Stern ticked off his second finger. ‘Two. Russia needs to rejuvenate its income, or it will become a poor super power has-been.’
‘You mean, like us?’ murmured the PM.
Stern ignored the remark. ‘There is one area where they could make it happen.’ He tried to gauge the PM’s openness to his idea.
The PM shook his head. ‘Tell me.’
‘The Arctic.’
The PM held up his hand. ‘You’ve talked to me about this before, Howard. But the fact is, the Arctic is a hostile environment. It’s covered in ice for a lot of the year. Temperatures are very low, and the sea is deep. The cost of extracting oil or gas is too high to be economic.’
Howard Stern sighed again. So this was the reason the PM had dismissed his earlier argument. ‘The ice cap is getting smaller every year. There are credible predictions it will disappear altogether in ten years’ time. Russia has already published plans to provide floating nuclear-power platforms. We know an increasing number of rigs are being sent to the Kara Sea. And Russia still has ambitions for mining oil and gas reserves beyond their 200-mile boundary because it believes Arctic waters to be an extension of its continental territory.’
‘Howard,’ the PM interjected. ‘This topic isn’t going to win us any votes. Even if we could do something about it.’
Howard drew in a deep breath, his patience almost at the end. ‘Terrance, the whole point of this is not about self-interest. There are two elements beyond votes that are important: the future of the people dependant on the Arctic in order to live, and global warming. In other words the future of people on the planet.’
For a moment there was silence in the room.
‘OK Howard, I understand. But right now I have more pressing priorities. Can we look at this some other time?’ The PM studied his Foreign Secretary to gauge his reaction to the delay; he didn’t appear to be happy about the prospect. ‘I will pick this up again. Now, do you have anything else for me?’
Reluctantly, Stern put the topic aside. ‘No.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting to go to.’ As he got up the PM spoke again.
‘I’m sorry Howard, but business has to come first.’
The Foreign Secretary paused at the door, then left without making a response.
Terrance Ashdown tapped the pen against his cheek. There might be an opportunity to have a word with the Presidents of Russia and America in Vienna. But once they understood the topic concerned the environment north of the Arctic Circle, they would just ignore him and try to fob off the issue.
Perhaps there was a way he might get their attention. He jotted a note to himself in the diary.
Abbott summoned Sean after HR had retrieved his personnel file. When Sean entered, Abbott was flicking through the folder. ‘I just wanted to refresh my memory. I did check your record before Vienna.’ He gave Sean an appraising look. ‘I’d heard about you on the grapevine before then.’ He topped up his mug. ‘I was looking forward to working with you.’
‘Was?’
‘Well, I am looking forward, though sadly it will probably be the first and last time.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘I think the records say you have a Reg. C.’
‘Yep.’ Sean had initially signed up for a regular commission with the commandos.
‘Which means you could retire at age 40 or after 18 years, whichever is the longest.’ He drank from the mug. ‘You accepted several extensions to your contract, so notice period is 6 months - unless you have any pressing personal matters.’ He regarded Sean. ‘Do you have any?’
Sean’s head jerked up at the news. Six months! ‘Any chance of reducing that?’
Abbott shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know Sean, but if you can make a case I will personally try to push it through.’ He leaned back. ‘I don’t want to give you any false hope. It will be difficult - there aren’t enough agents and Executives, and support staff have been cut to the bone.’
He bent forward. ‘As missions go, this is an easy one. If you’re successful I will see what I can do to reduce the notice period.’
Sean could turn the mission down flat if he wished and get on the next plane to Venice where Natasha was waiting. He marvelled at the clever way Abbott had couched the terms. By accepting this easy assignment, he would cut his notice.
Sean thought hard. It seemed a good deal at first glance. But most of his missions were like the proverbial poisoned chalice. On the previous assignment the real objective hadn’t been revealed to him at the outset, and it nearly resulted in the death of his fiancée.
‘Let me give you the brief, then perhaps you can think about it before deciding.’ Abbott’s offer appeared generous, but he was only giving Sean the standard option.
Sean nodded. He might as well listen to what he had to say. ‘Executive?’
Abbott shook his head. ‘Not needed.’
Sean considered that. An agent was usually assigned to an Executive for a specific operation. They would work together, with the Executive having the more senior role. The agent would do all the dirty work, and the Executive would provide him with anything required to complete the mission. That might be a whole range of items, including intelligence, cars, guns, a safe house or whatever was required. Executives were also responsible for liaising with London to ensure the Section stayed in the loop. Except for the abortive operation in Vienna, Sean couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been assigned to someone. Perhaps this was the way the Section intended to operate in the future.
‘Budget cuts again?’
‘Not really. We just don’t see the need at present.’
‘So from what you’ve said, this job doesn’t appear to be high priority.’
Abbott remained non-committal. ‘At this stage, no.’
Sean began to weigh up the pros and cons. On the plus side, the Section was happy to give him a free hand. Although Sean understood the requirement for an Executive, he hated assignments with multiple agents. In his experience it was possible to end up shooting one of your own team. He was damn lucky he hadn’t encountered anyone in Vienna. The new task looked like a simple operation, and it would be over soon. But no matter how easy it appeared, complications invariably arose.
Abbott passed a thin folder across the table. Inside were half a dozen photographs of a man in his late forties. He had a round face, dark hair and wore spectacles. Judging by the suit he looked to be slightly overweight.
‘You’re looking at Nic Tyler,’ continued Abbott. He’s American, married to a British wife. They have a home in Kent.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘He was in Russia, working for an American company called US Shale.’
‘Was?’
‘He was reported dead three days ago.’
Sean gave Abbott a puzzled glance. ‘So what’s the job?’
‘I’m coming to that,’ he replied irritably. ‘The point is he died in mysterious circumstances in Siberia. He was discovered frozen to death, miles away from civilisation - or whatever passes for civilisation there.’
‘Murder?’
Abbott nodded. ‘It’s a distinct possibility. US Shale joined forces with a Russian company called GazArtic, and we’ve known for a few weeks all is not well at the partnership. We’ve caught rumours of back-handers, inflated prices being set, fudged company accounts - the usual stuff. So far though, nothing concrete has come to light.’
Sean passed the file back as he continued to speak.
‘Then Tyler went missing. At first they assumed there was some communication problem with that part of the country. Several days later his wife received a text message from her husband. We understand it arrived two days after he was found.’ Abbott pushed a single piece of paper over to Sean.
sorry i cheated
always loved u
am dying
CHAPTER FOUR
Sean studied the text message. ‘You’re sure it arrived after he died?’
‘Positive.’
‘And it was definitely s
ent from Tyler’s mobile?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where is his phone?’
‘It was found on him.’
‘So - we have a bit of a mystery, but hardly worth assigning me.’
‘You’d think so, but there are other reasons for involving you.’ Abbott ticked off the items on his fingers. ‘One. Tyler was working closely with his opposite number at GazArctic. His name is Alexei Khostov, a leading nuclear physicist. He might be able to confirm details on the allegations of corruption at GazArctic.’
Abbott ticked a second finger. ‘Two. Khostov is rumoured to be managing a top secret project to deliver nuclear reactors for a new type of floating platform. We’re interested in any moves Russia makes in developing its energy reserves.’
Abbott ticked another finger. ‘Three. Past Intel indicates he is friendly to the west. If there’s the slightest possibility he would like to come and work in the UK, we want you to be with him to provide the necessary encouragement.’
‘Right, I understand’ replied Sean. ‘What’s my way in?’
‘Nic Tyler’s widow. Help Kellie Tyler to repatriate her husband’s body. Find out whatever you can when you’re over there. Make contact with Khostov if possible, without alerting the Russian authorities.’
Sean looked sceptical. ‘That’s all?’
‘Yes. You stay with Kellie, there and back. We’ll give you some cover for the Foreign Office.’
‘I won’t have much time to do anything in Moscow. I imagine the process wouldn’t take more than a couple of days.’
‘Not even that - 24 hours at the most.’ Abbott faced Sean. ‘No heroics. You must accompany the widow back.’
‘Bloody hell, you don’t want much do you?
‘Perhaps now you understand why we need to send an old hand.’
‘Thanks. Old hand or not, we’ll be watched at every step. The only way I could get that kind of Intel is by going to ground.’
Abbott understood Sean to mean disappearing from the authorities and operating in the shadows until he had collected the information they had asked for. ‘No, I don’t want you to do that. Just see what you can pick up.’
‘And when I return?’
‘A quick debrief and that’s it.’
‘Then I’m free to return to Italy?’
Abbott pulled a face. ‘You know how these things go.’
‘That’s the problem. I have to get back to Italy before the end of the week.’
‘Girlfriend over there, is she?’
‘That’s information you don’t need to know.’
Abbott shifted in his chair. ‘Can we decide after the debrief?’
For the second time Sean shook his head. ‘No. I can turn this mission down for any reason, and I’m not required to tell you why.’
Abbott sighed. ‘Very well then. When you get back you can go wherever you want.’
Sean paused, weighing up the odds. He had Abbott’s word, but he knew from bitter experience the department could overrule him if they chose to. Despite the alarm bells, he felt obliged. After all, he would be leaving the service in six months. What could go wrong? He took a deep breath.
‘OK. I’ll do it.’
For every operation he accepted, Sean had to sign a stack of forms; the Section were sticklers for procedure. He went down the stairs to the ground floor where the admin department tried to keep on top of the paperwork. A pretty girl from Finance peered over the counter and gave him a pile of papers. Sean flicked through, pausing near the end. The form required his signature and a witness, confirming he wanted no changes to his Will.
‘Is there something the matter?’
They were unfailingly polite to agents who were about to embark on a mission; some never made it back. He hesitated. Previously he had always signed the slip without thinking, but this occasion was different.
‘I want to change the Will.’ He would still remember Katherine and leave in the clause about the flowers for her grave. But now he had to consider Natasha. ‘Here, I’ll jot down what I’d like. Would you see to it?’
‘Of course sir.’
He wrote out the directive with mixed feelings. Katherine had died fifteen years ago and he would never forget her, but this marked a turning point.
He signed, dated the form, and passed it back to the girl.
Yakov Petrovich held the notice high above his head. He judged the passengers arriving at Heathrow’s terminal 5 would be able to see it over the heads of the waiting crowd. The sign said Vassily Maskhadov, though Yakov expected to greet Alexei Khostov. A small crowd came through the gate, and Yakov craned his neck, anxious to get a first glimpse of Alexei. The man he had come to meet was tall, thin and distinguished. Yakov had known him on and off for the last thirty years.
Yakov waved the sign when he spotted Alexei in the next group to emerge. He was even thinner than when they had last met, and his face more lined. He had a stubble turning into the start of a beard, but the brown eyes possessed the same watchful air as before. His hair, once dark, was going grey at the temples.
Alexei Khostov recognised Petrovich and walked over with quick precise movements. ‘Yakov! It’s so good to see you again!’
The two men embraced. Petrovich slapped him on the back and they broke apart, each regarding at the other.
Khostov spoke first. ‘You look more like an oligarch now than when I last saw you in Moscow!’
Petrovich glanced down and patted the suit over his stomach. ‘You always make the jokes Alexei. I have to say you are not looking as well as when we last met.’
‘Ah Petrov, I’ve been working too hard.’
‘And why did you ask for the name on the sign - are you flying with a false passport?’
Khostov gazed around the crowded airport. ‘I’ll tell you about it in the car.’
‘Of course.’ Petrovich beckoned to a smartly dressed chauffeur. ‘Alexei, you remember Pieter. You may trust him with your luggage.’
The chauffeur took Alexei’s black leather briefcase and showed them the way. Khostov noticed Yakov had changed his motor yet again. Last time he recalled a silver E-class Mercedes, but today it was a black BMW X5. Khostov shook his head when the chauffeur attempted to put his briefcase in the boot, preferring the case to stay with him. Yakov sat beside Khostov, and they passed small talk as the BMW moved smoothly out of the terminal area. After five minutes Khostov turned to Yakov.
‘You are dying to know why I am travelling under this passport,’ Khostov teased.
‘I am curious, yes.’
Khostov held his palm up to staunch further questions. ‘I can only say so much. Any more would be bad for your health.’
‘Well then, tell me what you can.’
Alexei Khostov settled back in the leather seat, considering just how much he could reveal. After a few moments, he began. ‘In Moscow, I was assigned to a project right out of the blue.’
‘Involving?’
‘Involving the latest design of nuclear power plants for ice breakers and floating platforms working in the Arctic.’
‘Why were you surprised? You are the foremost nuclear physicist in Russia - and probably the world!’
‘Because the assignment had nothing to do about the design of the power plants. There are enough engineers doing that job, together with some very experienced people in an American corporation partnering the company.’
‘So what were you asked to do?’
‘Play detective.’
‘Detective - detecting what?’
Khostov seemed pensive. ‘This is where the circumstances become sensitive. You forget Petrov, in Russia there are a lot of under-cover payments, especially on big projects such as this one.’ He glanced at his friend. ‘You have some personal experience of this, I believe.’
Yakov smiled. ‘There’s no need to get personal Alexei.’
‘The sums of money involved in this project are truly staggering.’ Khostov murmured. ‘And someone died.’
‘Oh.’ Yakov was quiet for a moment. ‘You thought you might be next?’
‘Yes’.
‘So somebody found out. They didn’t like the idea, and you came here for safety.’
‘Em, not exactly.’
‘Not exactly?’
Arctic Firepath (Sean Quinlan Book 2) Page 3
