbled something on a sticky note. Winter looked at the words – ‘Operation Romana’ – then back up at Pam, who smiled meekly. Without saying another word, she turned and headed to the office door.
Winter looked again at the note, then clicked onto the restricted folder. A password prompt popped up. He typed in the words on the note. Nothing happened. The page simply closed down.
He picked up his office phone and called Pam. She answered within a second.
‘Think outside the box,’ she said, then hung up.
‘What the hell?’ Winter said to the phone.
He looked down at the note again, his face creasing as he thought about what she meant.
Finally he got it.
He’d thought the words on the note referred to a past operation that Mackie had run. It pre-dated Winter’s time at the JIA, but Mackie had briefed him on the details and of its importance. In the late 1990s, post-Soviet Russia was plunged into a deep economic recession. Operation Romana was a clandestine operation with the aim of hitting at the very heart of growing discontent rising among many within Russia’s intelligence community and political elite who were eager for a return to the good old days of the Cold War. As part of the operation, the JIA, CIA and MI6 together had managed to turn many high-ranking officials or their family members.
The operation had to be cut short when a mole exposed the list of informants, with many suffering untimely and unusual deaths soon after – or, if they were lucky, running for their lives to the UK and US to see out their days in hiding. Nonetheless, the operation quelled a rising storm and was seen as a success and an embarrassing blow to the newly formed FSB and SVR, which had both been deeply infiltrated.
It was that angle Winter decided to explore further. The reference to Operation Romana. Could Mackie have had someone deep on the inside once more that only he had known about?
Winter loaded up an internet page and used a search engine to start digging. The first four searches revealed nothing and Winter began to question just what he was actually looking for. But then another thought came. Romana. Rome. Italy.
Going back to the other page, he clicked on the restricted folder again and typed in a name. A Russian name. A name that he knew connected Italy to Russia. To the FSB.
The password box vanished and the folder opened to reveal a list of files. Winter resisted hard the urge to do a fist pump.
His brain was racing, adrenaline pumping. Winter quickly opened the first file and read it, then the next. He scanned the documents, taking in as much as he could, reluctant to spend more than a few seconds on each, as though having the documents open too long would lead to someone finding out what he was reading.
It only took a couple of minutes to confirm what he had hoped.
With his heart pounding in his chest, he picked up the phone to Pam again.
‘You got in?’ she said.
‘I did.’
‘Just be careful. I may only be a secretary but I know what kind of damage that could cause.’
‘I know. I will be.’
‘And don’t even think about copying those files.’
‘I don’t need to.’
‘Okay … good. Is that all?’
‘Not quite. Can you do something for me?’
‘What is it?’
‘I need you to get me on the next plane to Moscow.’
Chapter 30
Aktobe Province, Kazakhstan
Logan’s head was spinning with what Jabayev had just told him. He just couldn’t figure out the chain of events that had led to Lena being killed – although he could understand why the Russians would pin the death on him. They must have known he was nowhere near Moscow the previous night. Publicly naming Logan as the suspect was designed purely to put extra pressure on him, make his life that much harder than it already was. And they were banking on other foreign police forces and security services, the NSC included, being sympathetic to their position and therefore likely to help hunt down and turn over Logan.
He got all that.
But if Lena had survived after being shot by Logan, then who on earth had killed her and why? Surely the Russians wouldn’t have? She was a major asset for them. If not the Russians, then who?
‘The Russians are on lockdown,’ Jabayev said. ‘Another of their top agents, Nikolai Medvedev, was killed yesterday morning. Again, you’ve been named their one and only suspect.’
Logan’s brain was now working overtime, trying to put the pieces together.
‘Why are you telling me this?’ he said, convinced now that he could do no harm by talking. He’d been interrogated before, he’d been tortured before, but this situation was different. He wasn’t going to give anything away. But he had to know what information Jabayev had.
Jabayev looked pleased that Logan had found his voice.
‘For one thing, because I know you
can’t have killed Belenov. You were already in Kazakhstan. The same for Medvedev.’
‘The Russians must surely know that too,’ Logan said. ‘You must have told them that?’
‘I’m not telling you a thing about what I told them. But I’m sure the Russians know it wasn’t you. Which only makes this all the more interesting for us. I’m in two minds here.’
‘How so?’
‘On the one hand, we always like to please our neighbours. But, clearly, you’re being set up here. And on the other hand, we know you’re a British agent. So we’re wondering how not turning you over to Russia could benefit us.’
Jabayev had an almost devilish smile on his face as he spoke. Logan had been right, it seemed. The NSC had been buying time. They were trying to figure out exactly how they could maximise their return for having captured Logan and Grainger.
But given Jabayev’s words, Logan was now doubting that the NSC had been in touch with the FSB at all. That was a relief to Logan, even though it didn’t really help him that much.
‘So those are our options,’ Jabayev said. ‘But most of all, we’re still trying to figure out why you came to our country and what damage your being here might cause us.’
‘Where’s Grainger?’ Logan asked.
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘Is she here? Is she okay?’
‘You really care for her, don’t you?’
‘You’d better care for her too,’ Logan said. ‘Anybody who harms her has me to answer to.’
Jabayev stared at Logan, his look entirely placid.
‘We’re not animals here,’ Jabayev said.
There was a knock on the door and Jabayev looked perturbed at having been interrupted. He got up off his chair and headed to the exit.
As he reached the door, there was a buzz and it opened just a few inches. Logan couldn’t see who was on the other side. Jabayev began talking, again in Kazakh. Although he was speaking quietly, it was clear to Logan that he was irate. His head was bobbing and shaking, his hands gesticulating, his words coming out in a hiss.
After a few moments, he turned back to Logan.
‘Okay, we can finish this later. We’re going to move you to a cell. Someone will bring you some food and water before you go.’
And with that, Jabayev walked abruptly out of the room and the door shut behind him.
Logan’s mind was still racing with the information he’d been told. Lena Belenov being killed was one thing, but what about Medvedev? Logan had never heard of him, but the Russians were claiming Logan had killed him. He could only guess that the FSB, the CIA, the JIA and maybe others were all at war with each other now. Which didn’t bode well for any side. It especially didn’t bode well for him, given that each of those agencies had something to gain from his capture.
A few minutes after Jabayev left the room, another man came in with the promised food and water. He didn’t engage in conversation with Logan at all, just put what he had down on the table and left.
Logan ate the food – some stodgy bread and what Logan took to be a type of cheese – and drank the water, and after that he sat and waited until, eventually, he nodded off from boredom as much as tiredness. He awoke when the now-familiar buzz of the door’s locking mechanism sounded out again. Logan wasn’t sure how long he’d slept for, but he felt groggy and confused, like you only do when you’ve been roused from a deep sleep.
Jabayev walked back into the room and right up to Logan, who was confusedly opening and shutting his eyes, trying his best to fight off his sleepiness.
‘Come on,’ Jabayev said. ‘It’s time to go.’
Jabayev grabbed Logan’s arm and pulled. Logan wearily stood up from the chair and Jabayev clasped a set of handcuffs over Logan’s wrists. Logan didn’t resist at all. It was hardly a surprise that they wanted to restrict his movement while they transferred him to a different location – Logan could only guess they were now heading to a cell for the night, as Jabayev had indicated earlier.
Jabayev tugged him forward as he walked toward the door. After exiting the interview room, the NSC agent ushered Logan down a short corridor. On either side of the corridor were plain wooden doors – no clues as to what lay behind them, but the building looked like some sort of office. Probably a simple outpost for the NSC that had a solitary interview room and one or two cells.
The corridor opened out into a small foyer. There was a desk in the corner and two sets of glass doors that led outside. It was dark out and Logan saw by the clock above the desk that it was ten p.m.
Jabayev walked Logan up to the desk and spoke to the man sitting behind it. Then, after a few moments, Jabayev began moving again and tugged on Logan’s arm once more. They walked toward the double doors.
‘Where are we going?’ Logan asked, still confused but more alert and beginning to feel the first stirring of unease.
It was clear they weren’t going to a cell. Jabayev was taking him out of the building. But to whom?
Jabayev didn’t answer and Logan immediately began to plan a move. He wasn’t going to be held prisoner by the NSC. And he equally wouldn’t let them hand him over to another agency.
When they reached the first set of doors, Jabayev and Logan stopped. The doors wheezed open and they walked through. The doors then closed behind them.
‘Jabayev, where are we going?’
Jabayev said nothing.
After a short pause, the outer doors slid open and Jabayev yanked on Logan’s arm, pulling him out into the bitter night. Jabayev hadn’t bothered returning Logan’s overcoat to him and without it, the temperature was hellishly cold.
Logan spotted a four-by-four parked directly in front of the building, its engine idling.
It was clear to Logan why it was there.
He knew he had to act. He’d already figured out how he would take down Jabayev. The only question was how the occupants of the car would react and how many of them there were. But he couldn’t really plan for that – he would just have to be ready.
He was about to commence his attack when Jabayev spoke.
‘You’re a lucky man, Carl Logan,’ he said.
He let go of Logan’s arm and reached into his pocket. Logan tensed, expecting Jabayev to be reaching for a weapon, but then relaxed again when he saw Jabayev’s hand emerge holding a small, silvery object. Jabayev reached down and stuck the key into the lock on the cuff on Logan’s left wrist and the clasp sprang open. He then did the same with the other.
Logan’s mind was now a confused mess. Why was Jabayev un-cuffing him?
‘It would seem you’ve got some friends in high places,’ Jabayev said, sticking the handcuffs into his pocket.
The front passenger door of the four-by-four swung open and Logan stood wide-eyed when he saw who was inside.
‘Come on, get in,’ Fleming said. ‘I’m letting all the heat out here.’
Fleming reached around and opened the rear passenger door. Logan saw Grainger sitting inside the car, on the opposite side. She was looking at him, her face deadpan.
‘I hope I never have to see you again,’ Jabayev said. ‘I think that would be best for all concerned.’ He turned around and headed back to the building.
You’re a lucky man.
They were Jabayev’s words to Logan, but Logan felt they were equally apt directed at the NSC agent. Another second and Logan would have taken him down for good. He had been sure the NSC were about to turn him in.
Logan didn’t wait for a second invitation. He stepped forward and got into Fleming’s car.
Chapter 31
‘What the hell is going on, Fleming?’ Logan said, after the car had pulled away. He wasn’t sure whether his tone was one of irritation or relief. He was feeling both.
‘What does it look like?’ Fleming said. ‘I just saved your skin.’
Fleming was in the front passenger seat. Butler was driving. Grainger was next to Logan.
He looked over at her.
‘Are you okay?
’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ she said, sounding almost offended that he had asked. ‘Though next time you have the bright idea to confront an unknown target, perhaps you could discuss it with me first.’
Logan couldn’t help but smile at Grainger’s angry response, which only made the scowl on her face deepen. If he’d wanted, he could have reminded her that it was her running toward the already tense stand-off outside Fleming’s house that had led to the situation escalating, but he didn’t feel it necessary to start a fight. The key thing was they were both safe.
‘I’m glad you’re all right,’ Logan said.
‘Well, I would have been even better if I’d not been locked in a cell for the last however many hours.’
‘You were in a cell the whole time?’ Logan asked.
‘No. They spoke to me too. Interviewed me. They asked a lot of questions. None of it made any sense.’
‘Yeah, I agree with you on that.’
‘What do you mean? What did they say to you?’
‘I’ll tell you later,’ Logan said, unsure quite where to start with the story of Belenov’s and Medvedev’s deaths and aware that Butler was eyeing him up in the rear-view mirror. Logan wasn’t about to delve into his troubles with Butler and Fleming in earshot.
Grainger humphed and looked out of her passenger window.
‘What happened?’ Logan asked Fleming. ‘How did you get us out?’
‘I told you before – I have certain arrangements with the NSC. The arrangements I have work out very well for all parties. Neither side really want that to be jeopardised, especially by the likes of you. You’re a problem, Logan, but you’re not my problem and you’re not the NSC’s problem.’
Logan grunted, not sure whether he should be offended or not.
‘Those agents outside my house very nearly compromised what we have going,’ Fleming continued. ‘They were acting way above their station, coming to my home. Just as well I only deal with the people at the top.’
‘Thanks,’ Logan said, and he genuinely meant it.
Butler caught Logan’s gaze in the rear-view mirror and shook his head. Logan simply looked away, caring little about what Butler was thinking.
