by Matthew Dunn
Will felt uncertain and tense. Russia’s foreign intelligence service, Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki, would do everything they could to stop an SVR traitor getting into Polish hands, including killing the defector and any Poles who were here to meet him. He checked his watch and exhaled slowly, his breath steaming in the icy air. It was nearly 2:00 A.M. In the distance, a port foghorn droned, its noise echoing off the nearby buildings. As the sound abated, he asked, “Do you know anything about the Polish operatives who are out to play tonight?”
“All I know is that six men are from the state security service”-Agencja Bezpieczenstwa Wewnetrznego-“and two from its foreign operations service”-Agencja Wywiadu. Luke’s expression seemed bitter. “In all probability, I’ve worked with some of the men you’re planning to render unconscious tonight.”
“One of the two AW men will be the defector’s handler.” Will rubbed fingers through his short, dark hair. “You’re certain your team’s hidden from them?”
Luke shrugged. “I can’t be certain of anything. But I got all twelve of them from London. They arrived this morning. They’re MI6 Q operatives.”
Men who knew how to stay hidden. Q operatives were all former British Special Forces.
Will asked, “What are the Poles wearing?”
“Windbreaker jackets, jeans, and combat boots.”
“And our men?”
“Similar, but just before the green light’s given they’ll don black baseball caps so that they’re distinguishable from the Poles.”
“What weapons do the Q men have?”
Luke muttered, “Silenced pistols and tranquilizer guns.”
“That’s all? I asked for them to be armed with suppressed semiautomatics.”
“And I decided to ignore your request.” Luke shook his head. “We shouldn’t be doing this to the Polish operatives. This is their country, and the defector’s coming to them. Bloody hell, I liaise with the Polish intelligence services every day. The moment we got the tip-off, I should have been tasked to use my influence with the Poles to see if they could share the defector’s intelligence with us.”
“Impossible. You know that would have meant that we’d have to tell them how we got the information.”
Luke sighed. “So you decided to turn everything on its head, overrule my authority, and construct a kidnap operation.”
“Not kidnap, a sleight of hand.”
Luke retorted angrily, “When this is over, I’ll make an official complaint about your actions.”
Will grabbed Luke’s jaw. “I’ve had enough of your crap!”
The shock on Luke’s face was vivid.
Will held him firm. “We’re not here to snatch the defector from the Poles. We’re here because you told the Russians about the defector. And because of that, we had no choice other than to come here to protect the Poles and ensure they got their man.”
Luke’s eyes were wide with fear. He tried to speak.
But Will squeezed harder. “Save your breath. You’ve been under investigation for weeks, your burst transmissions monitored by GCHQ. But rather than have you lifted, we wanted to let you continue speaking to the Russians, with information that we fed you. False information, of course. But when you told the SVR about the defector’s use of the exfiltration route, matters had to be accelerated.” He pulled Luke’s head close to his. “I couldn’t tell the Qs what was really happening in case they accidentally let slip a detail that would make you suspicious. It’s a real shame that you underequipped them.” He smiled, though he felt nothing but anger. “I’m told that money was the reason behind your treachery. Pity really. I’d have had more respect for you if you betrayed us for other reasons. Still, doesn’t matter now because you’re fucked and we’re fucked.”
Will thrust Luke’s head back.
Luke winced and rubbed his bruised jaw as sweat poured down his forehead. “I. .”
“Shut up!” Will pulled out his Russian handgun and placed its nozzle against Luke’s head. “Is there anything you want to say to me?”
“My family. .” His voice trailed.
“I’ll make sure they’re comfortable, are looked after, and are told that you were killed in the line of duty. No one needs to know.”
Luke closed his eyes and quietly said, “That’s kind of you.” He bowed his head. “Pull the trigger.”
Will hesitated.
“Pull the trigger!”
Still, Will did nothing.
“Please! I can’t face the disgrace.”
“You’re already disgraced.” Will gripped his gun tight, but his trigger finger was motionless. Even though he was under orders to kill the traitor, something was holding him back.
Luke opened his eyes, raised his head, and looked at him with wet eyes. “Do you pity me?”
Will felt confused, no longer angry. “Perhaps.”
Luke nodded slowly. “I don’t deserve your pity.” His tone strengthened. “Men are going to die tonight because of me. Do your duty! Pull the trigger!”
Will sighed, knowing Luke was right, and spoke with a genuinely bemused tone. “Why did you do this?”
Luke shrugged. “The world’s full of self-seeking charlatans. I’m just one of many.”
Will frowned. “And men like me have to clean up your mess?”
“It appears that must be the case.”
“I wish I didn’t have to keep doing that.”
He shot Luke in the head.
Will stood alone, facing the fog-covered Baltic Sea. Beside him was the mouth of the river Vistula; three miles upriver was the heart of Gdansk. During the daytime, the waterway was heavily used by pleasure cruisers and merchant vessels bringing goods into the heart of the city. Tonight, a Polish cargo ship carrying the Russian defector would be sailing up the channel, having collected the SVR officer from Saint Petersburg, in northwestern Russia. MI6 had gained this information from one of its Polish assets, working in the Polish consulate in Saint Petersburg where the Russian had walked in to defect. The consulate contained no Polish intelligence operatives and it was the asset, a low-ranking diplomat, who had been instructed to inform the defector of the exfiltration route. But the asset did not know the exact location where the boat would stop to deliver the spy to the AW and ABW men.
He adjusted his radio throat mic and spoke quietly. “This is Zulu. I’m in position, but this sea mist is making visibility diabolical.”
The Q team leader responded in a deep voice. “Delta 1. We’ve not moved. Nor have the locals. Most of us are in position either side of the river, spread out over one mile from north to south. What’s your local doing?”
Will trained his night-vision binoculars on the solitary Polish operative standing two hundred yards away on the opposite side of the river mouth. “Just waiting. Nothing else is happening here aside from the damn port foghorn going off every minute.” He checked his watch. It was nearly 3:00 A.M. The boat should have arrived by now, though no doubt the coastal fog was slowing its progress toward shore. His body tensed. “I’ve got lights out at sea. They’re moving parallel to the coast, east to west.”
“Delta 1: heard. It might be the target vessel. Perhaps it’s following a deep channel until it can turn toward you. Any reaction from your local?”
“Nothing yet. The boat’s changing direction. Looks like it could be turning toward shore. Hold.” Silence. “The local’s pulled something out of his jacket.”
More silence.
Then, “He’s looking through binoculars. He’s standing very still, just watching.” Will’s chest muscles tightened. “Okay, he’s put the binos away. He’s lighting a cigarette. He’s not doing anything else. Wait. I can see it now. It’s not the target. Repeat, not the target. Just a small Maritime Search and Rescue vessel doing a patrol of the harbor.”
“Delta 1: okay.”
Will glanced at the Pole. “Local’s binos are back out. He’s looking out to sea. Moving his head slightly, meaning he hasn’t seen anything yet.”
&
nbsp; The foghorn blared.
“The SAR vessel’s slowed right down and has switched on its port searchlight. The local’s motionless. He’s got a cell phone by his head, still looking through his binos. I’d say he’s spotted something.”
“Delta 1. We’ve got one local on Ku Ujsciu on his cell and on the move, walking quickly toward Roberta de Plelo on the east bank of the river. Plus another now moving down Oliwska toward the river’s west bank.”
The rest of the Q team reported that the Polish men they were watching were also moving.
Will’s heart rate increased. “Okay. The locals have been alerted and are taking up formation. All Delta: baseball caps on.” His hand moved to his pistol. “I’ve got different lights out at sea. The SAR’s turning toward them. Its searchlight should pick up something any moment. .” Will saw several more lights, some electric blue, others red. They were spread out, the highest about ten yards above sea level. Then he heard the distinct sound of engines. He waited. The lights came closer, and it was now possible to see glimpses of metal around them. Gradually the ship emerged out of the darkness and fog. “Got it! Cargo ship.”
Delta 1 shot back, “Ship’s name?”
“Hold.”
Nobody else spoke as they waited for Will.
“Searchlight’s fully covering the vessel. The name’s clear. It’s the Paderewski. Repeat, it’s the target!” Will watched the Polish operative. “My guy’s holding something in his hand. He’s walking right up to the seawall. Now he’s leaning against it. He grips the object in two hands.”
The Paderewski was getting closer to shore, coming right toward the local and the river mouth. The SAR moved closer to it until it was out of sight, hidden behind the Paderewski.
Will could feel his pulse throbbing in his temples. “The local’s holding a torch, pointing it toward the target. He gives one, two, three, four, five. . yes, five flashes. .” He looked at the Paderewski. “Nothing yet from the target. . nothing. . now! One, two, three. . four, five, six, seven flashes from the deck.”
“Is the boat slowing down or changing course?” Delta 1 spoke rapidly.
“No, it’s still heading right for the river mouth.”
“Do you think the all-clear signal’s been given?”
“Yes. The Paderewski’s committed to the river entrance. It hasn’t got a turning circle to change course.”
“In that case we’re ready.”
“Hold on, Delta 1.” Will broke into a sprint, moving west to get a line of sight on the SAR. “The SAR vessel’s following the Paderewski.”
Delta 1 responded immediately. “Is it making any attempt to stop the target?”
“No.”
“Is the target aware of the SAR vessel?”
“Must be. The SAR’s barely ten yards behind it. Its searchlight is illuminating the rear half of the boat.”
“This is odd.”
“Agreed!” Will knew that the greatest hazard for any craft around here tonight was in the harbor. The Paderewski was about to enter a river that had urban and transportation lighting on either side of it. It would be safe and of no concern to the SAR vessel. Plus, if it was a routine escort, the SAR would be in front. He felt his stomach churn as he scrutinized the SAR. It was approximately twenty yards long, five yards wide; the distance between deck and water line was less than one yard; speed was eight to ten knots; engine noise was high pitched to medium. “I can’t be certain, but I’d say the SAR vessel is heavy laden.”
“Could that cargo be men?”
“How the hell would I know? But if it is, I’d hazard a guess there are at least ten men in there.”
“Looks like more of our ABW and AW friends are out to play tonight, on board the SAR vessel, making sure that their prize is not attacked from behind.”
“I know that!”
“Do we abort?”
Will’s mind raced fast. “No.”
The Paderewski was now in the river, heading toward Gdansk.
“Delta 1: We’ve got locals bolting northwest toward the oncoming Paderewski, handguns out. Something’s wrong.”
Will watched his local sprinting away from the coast, paralleling the Paderewski. “It’s the SAR vessel that’s wrong. That’s what’s spooked our Polish friends. It’s not carrying ABW or AW men. It must be a team of SVR. They’ve come to assassinate the defector.” Will began running. “All Delta: do not touch the locals. You have a new target and objective. Converge on the SAR vessel and get ready to kill anything inside it. Our priority now is to ensure the ABW and AW men get their defector.”
“Delta 1. The Poles will think we’re hostiles.”
“Damn right.” Will sprinted alongside the river. “But you mustn’t kill any of them.” After two minutes of passing cranes and warehouses adjacent to the river, he called out, “I’m about six hundred yards inland from the river mouth, following the target. The SAR’s right on its tail. I can see the driver in the cabin, no one else.”
“Reckon the SVR’s going to do a hit and run the moment the Paderewski docks and the defector steps off the boat.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m on the west bank of the river. The Paderewski’s just coming into my view, heading toward my position.”
“Is there anywhere around you that the boat could dock?”
“No. I think it’s going to head farther south toward the city, where most of the tourist vessel berths and cargo unloading bays are. But we still can’t discount the possibility that the Paderewski may simply slow down, pull alongside an area of flat land, and allow the defector to jump off.”
“Okay. Move south, ahead of the target. I’ll stay on the boats.”
“Be careful. I’ve got visual of two locals about seven hundred yards south of your position and on the same side of the river as you.”
Will continued running. Ahead of him, the river forked. Between the forks was an island that was one mile long and half a mile wide. “Both vessels are taking the left fork into the Kanal Kaszubski.” Will ran even faster. “Delta 1: that canal travels for one mile before it rejoins the main river. Half your team and I are now completely blind to the target vessels. There are only two bridges to that island: the crossing in the west and the one in the south. Move to the southern road crossing. From there you’ll be able to pick up sight of the Paderewski and SAR and continue to tail them if they keep moving beyond the island, or enter the island if they stop at that location. I’ll take the western crossing onto the island.”
Two Polish operatives ran across Will’s path and pursued the SAR and the Paderewski. Will ducked for cover before they could see him, waited five seconds, and ran east along Na Ostrowiu. Within five seconds, he was crossing the river. Within ten seconds he was on the large island. The place was silent; sea mist hung thickly over the security lit warehouses, moored cargo ships, jetties, cranes, small factory units, roads, and the waterways around the island. He slowed to a jog and began moving across the island toward the canal containing the target vessels. He saw no movement of any sort and heard nothing beyond the distant foghorn. The whole island seemed deserted.
“Delta 1. The Paderewski’s slowing down.” The Q operative’s voice was a near whisper. “It’s about two-thirds of the way along the canal. Speed now about five knots. Four locals near us, all of them holding handguns.”
“Received.” Will dashed along a narrow gap between two warehouses, gripping his handgun tightly with one hand, searching for glimpses of the canal. But so far all he could see were more industrial shipping units. The air was even colder here; the whole place felt eerie. He ran alongside a stack of big freight containers before reaching a small road. On the other side of it were two large warehouses, between them an alleyway. Lights were visible at the far end of the gap. He entered the gap, nearly fell as his feet struck loose girders on the ground, staggered to stay upright, and continued sprinting. The lights belonged to lamps straddling the broad canal.
“Delta 1. The Paderewski�
�s now at a crawl and so is the SAR.”
Will slowed to a walk. Sweat from his exertions felt cold against his skin. He held his gun high with both hands, searching for sight of Russians or the local intelligence operatives. Reaching a road by the side of the canal, he stood still and looked left. Cargo boats were moored on either side of the waterway, derrick cranes beside them; a row of warehouses was adjacent to the road, larger ones on the other side of the canal. But here the icy mist seemed thicker and was moving slowly along the canal toward him. He was blind to anything beyond a forty-yard radius of his location. “I’m in position.”
“There’s a man who’s emerged onto the deck of the SAR vessel.” Delta 1’s voice was still a whisper, but urgent. “Tall, athletic, dressed in overcoat and suit, hand inside his jacket.”
Will saw lights draw closer along the canal.
The Paderewski.
“The tall man moves across the SAR’s deck, he faces the island bank, he looks at the Paderewski, he looks back at the bank, he runs forward, jumps, and lands on the island. He pulls his hand out of his jacket. He’s holding a pistol.”
Will looked sharply away from the encroaching Paderewski toward the road he was on. The big Russian was somewhere in the darkness ahead of him.
“The Paderewski’s pulling alongside the island. Four Polish sailors are on deck.”
Will watched the ship. “What’s the SAR doing?”
“It’s still right on the ass of the Paderewski. No sign of any other men coming out of it though.”
“They’re waiting. Everyone: stand by.”
“Delta 1. We’ve got two locals moving across the southern crossing onto the island. Their handguns are out. My men are following them.” Silence. “The Paderewski’s stationary. Two of the sailors are on the island, roping the ship to the berth. Four Delta and four locals are now on the east bank of the canal, close to the two vessels. Our locals have still got their guns trained on the SAR. Another man on the deck of the Paderewski. He’s not dressed like the sailors.”
Will took five quick paces toward the ship, but could not distinguish anything beyond the bow of the vessel. “That could be our defector.”
