The Old Enemy

by Henry Porter

  ‘That’s interesting. Tell him I plan to.’

  The Americans returned to their car, having dumped the weapons by the tables. Samson hoisted his backpack and suggested that the bar owner call the police. It had been stupid of him to sit outside. He apologised to the mystified young waitress and left her a tip well in excess of the money scattered on the ground.

  He took his time to circle through the city on foot to Ulrike’s house. Apart from needing to shake off any tail, he had a lot of thinking to do. The message from Toombs persuaded him that it might now be possible to use Anastasia’s invitation to appear at the Congressional Committee, but they had very little time, six days at the most. They’d need luck and a good plan.

  He pushed through the unlocked garden gate at 11 p.m. Ulrike and Anastasia were still up and he could see that the Bird had spread himself out in the conservatory, almost supine on one of the two sofas. He was holding a glass up in his fingertips as if offering a chalice to the Lord. When Samson entered, he beamed an enormous, mad grin. ‘Macy thinks I should come with you to the States. You’ll need protection.’

  Anastasia gave a discreet shake of the head, but Ulrike said she supported the idea.

  ‘Quite so,’ said the Bird. ‘I still know a trick or two and, if I’m guessing right, you are going to need me in Pennsylvania.’

  Ulrike said, ‘Take him, Samson. He is very, well . . .’ She searched for the right word then gave up. ‘Violent.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said the Bird, admiring the colour of the slivovitz.

  ‘Let’s think about it,’ said Samson.

  ‘Well, I’m at your disposal. What’s more, Macy – who’s fallen by the wayside and returned to barracks – is paying all my expenses. And I have a passport that will be suitable.’

  Samson didn’t need to talk about the Bird’s passport, but he asked what he meant nonetheless.

  ‘I will use my brother Alyn’s passport. He was in point of fact a general before becoming attached to a Bulgarian lass, over whom he has a head start of something approaching thirty years and with whom he is setting up home on the Dorset coast. He’s very happy there and hasn’t moved from the United Kingdom in a decade. His passport is as new.’

  ‘Why is this important?’ asked Samson.

  ‘General Alyn is a gun enthusiast and well known for the barbaric practice of killing large numbers of grouse in August. I can quite easily stand in for him and bullshit about guns for an eternity. I’ve listened to the blighter often enough.’

  ‘You stole your brother’s passport!’ Samson shook his head.

  ‘That seems harsh. I prefer “borrowed”.’

  Samson hadn’t forgotten that his Aymen Malek identity included an active membership of a shooting club at Créteil, outside Paris, something he occasionally referred to in his posts. The gun interest was something they might work up into a story because, one way or another, they had to gain access to the remote cluster of houses in the Appalachians. ‘If you can get to the Watergate Hotel in DC, we may be able to do something.’

  ‘I’m fine with that,’ said the Bird, going through the preparatory motions of elevating his great bony frame to a standing position. ‘I’ll be at the Watergate whenever you need me, or at the Natural History Museum, which I have long wanted to visit.’

  After his departure, Samson laid out the basic plan. The two women listened intently and suggested changes, most of which he accepted. It was a long shot. Success would firstly rely on Naji gaining access to Denis’s computer, and no one knew where it was. It would have to contain substantiating evidence to allow them to convert intelligence to fully formed allegations. They would need support from at least one member of Congress, probably two or three. Anastasia’s performance in front of the committee would require careful planning, courage and a cool head. Finally, one of the most difficult tasks was to find those people who would credibly identify Mila Daus from the 1980s and testify, at short notice, in Washington. Samson said they would need at least four individuals, including Ulrike and Frick, to appear in person at the hearing. He understood that was a tall order. Ulrike wished them good night and took her laptop to her room to set about finding those individuals who might testify to Mila Daus’s history.

  After finalising their travel arrangements, they retired at 1 a.m. There was not space for them to have separate rooms, so Ulrike went to the room they’d occupied over two years before. From both Naji and Ulrike’s rooms they heard the clatter of keyboards. They undressed. Samson folded his suit and laid out his clothes for the morning.

  ‘I don’t know another man who does that,’ she said from the bed.

  He smiled. ‘Habit. Saves thinking about it in the morning.’ He paused. ‘It’s going to be all on you in Congress. Can you do it?’

  ‘And I like the beard you’re growing. Is that a beard, or just a failure to shave?’

  He looked at himself in the mirror on the chest of drawers. ‘The second, but I think I’ll keep it.’ He turned to her. ‘Can you do it? I mean, Congress?’

  ‘Yes, I believe I can. Daus is the cause of everything bad that’s happened to us in the last three years. I want to be her nemesis. I want to see her fucking face. I can do it. I’ll do it for Denis, for Bobby, for me.’

  He sat down on the bed beside her, feeling he should tell her about the gunman the CIA had briskly disarmed outside the café. But instead he just said, ‘You know it’s going to be risky.’

  She nodded.

  He laid her hand on hers and held her eyes with his.

  ‘I’m sorry not to have told you about the baby,’ she said.

  He didn’t reply but pulled her gently towards him and kissed her forehead.

  He went to the other side of the bed and lay down. She let her head fall back on to the pillow, but her eyes remained open.

  ‘I’ll turn off the light?’ said Samson.

  ‘Yes, please do.’

  Some ten minutes later, when Samson was nearly asleep, she reached out to take his hand and brought it to her lips and held it there. ‘I’ve missed you so badly, Samson,’ she said. She let him go and raised her head. ‘Are you asleep?’

  ‘Nearly.’

  She was leaning over him, her hair brushing his forehead. She kissed him and drew back. ‘Well, are you going to cooperate, or not? This bed is to blame. It has so many memories for me. I need you, and that is all there is to it. Would you consider a dream fuck?’

  ‘What’s a dream fuck?’

  ‘When you more or less do it in your sleep in the middle of the night and the next day you wonder about it because it doesn’t seem real and you decide that you dreamed the whole thing.’ This was delivered in an urgent whisper to his cheek.

  He smiled in the dark, turned to her and found her wrist and pushed it down, then took her other hand, interlocked fingers and pushed that down, too, so that she was pinned to the bed. He kissed her and said, ‘Like this?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. I’m asleep,’ she murmured.

  PART THREE

  Chapter 31

  Locked in

  Denis’s eyes were open but he did not see. Anastasia picked up his hand and held it between both hers. It was the first time she had touched her husband since the morning of the attack. Jim Tulliver looked on from the end of the bed. The doctor who had taken over from Lazarus, Jamie Carrew, was on the other side.

  ‘What’s this mean?’ she asked Carrew.

  ‘We don’t know,’ he replied. ‘He’s made a really excellent recovery from the procedure, and his heart and breathing are much better. We’re not able to assess any neurological impairment because we can’t do that without Denis saying what he can and can’t do or feel.’

  ‘Can he hear us? Can he understand?’ She looked down at him, appalled. ‘Can you hear me, Denis? Will you squeeze my hand, like you did the nurse’s, and tell me that you understand?’
There was no response. She peered into his eyes. He shut them then opened them again very slowly. ‘Are you trying to tell me something?’ She waited – nothing came back. ‘Is he locked in?’

  Carrew said, ‘Possibly, but there’s nothing in the literature to suggest this is a result of being exposed to a nerve agent. Perhaps we should not have this conversation in front of him.’

  ‘No, I think we should, because if he’s in there he’ll be working through this himself. He’ll want to know what we’re doing. He’s not a child. If it’s bad news, he’ll want to know. So I’m going to ask you – did he have a stroke during the operation?’

  Carrew shook his head. ‘We checked. His brain is fine.’

  ‘But it isn’t, is it? Is there some kind of stimulus you can give him?’

  ‘Not without knowing what’s the matter.’

  ‘Might he be braindead?’

  ‘No, he doesn’t need any help breathing. And as you see, he’s opening and shutting his eyes. We’re in the process of consulting experts across the country with a video link. I hope that’s okay with you.’

  She thought about that. ‘I don’t want any film getting out. Are you sure about security? It could have a devastating effect on his business and the livelihoods of a lot of people.’

  It evidently hadn’t occurred to Carrew. She looked at Tulliver, exasperated. ‘Can you have our lawyers be in touch with everyone who’s seen the film of Denis as he is now and make sure it’s never shared?’

  When left alone with Denis she started talking about the things that most interested him: a re-design of their garden at the Mesopotamia estate, a trip to Jordan they had planned, tennis, his library and the people who worked for him. And then she bent close to his ear and spoke about Harland’s funeral and everything that had happened in Estonia. She kept checking his eyes, but there wasn’t the slightest flicker of recognition in them; the pulse of his intelligence was absent and she began to wonder if Denis had actually disappeared.

  When she spoke about the computer – the special laptop that had never been used on the internet and was reserved for the accumulation of evidence against Mila Daus – she was so close to him that her lips brushed the top of his ear. ‘We need to find that computer, and then Naji will try the code that he developed to read what’s on it. Without it we can do nothing.’ She suddenly felt hopeless and sat back. Then she noticed that his eyes had turned to her and the look of indifference had momentarily vanished. ‘You’re there!’ she said, and kissed him. ‘Hash, I know you’re there.’ But the eyes clouded and, although they remained looking in her direction, his presence, if that indeed was what it had been, had receded.

  She stopped talking and held his hand for the next half-hour. Only when Tulliver knocked on the glass door did she let go and rise. ‘We need to speak,’ he said. ‘Martin Reid is here. Says he’s got something important for you.’

  ‘What? Can’t you tell him I’m with Denis?’

  ‘He says he’ll wait. Any change?’

  She shook her head. He looked away. She reminded herself that Tulliver was devoted to her husband. ‘I know it’s hard, seeing him like this. I’m sorry for you, Jim. You’re going through a lot.’

  He made a gesture to say that what he was feeling didn’t matter.

  ‘What’s Reid want?’

  ‘Says he knows what Denis was going to reveal. He’s down the hall by the dispensing machines.’

  She found Reid sitting with hands across his stomach, looking bad-tempered.

  ‘Marty, it’s nice of you to come, but I really should be with Denis at this time.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘The doctors are pleased with his recovery from a minor procedure. Things are looking good.’

  ‘I heard otherwise.’

  ‘Well, you heard wrong,’ she said, folding her arms.

  ‘You told me you were going to the West Coast, but then I hear that you’re in Europe. I like to be told the truth, Ana. That has to be the basis of our arrangement.’

  ‘What arrangement? You came to me offering help. You said you were outraged about what had happened and you would do everything in your power to support us. But there was no arrangement, Marty. None! And what the hell are you doing, tracking my movements? I don’t have to justify myself to you. Now . . .’

  ‘Forgive my manners, Ana, they’re a habit of a lifetime of deal-making. I’m too harsh. I meant to be of some help. Please sit down.’

  ‘And no one calls me Ana. What did you want to say?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I was given to understand that’s what your friends called you.’ He looked downcast for a moment. ‘This is a complicated business. I’m not sure what to say. My sense is that Denis was about to reveal the source of the funds in TangKi, which were definitely from within the United States and can be traced to a man named Chester Abelman. I have all the evidence.’

  ‘Who is he?’ she said, knowing perfectly well.

  ‘He runs GreenState on the West Coast – a big wheel in the Bay Area, supports a lot of projects. And he’s into every kind of business and investment; a big buddy of the Goodhardts – Alan and Lily. You know them?’

  ‘No.’ She took a seat opposite the vending machine. ‘But GreenState is an environmental organisation – how would they be involved in supporting fascist troublemakers in Europe? It doesn’t make sense, Marty.’

  ‘I thought maybe you had it all figured out – that Denis had tied all the loose ends. But you say you don’t. Anyway, the money trail is there and that does have implications.’

  ‘In what way? The Foreign Affairs Committee are hardly going to be interested in some right-wing whacko pretending to be a liberal environmentalist. I don’t think it’s going to impress Mr Speight.’

  ‘Speight! Do not trust that man. He’s a goddamn snake.’

  ‘You said that before. Look, I’m unlikely to. He was the one who forced Denis into the hearing and then cut slices off him.’

  ‘So, you’ve heard nothing about GreenState?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘But I heard Denis was investigating the organisation.’

  She was about to ask him who he’d heard that from but stayed her hand. The old bastard was fishing, and she’d let him dangle his line in the water a while longer. ‘My only concern is Denis’s health,’ she said. ‘You may not know this, but exposure to nerve agents in the organophosphate group of compounds can cause serious cognitive impairment, chronic seizures, etcetera. We have no expectation that Denis will remember what he was doing immediately before the attack, still less why. Is that clear, Marty?’

  ‘So, there’s nothing that I can work with. I was hoping that my people might be able to access his computer.’

  She laughed. ‘As you know, Denis never, ever carries anything with him. He rarely uses a cellphone and doesn’t even have a wallet. Everything that Denis’s lawyer had with him in the briefcase was destroyed; the laptop and all the papers were incinerated. Sorry to disappoint you, Marty, but I have nothing to give you. Thanks for your offer of help, though. It’s really appreciated, and when Denis is better, he’ll be grateful that you stayed true to your friendship. It means a lot to him.’

  ‘Thank you. I will continue my work. Let me know if there’s anything you need.’

  He got up, gave her a cattle rancher’s handshake, grunted goodbye and left with rather less spring in his step than when they’d met there before. The titan of business looked rather uncomfortable, to her mind, brought low and in some way humiliated.

  She called Tulliver to tell him about the encounter. ‘I need to speak to you about something else too,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you on the roof in five.’

  They stood in the shade, out of the dazzling glare of the early-morning sun. ‘I need my husband’s computer. The one he used for all this.’ Her hand swept across Capitol Hill. ‘Y
ou know what I’m talking about, Jim. The laptop that’s never been used on the Web.’

  He said nothing.

  ‘Do you know where it is?’

  ‘I may. But you can’t get into it.’

  ‘Leave that to me. Where is it?’

  ‘In New York – at least, that’s the last time I saw him use it.’

  ‘Off you go then.’

  ‘I can have the plane bring it down here.’

  ‘No. I need you to go and find it and bring it back yourself.’ He looked doubtful. ‘Jim, I’m not going to take no.’

  ‘You know what’s on it?’

  ‘I do, and I think you should have told me.’

  ‘Anastasia, I have absolutely no idea what’s on there, but I know it’s more than a hand grenade.’

  ‘It is. So, you go and get it. You need to be smart, Jim. Don’t use the plane. Don’t take your usual phone. Go and come back by different means. I suggest you don’t go to the apartment but get Angel to bring it to you.’ Angel looked after the place for them.

  He made to leave but she stopped him. ‘There’s more, Jim. How much was Denis paying Zillah Dee?’ She’d met the former National Security Agency employee who owned and ran Dee Strategy after her kidnap to thank Zillah for her part in bringing about her release. She knew Denis rated her abilities and that he must have used her.

  Tulliver grimaced at the question.

  ‘So, she was working on this. How much?’

  ‘About three, maybe nearer four million.’

  ‘Jesus! That’s lot of money.’

  ‘Could be much more. I wasn’t aware of all the ways he paid her. She set up a separate team, effectively a special operation. It was a big deal.’

  ‘They were checking stuff the young team brought in?’

  ‘I believe so, but Denis held it all. That I do know. He received hundreds of thumb drives that were destroyed after one use. They didn’t transfer by email or over the Web and it was all encrypted.’

  Tulliver knew a lot more than he’d ever let on, which annoyed her, but she said nothing because she needed him on her side and he seemed more willing now that Denis’s recovery was obviously going to take a long time. ‘I’ll need to see her. Are you able to fix that in the next twenty-four hours?’