The Old Enemy

by Henry Porter

  They went to a large suite in the Jefferson. A conference call was booked with Tulliver, who’d managed to follow the morning’s proceedings from his hospital bed. As pressing for him were the problems set off on the first day of business since Denis’s death. Billions in assets needed to be stabilised and bankers and investors reassured. It was agreed that Rick Blumenthal, Denis’s effective deputy, would take over for one month, while Tulliver consulted lawyers about the legal implications for Anastasia and the business. Tulliver had access to the will, he said, but had never read it. Anastasia was ignorant of the contents. It had never occurred to her to ask about it.

  Zillah received a text asking whether Naji was available for an interview with her former bosses at the National Security Agency. They wanted to hire him and give him and his family American citizenship. Halfway through a room-service burger and fries, Naji raised his head and said, ‘Another “A” and I’d do it. NASA, yes; NSA, no.’

  ‘The NSA can be pretty persuasive, and they’ll put a lot of pressure on you. I’ll tell them you’re going to think about it. But my advice is – stay clear. You, particularly, wouldn’t enjoy it. There’s a five o’clock flight to Berlin that connects with a service to Riga. I figured you’d want to leave.’

  ‘I’ll put him on the plane myself,’ said Anastasia.

  Naji nodded and returned to focus on the burger and his phone.

  ‘They want a meeting,’ said Zillah, ‘that’s the Agency and the Bureau. Here. Around six.’

  On the return from dropping Naji at Dulles, Anastasia found Samson in the lobby, trying to get hold of Macy. ‘People are recognising you,’ he said, noticing the looks coming from around the lobby.

  ‘Yeah, I had that problem at the airport. I told them I just looked like the bitch in Congress.’

  That made him laugh out loud.

  Zillah caught them outside the conference room she’d hired and told them the news that Gaspar had been found dead from poisoning at Seneca Ridge. ‘It looks like an accident, but of course they don’t believe that. They’re really pissed because he’s a key witness. And Mila Daus has vanished.’

  Now Samson knew exactly why he hadn’t been able to get hold of Macy and the Bird, but his expression gave nothing away as he walked into the room. He smiled to Toombs and Reiner, who had plates and napkins in their hands and were hovering over a room-service trolley of sandwiches and snacks. ‘We were just saying what a fine job you did today, Mrs Hisami,’ said Toombs. ‘Having those German people come was an inspiration. Truly affecting.’ He took a bite of his sandwich. ‘So, where are we going to start?’

  ‘With me,’ said Reiner, stirring the ice in his Scotch. ‘You’ve heard about Gaspar?’

  ‘Just now,’ said Samson.

  Reiner explained that the M-44 trap had been triggered by a stray bullet. ‘We are one hundred per cent sure he was killed. I mean who the fuck goes hunting in the woods with a weapon like that, especially one that he couldn’t fire properly because of an injured shoulder? Yes, we saw the ad where he talked about the reason for selling the gun.’ He sat down, sipped his whisky and studied Samson. ‘And frankly, I find it incredible that a guy like Gaspar brings just two shells and fires both of them at a cyanide trap he knows is there because he fucking well put it in the ground.’

  ‘What am I meant to say?’ asked Samson.

  ‘You went out there to collect Mila Daus’s DNA, so . . .’

  ‘Yes, four days ago, and you know where I’ve been since.’

  ‘Right,’ said Reiner. He glanced at Toombs, who shrugged. Zillah gave them wine and they joined Reiner at the table. ‘Okay, so I will be brief. Stepurin is talking. He denies having anything to do with the nerve agent, but we know otherwise. He hasn’t yet been charged because we want him to think he can talk his way out of this, and we are getting good material. He confirms that John Gaspar was the paymaster, but he won’t say anything about Mila Daus. Denies ever having met her.’

  ‘You know where she is?’ asked Anastasia.

  ‘We think we do, but I’ll come to that. You were right in thinking that Gaspar and Stepurin connected on the big-game circuit. All the murders were signed off and paid for by Gaspar. Stepurin confirmed this. On the key people in her network, Erik Kukorin, Chester Abelman, Elliot Jeffreys and Jonathan Mobius have all been arrested, and we are talking to all their contacts. The British want Mobius, but they aren’t going to get him. And the big fish here – Mike Proctor, the Deputy National Security Advisor, and Kirsten Donnelly, from the office of the Director of National Intelligence – they’re with us right now. They say they had no idea they were helping the Russians. Actually, we were aware that both were compromised sometime back, so that story isn’t going to work for them. In the UK, the PM’s adviser, Anthony Drax, is under arrest, but Ben Bera – the guy at the Foreign Office – has vanished. We believe he’s in Russia, but the Brits aren’t saying anything.’ He shook his head. ‘There’s literally nothing that Drax and Bera didn’t know, or couldn’t find out. It’s a fucking disaster over there, but really serious for us, too.’

  ‘You say you knew about Proctor and Donnelly,’ asked Samson. ‘How far back?’

  He smiled. ‘Frank’s your man. Frank made all the running at the start, so I’ll let him answer.’

  Toombs grunted. He seemed in no better humour than usual. ‘We were aware of leaks of highly classified information a year back and I was certain they came from Donnelly’s office, but I didn’t know how to proceed because she was close to people in the Agency – high-up people – so I consulted a friend of mine and he pointed me in the direction of the political consultant Elliot Jeffreys. My friend knew that Donnelly and this man Jeffreys were close. Jeffreys intrigued me because of his enormous Rolodex and the money he was spending. The income from that consultancy nowhere near matched the money he was splashing around. Then we realised it came from Mila Daus, though we had literally never heard of her before.’

  ‘Where is she?’ asked Anastasia.

  Toombs allowed himself a smile. ‘She had it all figured out. She told Mobius she’d meet him to do a joint media statement in the Rayburn before they left the committee room, then she went to the bathroom. She got out of the building with the help of the staff of one of her friends on the committee. Within the hour she was on her way to Cuba. We think she’s headed to Moscow. Mobius was left holding the baby and, naturally, she didn’t give a damn what happened to that fool of a husband, although he was probably already dead by then.’

  ‘Was Denis going to make any kind of allegation the day of the attack?’ asked Samson.

  ‘No, we’re sure of that. He didn’t have the back-up material in either briefcase. We had a guy in a chemical-warfare suit check what was in Steen’s before it was burned. There was nothing.’

  Samson shot a look at Anastasia. ‘Then why didn’t you tell us this?’

  Reiner rubbed a finger in the corner of his eye. ‘We were finding our way, just like you, I guess.’

  Samson frowned. ‘When was your inquiry shut down? Who ordered that?’

  ‘Exactly five days ago – Wednesday last week – and it came direct from the White House. There was absolutely nothing we could do, but with you two taking the strain, we knew we still had a chance. All we needed was for you to get into that computer and appear in front of the committee.’

  ‘And Homeland Security?’ said Samson. ‘What was their role?’

  ‘They were on the other side in this war, working directly for the White House.’

  ‘But you couldn’t rig this all on your own,’ said Samson. ‘There were too many variables, too much that could go wrong, or that you couldn’t predict. Until I gave you the dossier there was so much you didn’t know and, besides, it didn’t contain anything about the East German witnesses, the DNA and the fingerprints on the old arrest sheet. You didn’t know that we could prove who she was. So, t
he idea that you were orchestrating all this doesn’t hold water.’

  ‘That was quite a coup,’ said Toombs. ‘We were greatly impressed by your work on all that.’

  ‘I repeat – you couldn’t have done this all on your own.’

  Reiner looked at his watch and glanced at Zillah. ‘Perhaps we should all get another drink.’ He pushed a bowl across the table. ‘Potato chip? They’re excellent.’

  Anastasia accepted a refill from Toombs, her eyes working furiously. ‘Are you going to answer Samson’s question?’

  ‘Nope,’ replied Toombs, and turned to the drinks tray. Samson watched as he poured rye whisky and red vermouth into a cocktail glass then searched the tray for a bottle of angostura bitters, discovering one at the back, together with a jar of maraschino cherries. The room was silent.

  ‘He’s here,’ said Zillah, looking up from her phone.

  A few moments later, Matthew Corner opened the door, stepped aside to allow his boss, Warren Speight, through and closed it behind him.

  ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!’ said Speight. He offered his hand to Samson, apparently the only person he didn’t know, and swept the room with a broad smile, which came to rest on Anastasia. ‘If I may say so, ma’am, you were truly magnificent this morning. Your poise was awesome – the perfect bridge partner.’

  Toombs handed him the drink he’d mixed.

  ‘The best Manhattan in Fallujah! Thank you, Frank.’

  ‘You know each other,’ said Samson.

  ‘We go a long way back. We met when I was serving in Iraq.’ He placed the drink on a leather coaster and sat down.

  ‘You’re the friend Frank consulted about Elliot Jeffreys,’ said Samson.

  ‘Correct,’ said Speight. He stroked the table with his fingertips. ‘My role in this should never be spoken of outside this room. Is that okay with you, Mrs Hisami, and you, Mr Samson?’

  They nodded.

  ‘I don’t have a lot of time, so maybe I should cover the main points and you can ask questions. My purpose was simple. I had to win your trust at the same time as keeping a line open to Mila Daus. A year back, I met with her and she tried to make me one of her people, as she did with every lawmaker. Jeffreys offered me help on data in my district, and money and support staff for my re-election campaign. I was invited to their places in Utah and at Seneca Ridge – in fact, I was at the Ridge just this last weekend. I went for lunch with two colleagues of mine. You saw them doing Daus’s bidding in the committee this morning – Congressmen Riven and Nolan. I wanted to get her to attend today, and those two gentlemen were very helpful in that endeavour. I couldn’t have done it without them.’ He squeezed his eyes at them and sipped the Manhattan.

  ‘That was Mila Daus,’ said Anastasia. ‘You had to get me into the room as well. Is that why you came to the hospital? Were you making some kind of assessment of me?’

  ‘Exactly right. I had no knowledge of you, though I learned from Frank that you had been through some tough times and that you were smart and resilient. But I didn’t know you and I wanted to get a sense of who you were.’

  ‘And you asked me to appear in front of the media at the hospital that day so Daus saw you were talking to me. Is that right?’

  He nodded. ‘She was obsessed with you and Denis. It was her weak point. My task was to persuade her that, if she came to Congress, she’d see Denis’s reputation destroyed for ever. In fact, she provided me with some of the material about the incident in Iraq. Once she knew that Denis was dead and she thought Stepurin was responsible, she couldn’t resist coming to see it all play out. This was like her victory lap.’

  ‘So, her presence today had nothing to do with Martin Reid?’ asked Anastasia.

  ‘No, she used him to find out about Denis after the attack. That was all. Marty Reid had no sway over her whatsoever. In fact, she held him in contempt.’ He paused. ‘It was a sad story, but he was a bully and a son of a bitch and there won’t be too many mourners at that funeral.’ He leaned forward and looked directly into Anastasia’s eyes. ‘I am sorry that we had to go into what happened in your husband’s former life. I am afraid it was unavoidable.’

  ‘Thank you. Denis had prepared a statement on his computer that left no doubt about those events.’ She didn’t use the words ‘massacre’ and ‘war crime’, but in his notes Denis hadn’t shied from them.

  ‘There is one thing I don’t understand,’ said Samson. ‘Why did you start pushing Denis on those events in the hearing on the day of the attack? What were you trying to do?’

  ‘There were two reasons. I spent time in Iraq, and I saw atrocities committed by both sides. This is not something that I was prepared to overlook, even though I knew some of the information came from Mila Daus. Second, Denis needed to get it out of the way before we started talking about systemic penetration by Russia.’

  ‘You are speaking as if you had some idea of what he had on that computer and, moreover, that you knew he wasn’t going to use it that day,’ said Samson. ‘How did you know all that?’

  ‘We talked.’

  ‘You talked! When?’ demanded Anastasia.

  ‘Two nights before the attack. He knew I was going to push him on Iraq. He agreed that was necessary before he made these allegations. It was the thing that Mila Daus held over him and he needed to get that out of the way.’

  He rose and went to take Anastasia’s hand. ‘I have a tight schedule of TV appearances. Suddenly, the conservative from the South is the hero of the liberal media. You were magnificent today. You’ve done this country a great service. Thank you, and thank you all.’ He nodded to Toombs, and left.

  Anastasia smiled at Samson and got up. ‘That explained a lot. Look. I have some things I need to do. I have to go.’ Samson gave her an enquiring look. She shook her head. It wouldn’t involve him.

  She didn’t explain outside the room either, but she didn’t have to. He knew. He hugged her and told her he loved her. ‘I know it,’ she said. They kissed and she walked away.

  Late that night, Anastasia took off in Denis’s jet with his body. Over the Atlantic, she looked out at the dawn rushing towards the plane, then glanced at the casket at the rear of the cabin. She had wanted him to be with her and now murmured her gratitude to him. Despite everything in his life and her unfaithfulness and love for Samson, she still loved Denis. She loved him and revered him. And she told him so. The secrets they’d kept from each other didn’t seem at all important.

  They refuelled in Cyprus and took off for a place on the far eastern side of the territory in northern Iraq, where the Kurds desired to create a fully independent state. They touched down and taxied to a spot in front of a rudimentary terminal building. Word had spread. Thousands of people had made the journey in pickups, battered cars and even tractors to pay their respects to their hero. On a baked apron, Anastasia watched his casket being unloaded then placed on the back of a large black pickup, where it was draped with the Kurdish flag – a sunburst on red, white and green bands. It was there, with the wind tearing at the black scarf she wore over her head and dust devils racing across the tarmac, that she felt she had done her duty and returned Denis to his people. She was offered a seat in the vehicle travelling behind the pickup in a long chaotic cortège that snaked across the desert and through villages where little crowds had assembled with flags. They headed east, gathering more vehicles along the way, until they came to a village cemetery where his ancestors lay, shaded by almond and olive trees. On the grave marker, his people gave him back his name – Karim Qasim. It pleased her because she had always preferred it to his adopted name, although she would, of course, keep Hisami for herself.

  Acknowledgements

  Writing a book in lockdown means there are fewer individuals than usual to thank because talking to people face to face and travel were not possible. However, I say thank you to my wife, Liz, who cooked for me every e
vening, listened patiently and advised on my plot problems and put up with me returning to my shed for a final hour or two at the end of the day. I would also like to express my gratitude to Jane Wood, my long-term editor and friend, who brings such clarity and good judgement to a work of fiction. She is the best. And, finally, I offer a deep, socially distanced bow to my agent Rebecca Carter of Janklow & Nesbit. Without them, this book would not be in your hands.

  Table of Contents

  The Old Enemy

  Also By

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Contents

  PART ONE Berlin Blue

  GreenState

  Survivors of the Bridge

  Room 2172

  Bulletin

  The Balsam Tree

  Cock and Bull

  Anastasia

  Düppel

  The Pit

  Strains of Illyria

  The Gravel Washer

  The Tulip Guy

  Sex, Venice and a Bullet

  Live Frog

  Bubble Wrap

  The Bird

  PART TWO Leverkusen-Opladen Intersection

  Firefly

  The Peacock

  KaPo

  Ulrike’s Story

  The Sargasso Sea

  Wet Grass

  Zoe

  Funeral in Tallinn

  Confession

  Open Toombs

  Raw Data

  In pectore