by Andy McNab
‘You can do what you want with me, I know that. But I had nothing to do with what is happening to you or Kleinmann. Maybe I’m next. Have you thought about that? Maybe we need to sort this out together.’
Could he be telling the truth? Only one blue-and-white during the raid, and no back-up … Maybe I’d been followed, and they’d been sent just to break up the rape so they could keep me moving. They must have lost me. Then picked me up again when I planted the device …
The door opening on the factory next to the silo … maybe that was their OP. They didn’t know what the fuck I was doing with those girls. They wanted to follow the trail to get more int. They’d obviously react as soon as the shotgun rounds went off in the building. Maybe I’d been the target of the eye in the sky. I didn’t know. Maybe it didn’t really matter what they knew.
I wanted to believe Jules. And I knew he was right about one thing: there was a much bigger picture.
And it was hanging on Tresillian’s wall.
9
23.28 hrs
Jules drove us up the M5 to junction eleven, and then the A40 towards Cheltenham. Just before the town he turned off at the roundabout and got onto Hubble Road. We were in a company Prius from Thames House. Jules didn’t have a car of his own and we weren’t going back to get mine.
We’d been quiet all the way. It was only a little over a week since we’d last made this journey. A lot had happened since then. We were both taking stock.
Jules had called Tresillian and explained that I had Lilian and wanted to meet him.
I knew that Tresillian would take the meeting. What choice did he have?
Jules had some nice scabs forming on his neck. His nose was much the same and some bruising was just starting to show around his eyes. It would be weeks before he was box fresh again and back to catwalk perfection.
I thought back to the al-Kibar raid. I guess I’d always known that was the key. The rumours had run riot since the day of the attack. There were no hard facts out there at all. Nobody agreed about who knew what, or what people in the city had or hadn’t seen.
The following day, after I’d spent the most boring few hours of my life admiring ancient water wells, Damascus-based Syrian news, the voice of the government, reported that Israeli fighter jets had violated Syrian air space in the early hours of the morning, but Syria’s courageous defenders had triumphed. Two aircraft, they said, had been shot down. The others had been forced to leave, shedding their payloads in the desert without causing any damage whatsoever.
Nothing else was ever said. The Israelis denied the incident had occurred. The US State Department said they had only heard second-hand reports, contradictory at best. To this day, both Syria and Israel, two countries that had technically been at war with each other since the founding of the Jewish state in 1948, played down the raid, even though it had been an act of war.
The reality was much more interesting. Immediately Cody Zero One reported the target destroyed, I’d closed down the gear, sorted myself out, and gone down for a nightcap with Diane.
While I was doing that, the Israeli prime minister called the Turkish prime minister and explained the facts of life. He told him about the ten Israeli F-15s they must have tracked going out into the Med, and asked him to give President Assad of Syria a call. ‘Fuck you, Assad,’ was the message. ‘We will not tolerate a nuclear plant. But no other hostile action is planned.’
Olmert said he was going to play down the incident, and was still interested in making peace with Damascus. If Assad didn’t draw attention to the Israeli strike either, those talks could go ahead. The Americans wouldn’t say a word - apart from relaying the message that they didn’t want them cosying up to the North Koreans, or the Iranians. ‘So, basically, Assad, wind your neck in. No one will say anything, and let’s leave it at that.’
It was a final warning. The Iranians’ reaction had been to entrench themselves. Literally. Since the attack, many of the centrifuges in which they enriched uranium were relocated deep underground. Not even one of the bunker-busting super bombs the Pentagon was trying to get hold of, but was being denied on the grounds of cost, was capable of fully destroying the facilities that the Iranians had at Natanz. And that wasn’t the only one. There were more than a dozen known nuclear facilities in Iran. The Americans and Israelis, and probably the UK too if we got dragged into a war with Iran, were going to be conducting air strikes for weeks.
Al-Kibar was protected by the same Russian-built Tor-M1 air defence system used to protect Iranian facilities. I’d often wondered if Israel’s strike had been a test run to find flaws in Iran’s air defences.
I leant over to check the dashboard clock.
Julian read my mind. ‘He said he’d be there. You know for sure that Lilian’s safe?’
‘Totally.’
There was a barrier across the road ahead. Jules flashed his pass and we were waved on towards the Doughnut.
We pulled in alongside the black BMW again. The driver was on his own this time, in a sweatshirt, still behind the wheel, engine running. He said fuck-all. He just looked over at us and turned back to his DVD, probably pissed off that he’d had to work two weekends running.
We went into the building. A different woman was at the desk, but she treated Julian to the same smile. He handed over his ID and she swiped it through a reader.
‘Good evening, Mr Drogba.’ She tried but couldn’t keep her eyes off Jules’s wounds. ‘A rough game this afternoon?’
She passed him a form to sign.
I was handed my red badge.
‘Could you hand it back in when you leave, Mr Lampard?’
We went through the electronic version of a body search and came out onto the Street. We passed the night shift of Tefalheads, doing whatever they did. They were probably still trying to find out what the fuck I’d been up to.
I followed Jules along the bright fluorescent-lit corridor and into the same room as before. This time there was no glow from the plasma screens on the walnut veneer above Tresillian’s head. It was dark and gloomy. The air-conditioning hummed as I closed the door behind us. We crossed the deep pile carpet towards the big oval table.
Tresillian was watching us. He wasn’t a happy bunny. But he soon cheered up when he saw the state of Jules.
‘Mr Stone, I now see why Julian was so eager for us to meet this evening.’ He sat back in his leather swivel chair, elbows on the arms, fingers steepled beneath his chin. He was in a scruffy jumper and trousers. Maybe he had his pyjamas on underneath. ‘Sit.’
Jules and I took the same chairs as last time.
Tresillian didn’t look worried or concerned. Not even angry or anxious. I liked that. I wanted to hate him, but couldn’t.
‘Let’s not fuck around, Mr Stone. How do I know that you really do have Lilian, and that she is still alive?’
‘When I’m ready, I’ll throw her up on Facebook. She’ll be called Lillian Vampire-Girl. I’ll make sure there’s proof of life up there at the same time. But that’s not going to happen until we have a deal, I get a pass, and you answer some questions.’
He leant back again. ‘Go on.’ He was almost smiling.
‘It was the Vietnamese food, wasn’t it? That was what fucked me up. The fake scan, the fake drugs?’
‘Of course.’ He was surprised I’d even had to ask.
‘Why go to all the fucking effort of getting me to believe I was dying? I took the job because of it, but you could have got someone else with far less effort.’
‘You were a test, Mr Stone. A simple exercise to find out how good our technology is. We collected your DNA, and we carried out a field trial. And it was a fucking good one, don’t you think? No one else who ate in that restaurant was contaminated. It was designed to target just your DNA. Now, if we’d wanted to kill you, we would simply have used a different compound.
‘At first you weren’t even being considered for the task. Since the Russians killed Litvinenko by garnishing his sushi with polonium-210, we though
t we’d see how well our concoctions would work in the field.’
He was feeling very pleased with himself.
‘I think we can safely say our activities in that department put us among the leaders in the field.’
Jules wasn’t happy. ‘Why wasn’t I informed?’
Tresillian turned to face him. ‘Because you would have disagreed.’
‘The scan, the drugs?’
‘The scan was faked, and the drugs, very shiny red placebos. A chalk compound, I believe.’
‘So you decided to fuck me over with a plate of rice, then send me on a job and kill me afterwards?’
He raised his hands, palms upwards. ‘Why worry about being killed when you’re already dead?’
‘And you were pretty fucking sure you’d get two for the price of one.’
‘Julian kept telling me how shit-fucking-hot you were. But I think it’s safe to say that even you would never have found the girl in time if it hadn’t been for that incredibly intelligent Russian woman of yours.’
‘And you had to find Lily before Tarasov did. So maybe he’s not such a great mate after all. He must have been pretty pissed off when you rubbed out his two lads in Amsterdam. Rival traffickers? He just wanted his daughter back. I knew Bradley was talking shit.’
Tresillian was enjoying every minute of this. He was like a magician who couldn’t wait to explain his best conjuring trick.
‘You were never trying to find her so you could hand her over, were you? You were going to keep her. She’s leverage.’
He looked at me like I was the village idiot. ‘Just as you are now using her against me. Hector Tarasov is not yet a friend of ours - but he does have a rather important role in our immediate future. The deal we have in mind will take two more weeks to complete.’
‘Just before a certain shipment leaves his factory for Iran.’
His expression clouded, just for a moment - but long enough for me to know that I’d pulled off a conjuring trick of my own.
‘Our aircraft may well have to infiltrate Iranian air space to destroy their nuclear power plants. We might have to fight alongside the French in Algeria to defend our oil and gas interests. We might have to fight alongside the Americans in West Africa to safeguard our energy supply against Muslim fundamentalism in the Niger delta. We need those motherboards … adjusted. Very simply, Mr Tarasov needs to do as he is told if he ever wants to see that child again.’
‘But you don’t have Lily. I do.’
The light went out in his eyes. ‘You are welcome to keep her, Mr Stone - as long as she doesn’t go near her father. Can you guarantee that? If so, I may be able to accommodate you and your not only intelligent but very attractive Russian friend.’
‘And Kleinmann, of course. He gets a pass. This time tomorrow he’ll be back in LA with his mother, trying to dodge his ex-wife’s lawyers.’
He raised a hand and slapped it back on the table. ‘I imagine they’ll deal with him rather more brutally than I would have.’ He leant forward again, his forearms resting on the table. ‘But you should be in no doubt, Mr Stone, I have a lot more plates than Mr Tarasov’s to keep spinning, and I will do whatever the fuck it takes to meet my objectives.’
‘So you keep saying. But what about fucking up Amsterdam? You didn’t even know I was going to end up there.’
His eyes burnt into mine. ‘Read the papers, follow the informed debate. The attack on the silo was carried out by Iranian-backed Muslim extremists. A number of innocent young girls would have been killed - if you hadn’t suddenly turned into the Scarlet fucking Pimpernel - strengthening our country’s resolve to fight and defeat them.
‘The only truth that matters, Mr Stone, is the one that people want to believe. Am I right?’ He didn’t give me a chance to answer. ‘My job is to attack them from every angle, at all times, with all means. There is no quarter for courageous restraint, Mr Stone. We are at war, and you are - or were - a casualty. Finding the girl was the objective, but along the way I saw an opportunity target and I attacked it. If the trail had led you to the centre of fucking Cheltenham and the same opportunity arose, I would have taken exactly the same action. I will always use everything in my power to protect the UK, its territories and dependencies, wherever I can, and whenever I can.’
‘Which includes ramping up anti-Muslim rage?’
He wagged his finger like a headmaster. ‘No, no, no. Don’t be so naive. It’s there to ensure the pro-Iranian factions understand the dangers we face. It was an opportunity that you brought to me and it worked.’
The leather squeaked as he sat back into his chair.
‘Tell me, Mr Stone. Why did you save those young women? It served no purpose.’
I hesitated, but only because I’d just realized the answer to his question. ‘Your DNA experiment did me a favour. It put me through a moral carwash. I wanted to sleep at night, particularly since I didn’t have that many of them left.’
He didn’t miss a beat. ‘And having gone through this moral-fucking-carwash, I take it that you will not be serving your country again?’
‘Correct. I’ll leave it in your capable hands.’
‘Do not underestimate me. If my operation against her father doesn’t succeed because of you, I will retaliate.’
It was my turn to lean forward.
‘No, you won’t. I’ll keep my end of the deal, but I have everything documented, and it’s sitting on a cloud. Everything - and I mean everything - will be there for anyone to download should anything happen to me, Kleinmann or the girls. So get on with your Tarasov stunt, but be quick about it. Lilian is pretty angry with her dad right now, but she might want to go home on day fifteen. Who knows? And by then that fucking cloud will contain a few more goodies - including this meeting.
‘You’ll deny it, of course. But everyone in our world knows there’s no smoke without fire.’
If I had got to him, he didn’t show it.
‘Will that be all, Mr Stone? I need to get on with my life now. I want to go home - and I’m sure you want to do the same.’
Jules shook his head in disbelief. ‘And you just let me stumble around in the dark?’
Tresillian stood and brushed a loose thread off his sleeve. ‘There were certain things you simply did not need to know. If you ever get to sit in this chair, you can decide who knows what. Until that day, I will.’
It wasn’t the answer Jules was after. He controlled his anger, but only just. ‘You had me put my friend’s life at risk. You were going to have him killed, for Christ’s sake.’
Tresillian sat and stared. His voice was low and even. ‘Julian, man up. What do you think we do for a living?’
I stood as well, to relieve the pain in my arse wounds. ‘I know I’m pond life, on the shit side of the fence, but isn’t Jules supposed to be one of yours?’
Tresillian chuckled. ‘Well, Julian, what side of the fence are you on?’
Julian stayed put, his eyes fixed on the tabletop.
I turned and went outside. The smaller of the two heavies greeted me with a smile. ‘We’ll escort you to the station, sir. The first train to London on a Monday morning is in about six hours.’
EPILOGUE
Wednesday, 14 June
11.15 hrs
It wasn’t supposed to be this way, but this time I didn’t give a shit.
I leant against the triple-glazed floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse apartment and looked out over the river. But the view from the flat I’d rented was over the Moskva, not the Thames. To the right was the Borodinsky Bridge, and behind that the Russian Federation’s government buildings. It was a great place for me to do much the same as I’d done in London a few weeks ago - just sit and gaze out at the city, especially at night.
Anna had been right. Moscow had looked great in the spring, and looked even better now in early summer. I must have walked in every one of the city’s ninety-six parks. Of course, Gorky Park had been the first. It was the only one I’d heard of. Then I
discovered there was more green stuff here than in New York, and New York had more of it than London. It almost made me glad I’d left.
As the days got longer and warmer, Anna and I had headed for Serebryany Bor, an island just a trolleybus ride away. It could be walked at any time of day, but it was especially great in the evening when the late-setting sun bathed the dachas, woods and river. I checked out the spring buds and flowers, kids on bikes with stabilizers, all the normal shit that now made sense to me. These were people who were getting on with their lives. I was getting on with mine too. It was all right. It wasn’t as if I jumped up every morning and ran outside to kiss the flowers and hug the trees, but I’d been taking the time to stand and stare. For a week or two, anyway. Then I’d started to get itchy feet.
The sound of a plate smashing echoed round the open space. I turned to see Lily steaming with frustration. ‘For fuck’s sake!’
I pointed at her, bollocking style. ‘Oi, less of that!’
It was just about the only new bit of English Lily had learnt, and it had become her catchphrase.
Anna had taken her to Dresden. They’d stayed with some Romanians she knew. I’d kept well out of the way, in case Tresillian reneged on his side of the deal.
When the two weeks were up, Lily decided not to go back to Moldova. She contacted her father and apologized. She couldn’t agree with his views but she understood them. She wanted to stay in Moscow and continue her degree at Moscow State when the new academic year started.
It was like a refugee camp in here sometimes, with Anna’s mates bringing her girls they’d rescued from the meat markets and Mafia nightclubs in the city. Anna then turned them over to the Lenas of this world.
It wasn’t all about saving the world and appreciating the green stuff. Anna and I had been hitting the galleries and museums. My favourite was the Tretyakov. I found myself getting well into Russian icons.
The doorbell rang. ‘For fuck’s sake!’
I walked towards her. ‘I’m warning you!’
Anna checked her watch as she came out of the bedroom. ‘He’s early. You said he’d be here at five.’
