The Omega Sanction

by Tomas Black

  Drum looked behind him to see the snatch squad racing back to the van. Anna slowed and manoeuvred the Ferrari past dining tables of a restaurant before heading for the market exit.

  Just as before, three silver bollards guarding the entrance to the market slipped silently below the surface of the road. Anna floored the accelerator and the Ferrari fish-tailed onto Gracechurch Street and roared towards the Monument.

  “Where are we going?” asked Drum, pulling his seat harness tight as Anna dodged parked vans and jaywalking pedestrians.

  “Someone wants to meet you,” she said, concentrating on the road ahead.

  “Could have just picked up the phone,” said Drum.

  “Good point,” replied Anna. “Stash your phone in the bag in the glove compartment. They’re probably tracking you.”

  He slipped his phone into a thick, foil bag. At least she wasn’t insisting he throw it out of the window. He loved that phone. He suddenly realised he’d left Fern waiting at the restaurant.

  Anna turned smartly at the Monument and roared up Cannon Street, accelerating quickly past the station, heading towards Blackfriars Bridge.

  He looked at Anna, she was driving in bare feet. Heels probably weren’t an option when driving a high-powered sports car. “Why are the security services shooting at me?” he asked.

  “They’re not. They’re shooting at me. They think I’m working for the Russians.”

  “I thought you were working for the Russians?”

  She smiled before turning sharply down White Lion Hill and onto the Embankment. She red-lined the engine, accelerating rapidly through the underpass of Blackfriars Bridge, heading towards Temple, along the Victoria Embankment. Drum looked behind him. The black van was nowhere in sight.

  “There’s a table booked in your name at Rothmanns on the Strand. You know the place?”

  He knew Rothmanns well. Brock and the rest of the troop used to meet there between postings. They had all assembled there for one last night when he had resigned his commission. He remembered the great slabs of beef served on silver platters and carved at the table by waiters in regimental red. The meal was followed by jugs of port and cigars in the oak-panelled drawing room reserved for special guests. They had been serving military men the same meal at Rothmanns for over one hundred and eighty years.

  “Who am I meeting?” asked Drum.

  Anna didn’t reply. She slowed and indicated right, turning into a side street and parked just before the Strand. “I’ve got to drop you here.”

  “This is Victor’s car. Where is Victor?” asked Drum.

  “That’s part of the problem. Victor has disappeared.”

  “I thought you were his minder?” said Drum.

  “That’s what Vlad wanted. Victor had other ideas,” said Anna.

  His door clicked and slid open. He removed the bag containing his phone from the glove compartment. “I’ll keep this secure until after the meeting.”

  Anna nodded. “And Drummond …” He turned to face her. “You can trust Alice.”

  He got out of the car. The door slid shut, and with a roar, the Ferrari took off down the Strand.

  He started walking. He really should call Fern. He removed his phone from inside its tin-foil bag and thought better of it. He continued up the Strand at a brisk pace until he came to the gated entrance to restaurant. Rothmanns only served lunch and dinner and never opened for breakfast. He rattled the ornate iron gates, but they were locked. He found a brass doorbell and pushed hard for several seconds. An oak door opened and a man dressed in a livery coat and tails walked out and stood by the gate.

  “Drummond. I have a reservation.”

  “Yes, sir. You’re expected.” He unlocked the gate and allowed Drum to enter.

  “This way, sir.”

  They walked through a lobby of ochre-coloured colonnades and ancient chequer-board tiled flooring and into a private dining area lit by the sombre orange glow of Victorian wall lights. A single table was laid out for service, it’s starched white tablecloth in bright contrast to the dark oak-panelled walls and luxuriant black leather seats. Major Timothy Weekes sat alone, cradling a cup of black coffee.

  The waiter indicated he should take a seat. Weekes stood and extended his hand.

  Tim Weekes’ lean frame hadn’t changed much in over ten years. The blond hair was now touched with grey, and his once gaunt features had filled out a little with age. But there was still an intensity about the man.

  “Drummond, thanks for coming.”

  The two men shook hands warmly. “Major. It’s been a while.”

  “It’s Colonel now, I’m afraid.”

  “Well-deserved, I’m sure,” said Drum, slipping in between the table and the bench.

  “Let’s order shall we?” Weekes got the attention of the doorman who was standing nearby. “Simmonds, tell the kitchen we’re ready, thank you.”

  The doorman nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  “Coffee for breakfast, if I remember,” said Weekes, “although in Afghanistan you always drank that awful tea.”

  “And you probably ordered your favourite: devilled kidneys on toast with two poached eggs.”

  Weeks smiled. “I guess we’re both stuck in our ways.”

  “Why am I here, Colonel?”

  Weekes poured a coffee into a bone china cup from a silver coffee pot . The luxuries of rank, thought Drum.

  “It’s all a bloody mess,” said Weekes. “Sorry I had to involve you. I had no choice. There was no one else I could trust.”

  “It was you who requested me on the night of the raid,” said Drum.

  “Yes,” continued Weekes. “I was out of options. All last minute. Heard you had a spot of bother with a Russian.”

  Drum relaxed into the soft leather of the bench. “Just lent him my screwdriver.”

  Weekes smiled and stared down into his cup, ruminating on a problem.

  Drum pressed on, “Why are the security services attempting to close me down? I thought we were supposed to be on the same side?”

  “Bloody mess,” repeated Weekes. Finally, he said, “There’s a war going on.”

  “A war? Between who?”

  “We believe there’s a rogue element operating within MI5 – more likely within government instructing MI5. They’ve been interfering with our operation – specifically, this operation.”

  Drum thought it was a bloody mess. “I gather you represent Vauxhall Bridge in this matter?”

  Weekes looked up. “Yes, that’s right. I head up the Russian desk now. We’ve been working to track an operation that’s connected to some of the top brass in the Kremlin. It involves the movement of large amounts of dirty money from across Europe, all heading for London. We think it’s being used to fund intelligence operations against this country.”

  Drum thought he knew what this operation was called. “OMEGA.”

  Weekes looked up from his coffee, surprised. “Yes – how did you come by that name?”

  “I’ve been hanging out with too many Russians. I may have a source close to the problem.”

  Weekes said, “I’m afraid I’ve put you in a difficult position – a dangerous position. If our Russian friends find out you have this information …”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” said Drum. “But I need to see this through. I need to find someone. There’s a ROD investigator that’s caught up in all of this. I need to bring her in.”

  “The Auditor at the vault,” said Weekes. “Yes, Anna mentioned her. She thought there was something about the woman. And she’s missing?”

  “It’s been a while since she went dark.”

  Weekes cradled his cup in both hands and looked down. “It doesn’t look too good for her, does it.”

  “I know Harry. She’s holed up somewhere …” But even Drum wasn’t entirely convinced. Time was running out.

  “Look, Drummond. I need you on this one. You’re in a prime position to find out what’s goin
g on inside that bank.” Weekes stopped fiddling with his cup and looked Drum squarely in the eye. “I’ve been authorised at the highest level to use whatever means necessary to stop this Russian operation. I’m sanctioning you, and whoever you need, to find the primary actors of OMEGA and eliminate them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Team Assemble

  Drum was officially reactivated. The government made a habit of keeping people with his sort of skills. Weekes had agreed to use Ives and Davis. He’d served with the men, and knew you couldn’t pick up experienced SAS soldiers from the local Job Centre. He’d mentioned a third person which surprised Drum.

  Weekes had made several calls before he left the restaurant and reined in the attack dogs at MI5. He didn’t know how long the truce would last, but he mentioned talking with McKay. Drum wished him good luck with that one.

  Drum made his way down the Strand and slid his phone from its protective bag. He called Fern. She answered on the first ring.

  “Where the fuck were you?”

  “And a good morning to you too,” said Drum, flagging down a cab.

  “There were reports of gunfire in the market. Was that you?” asked Fern.

  “Probably a Ferrari back-firing. Where are you now?”

  “I’m heading back to the office – hungry.”

  “Sorry about that. I was taken for a ride. Look, can we try again. We need to meet before starting work at the bank. How about coffee at the office?” he asked.

  There was silence on the line. “Fine. Just be there this time.” The phone went dead.

  Drum arrived back in time for a minor skirmish of office personnel. Stevie was standing in the reception area in just his shirt. He thought she looked adorable. Alice had other ideas and was letting her know in no uncertain terms that her attire was not appropriate for 9.30 am in the office. Stevie was surprised when Alice returned her expletives with equal venom in her native Russian.

  “Sorry, am I interrupting?” said Drum, making his way between the warring factions.

  “Ben, thank God. Found this one asleep on your couch when I came in this morning,” said Alice.

  Drum sat at his desk and retrieved a laptop from one of the drawers. He had a lot to do before the start of the RBI investigation.

  Stevie stomped in, firing off a tirade in Russian, with Alice following promptly behind her.

  Drum slammed the palm of his hand down on the desk and stood up.

  “Enough!”

  Stevie’s mouth dropped open and Alice looked down at her feet and shuffled on the spot.

  “Stevie, go and get dressed, I’m going to need you later.”

  “But I haven’t had breakfast yet,” she pouted.

  “I’m not your keeper. Alice is in charge of the office. What she says goes. Sort yourself out or fuck off back to Vlad.”

  Stevie’s lower lip stuck out in abject defiance, then quivered. She turned to Alice and said something to her in Russian. Alice nodded in agreement. Stevie padded out of the door and made her way up the stairs to Drum’s apartment.

  “Can I get you a coffee, Ben?” said Alice, regaining some of her composure.

  “Grab a seat, we have work to do.”

  Alice sat on the couch, carefully smoothing her skirt. Drum noticed she never took notes but could easily repeat any instruction or recall any detail of every meeting.

  “Sorry about that,” she said. “Didn’t mean to cause a ruckus.”

  “What did Stevie say before she left?” asked Drum.

  “Thought you looked very handsome now that you’ve cleaned up your act. I agreed,” said Alice, smiling.

  “Right … well, ok then.”

  Drum went over the events of the morning. Alice listened attentively.

  “You were wise to make a run for it. MI5 have a habit of making people disappear. This is a serious escalation,” she said.

  If Alice was surprised that Anna Koblihova was an MI6 agent, she never showed it. But then Drum guessed that she already knew.

  Tell me, Alice,” said Drum, leaning back in his chair. “You never really worked at the Treasury, did you?”

  Alice gave him a sly smile. “Oh, yes. That part of the story is perfectly true. For the last two years of my career, I was posted at the Department of Special Procurement.”

  “Special Procurement? Not heard of that one. What was its purpose?”

  “It’s a special subcommittee of the Treasury.” Alice paused and thought for a moment. “Tell me, Ben. What is your current security clearance?”

  “Top Secret,” said Drum. “But I think you already knew that when you accepted the job.”

  “Yes, well my last employer insisted on a background check when they knew I was applying for another job.”

  “You mean the Treasury wanted a background check on me?”

  “Oh no,” said Alice. “I did work at the Treasury, but I was employed by Her Majesty’s Secret Service.”

  “You worked for MI5?”

  “Good Lord, no,” said Alice. “Not Thames House – Vauxhall Bridge. I served on the Russian Desk of MI6 for over thirty years. The Treasury posting was my exit ramp out of the service. I was supposed to retire with a full pension, but I ended up butting heads with a real pig over there and I left under a cloud – and without my full pension.”

  Drum could see that the revelation had hurt Alice. “I’m sorry, Alice. You should have said something.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be much of a Secret Service if every retired agent blabbed about it, would it?”

  Drum nodded. You can trust Alice.

  “When did you know that Anna was an MI6 agent?”

  “On the first visit, really.” She glanced up at him. “You have to remember that, during my time in the service, I trained many a young recruit. I recognised Anna – not her real name, you understand.”

  Drum nodded.

  “Of course, I said nothing. I’m retired. And anyway, years of training kicked in. I kept schtum.”

  “You kept schtum,” said Drum.

  “Well, what could I do? She knew who I was. I’d marked her down on her language skills. Must have been quite a shock to see me behind the desk.” She smiled.” I did say to you there was something strange about her accent, but you didn’t pick up on it.”

  “Right,” said Drum, “I should have picked up on that one. Anyway, I met with Colonel Weekes and he suggested I recruit you to the cause. Said I needed you.”

  “I met him just the once, at a briefing. Didn’t know he was your old CO. Small world.” She hesitated. “But I’m retired.”

  Drum stood up. He looked out at the City skyline. It looked dull and grey this morning. The Autumn sunshine had all but disappeared.

  “MI6 agents are like old soldiers, Alice. They never retire. They go out fighting. Someone has declared war on us and I need you in my corner. You in or out?”

  “I’m in, of course.” She cocked her head to one side. “But let’s not tell William.”

  ~~~

  Fern arrived as promised, and Alice discreetly left the room to make the coffee. Fern sat down on the couch. “Well?”

  “Sorry about this morning,” said Drum. Got called away to an urgent meeting.”

  She gave him a look, expecting more of an explanation. For some reason he felt reluctant to go into any more detail. Something stopped him mentioning his meetings with Weekes and Anna. For now, he would stick to the assignment brief provided by ROD.

  “You’re looking nice,” she said, grudgingly. “Got a date?”

  “Just had a haircut,” said Drum, surprised by her comment. He looked at her and smiled. “Anyway, I was hoping for a date with you, once this is all over.”

  “Maybe,” said Fern, trying to hide a smile. Her face softened, and she relaxed into the couch. “What’s the plan?”

  “We head over to RBI tomorrow and pay Rhodes a visit,” said Drum. “The sooner, the better. If Sir Henry is true to his word, he’ll be expecting us which means
he’ll have been covering his tracks.”

  Fern shifted uneasily. “But what are we going to do there? I’m not up with procedure on these types of operations.”

  “That’s ok. The thing to remember is that this is an investigation. Ostensibly, we’re there to audit the bullion inventory.”

  “But …”

  “That’s our way in. From there we try to prove the case of money laundering or corporate malfeasance - they’re doing something really bad.”

  Yeah, right. I do understand what that means.”

  Alice backed her way into the room carrying a tray of coffee.

  “Morning Commander. Nice to see you again,” said Alice.

  “Morning Alice. You’re a life-saver.”

  Alice put the tray on Drum’s desk. “Can I get you anything else, Ben?”

  Drum thought he’d have to bite the bullet sooner or later. “Can you send Stevie in.”

  “Stevie?”

  “The Russian woman with a ring through her nose,” said Drum. “Make sure she’s dressed.”

  “If you say so.” She left and closed the door.

  “Good grief,” said Fern. “Do you mean to tell me she’s another Russian?”

  Drum explained the comprise he’d reached with Vlad.

  She said, “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Well, after the smack on the back of the head – almost.”

  “Seriously, Drum. She’ll compromise the whole operation. She’s only here to blab our plans back to Vlad.”

  “If she’s as good as Vlad says she is, I’ll need her for the data analysis and cybersecurity side of things. I don’t have time to do it all myself.”

  “You mean she’s a common hacker?”

  “I’m hoping so. Listen, Fern. It’s not ideal. We’ll keep her here – strictly back-office. Alice will sit on her.”

  This seemed to make Fern a little happier. “What a mess. Pour me some coffee,” she said.

  “Harvey Pinkman,” said Drum. “We need to find him. Can the NCA track him down?”

  “Technically, the case is closed. But Pinkman is still a person of interest. I’ll make some discrete inquiries – I’ll start with drug enforcement. He might have a record for possession.”