‘Could Tzorekov have a vested interest in being a go-between?’
‘We don’t think so. He might want to improve his reputation among those who regard him as a deserter, but that’s unlikely to work. There are those around Putin whom we know would actively strive to ensure there were no contacts from anybody outside the Moscow circle; they especially don’t trust those who moved abroad and regard them generally as having been infected by living in the west.’
‘But that’s not the only reason?’
‘No. Most importantly they wouldn’t want their own influence over Putin threatened in any way – they’d have far too much to lose.’ He blinked. ‘So much so, we believe they would probably take extreme action to prevent a meeting happening at all.’
Extreme action. Another term for assassination.
I was beginning to see where this was leading. A zinger indeed.
‘And you want me to do … what, exactly?’
Sewell lobbed the ball to Vale this time, who leaned forward and said, ‘The general consensus is, it would be useful if somebody could follow Tzorekov into Russia and make sure he gets to Putin in one piece.’
FOUR
‘You say Tzorekov is coming home. Is it really true or a foolish rumour?’ The speaker stood up and walked out from behind his ornate desk and poured himself a glass of water. Evgeniy Koroleg was a major player in the Russian gas and energy industry. Of medium build and sporting a heavy moustache and a day’s growth of stubble, he deliberately affected plain, off-the-peg suits and heavy-soled shoes. His general demeanour and manner of dress generally marked him out to strangers as a lower-rank manager in a manufacturing plant, rather than the powerful man he really was. It had proven useful in the past and allowed him to pass among competitors unremarked and overlooked … until he needed to turn the tables to his advantage.
He turned and stared out of the window across Kutuzovskiy Avenue towards Poklonnaya Hill and the Great Patriotic Museum. Right now he wasn’t sure if being one of the most powerful yet unremarked men in Russian industry was likely to be of much benefit if certain things came to pass. Things such as the outsider Tzorekov being allowed to worm his way back inside the Moscow ring. For Koroleg and a few others like him, that could prove extremely problematic, especially if it resulted in a downturn in the sale of energy supplies due to aggressive outside corporations and investors being allowed to enter the game. While he could stand some of the effects of the sanctions being aimed at Russian businesses and ventures overseas, including his personal portfolios, he had come to rely on the status quo in Russia and in the surrounding countries still allied to their old giant neighbour.
‘All our information points towards it being so.’ The man on the loudspeaker console on Koroleg’s desk was trying to sound relaxed, even unconcerned, but failing. His name was Broz Scechin, an FSB surveillance operative in London tasked with, among other duties, watching certain wealthy Russian business nationals who had moved abroad, to gauge their sympathies and future plans. He reported by order to his FSB controllers, but on certain issues and the receipt of payments, his actual loyalties lay with Evgeniy Koroleg. And the well-connected energy mogul’s reputation for hard-headed business dealings was equalled only by his rough treatment of employees and others who displeased him or failed to meet his high standards.
‘Then it must be so.’ Koroleg finished the water. ‘Tzorekov has been quiet for too long, happy to be making money like the happy capitalist he really is.’
‘Of course, you’re right. I—’
‘Who else knows of this?’
‘I have a technical assistant who provides the recordings and transcripts, but that is all he does. He takes no interest in these matters.’
‘Make sure it stays that way. What about others?’
‘I suspect the British … and possibly the Americans. They discuss such matters but I have no way of proving they have discussed this particular subject.’
‘Never mind. We will soon know if they have done so.’
‘Apart from them, I do not think it will become common knowledge. Tzorekov has kept a low profile for many years, so in spite of his background, he is not newsworthy here or in the United States.’
‘Let us hope so.’ Koroleg watched two drivers on the side of Kutuzovskiy Avenue having a heated discussion over a bent fender, and wondered how long it would be before a traffic cop appeared and settled it by a traditional example of Russian negotiation involving money changing hands, mostly to the cop. ‘How did you come by this information?’
‘By chance, from a phone conversation he was having with an unidentified contact. He mentioned going home … which I judged by the way he was talking to mean Russia. He sounded determined and intense. He said he felt he had a duty.’
‘To do what?’
‘He didn’t specify. He mentioned only that he had to try to avert a confrontation, and how too many voices were pulling the world towards the brink of disaster. I can send you a copy of the recording, if you wish. The conversation was rather fragmented.’
‘Don’t bother. I believe you. But keep it in case I need it for later.’
‘Of course.’
‘Was there any mention of when this return might happen?’
‘Not for certain, but it seemed reasonably imminent. The following day he made an international call to an unidentified number and asked for a location and a date. He didn’t say why and the person on the other end seemed to know what he was referring to and ended the call after saying he would be in touch with the details.’
‘That sounds like there is to be a meeting.’
‘I think so, too.’
Koroleg nodded to himself. ‘How long have you been monitoring him?’
‘For the last three months, and on a few occasions before that. His name is on a random watchlist with others. We check his phone calls and emails, but not constantly; there’s a risk he has people who will notice too much regular attention. Until now there has been nothing in the transcripts to gain our interest – mostly business and family matters. But this seemed different.’
‘How so?’
‘He sounded … emotional. And there have been no previous discussions of a similar nature. I believe he has come to a decision very recently and is acting on it. There is another month of monitoring to go … unless you feel we should continue beyond that. We could, of course, go back over the recorded data to see if there was anything we might have missed. However, he keeps changing his passwords,’ the man added quickly, ‘so there are some gaps in our information.’ His voice dripped apology, but Koroleg ignored it; the technical resources and manpower available were not unlimited and he wouldn’t have expected anything less than such caution from a man with Tzorekov’s background.
‘Of course he keeps changing them. And he does not have to rely solely on “people”, as you call them, to tell him that – he’s KGB-trained from way back. Is there any chatter from among the community?’
There was a slight hesitation. ‘You mean here in London?’
‘Of course in London – it’s where he lives, is it not?’
‘Yes … yes, of course. So far we have picked up nothing.’
‘In that case it proves he is planning something out of the ordinary, otherwise he would not be so coy.’
‘Have you any specific instructions?’
Koroleg returned to his desk. He had much to do and a shortlist of trusted people to talk with. ‘Yes. Bump Tzorekov’s name from occasional monitoring to primary. Check his office computers and look for airline tickets outside his usual travel schedules. I want to know his whereabouts and movements day-to-day until further notice, but do not share this with anybody else. My eyes only, you understand?’ The instruction was blatantly clear, in case the man on the other end harboured any doubts; he might be FSB with a clear reporting line to his superiors in Moscow, but he now had specific orders which meant he kept all mention of Leonid Tzorekov strictly to Koroleg.
‘I understand.’
Koroleg hit the disconnect button and sat down behind his desk with a sigh of frustration and an acute feeling of discomfort in the pit of his stomach. There was a list of people who would not be welcomed back to Russia under any circumstances now they had left. Some were considered traitors with only self-interest at heart and were despised, their unwelcome back home made abundantly clear. Others were looked on as a direct threat to everything Russia was becoming on its way back to its rightful position as a powerful and prosperous superpower. In the eyes of a few well-placed individuals inside Russia with their hands holding the strings of influence, this second group were considered deserving of a fate far worse than mere loathing, as some had already discovered.
And then there was Tzorekov. Friend of the powerful and a man of influence still, yet with a disturbingly benign view of the West, if the stories about him were true.
He began considering a plan of action based primarily on an approach to life being one of prevention rather than cure. If he had to draw up a list of people who should never be allowed to exert pressure or influence on anybody inside the Moscow establishment – especially at the very top – then in Koroleg’s opinion, Leonid Tzorekov had just earned himself the number one spot.
FIVE
‘I have some conditions,’ I said, once the silence had gone on long enough; once I’d digested the magnitude of what they were asking me to do.
‘Conditions?’ Sewell blinked. I guess he wasn’t accustomed to field personnel trying to negotiate their orders. Except that I wasn’t part of the CIA, so if I didn’t like the assignment I could always get up and walk away. And he knew it.
‘Let’s hear him out,’ said Tom Vale. He was trying not to smile and I figured a former field man like himself understood what I was thinking. Setting a few rules is never a bad thing, and going into an assignment like this without knowing the parameters would be crazy.
‘Before that, where exactly will I be going?’
Sewell looked pointedly at Angela Thornbury, who seemed surprised at being brought back into the discussion. She shifted in her seat before saying, ‘Um … we’re not sure at this point. Mr Tzorekov is trying to confirm that information right now. As soon as we know … so will you.’ She glared at Sewell, meaning it would be his responsibility to pass on the information.
‘Why?’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Why is Tzorekov telling you? If he’s going in the hopes of meeting Putin and making a difference, he must know this could end in disaster. He might never come out again. Does he expect you to lift him out if it all goes belly-up?’
‘No, not at all.’ She glanced at the other two as if for help, but Vale and Sewell were studying the ceiling and the table with great interest. ‘He doesn’t want his efforts to go public, but he wanted us to know what he was attempting to do. He firmly believes in this.’ She shrugged and looked a little defensive. ‘We have no idea what his deepest motives are, but we do believe he’s sincere and want to facilitate his safe journey.’
‘Sincere. For a former KGB man.’
She flushed a little. ‘Yes. I suppose so.’
I turned to Vale. ‘Does he know I’ll be watching him?’
‘God, no. I think he’d be shocked if he thought he was dragging a posse with him – especially foreigners. As Ms Thornbury said, he’s doing this because he’s convinced he can make a difference; Ms Thornbury and her colleagues have requested that we provide a covert backup to help in that aim.’ He gave a chill smile. ‘Not that I think he’d object too much if you did have to step in and help him out of a sticky situation. He knows the risks better than anyone but I doubt he has a death wish.’
As plans went it sounded a little loosely-packed, but I’d worked with far less. And this one had a greater benefit potential if it could be pulled off. ‘Do we know if he’s already in touch with Putin?’
Thornbury again, now on the relatively safer ground of political intrigue and motivation. ‘Not directly. It’s a very sensitive situation; Tzorekov is regarded by those around Putin as an outsider – a man who has turned his back on his country. It would be almost impossible for him to make a direct approach, and neither can Putin be seen to be talking with such a person. Tzorekov will have to use an intermediary close to the president and he will advise us as soon as he has confirmation of a safe entry. If he can, of course,’ she added. ‘Putin might refuse to see him.’
‘What’s the likelihood?’
‘Fifty-fifty. But we have faith in Tzorekov’s shared history and friendship with Putin; he knows as well as we do that Putin is being influenced by some very powerful figures around him. They’re military as well as government, but there are a few very tough business leaders in there as well who are using economic and commercial arguments in favour of standing up against what they see as threats by the West. Putin is his own man, but there seems to be evidence that even he is in danger of being persuaded to take a much tougher line generally than is healthy for us all. If Tzorekov can pull him back just a fraction from being too confrontational, it will give us time to work on a wider diplomatic solution.’
So, jaw-jaw instead of war-war. Where had I heard that before everything went belly up because politicians thought it was a game? ‘And if the meeting goes ahead?’
‘It will probably be away from Moscow, somewhere towards Saint Petersburg, close to the border with Finland. Putin has a dacha in the area and holds some of his more private meetings there. It would be the most likely area for a meeting like this.’
‘You’re talking about the Ozero Cooperative.’
I saw a grin spread across Vale’s face at Thornbury’s look of surprise. Clearly she hadn’t expected me to know about that, but I do read the newspapers, and had picked up a mention some time ago about a cooperative of rich men around Putin buying up sites around a lake – ozero – in the north-west of the country. These were reputed to be businessmen and ministers who had all prospered in the new Russia and on whom Putin relied for economic and commercial support in building Russia’s economy. Putin himself had a house there, thought by some to be his own way of keeping an eye on the movers and shakers on which he relied, and making sure they knew it.
‘Yes. The members are thought to be different to those of the Siloviki, although it’s almost impossible to be certain. Undoubtedly there are some who share the same aims and business interests.’ She checked herself, then added as if as an afterthought, ‘There’s a strong belief that apart from the Siloviki and the Ozero Cooperative, there’s a third grouping; this one much smaller but just as diverse, which may include selected members of the other two. They’re rumoured to call themselves the Wise Men and have connections in industry, government and the military.’
‘You make them sound significant.’
‘That’s because they are. If anybody in the Russian hierarchy has a profound desire not to permit a meeting between President Putin and Leonid Tzorekov, it will be this group. They don’t want the situation to be “normalised” or rendered anything other than what it is. On the other hand, neither do they wish to supplant Putin. He’s the leader they need and they merely want to steer him in the best direction that suits them. For the same reasons I’m sure you’ve had outlined to you already, they have too much to lose by Putin turning friendly to the West: military budgets, defence spending and the supply of armaments and energy to the surrounding countries fearful of a confrontation of any kind – all that would fall by the wayside.’
‘They undoubtedly have investments outside their own borders,’ Sewell put in, ‘being good capitalists at heart, but not enough to make good any losses they could suffer at home.’
I nodded. I was beginning to lose interest, not because the venture didn’t wound worthy – it certainly did – but this was entering the area of ‘too much information’ for the job I was going to do. I got the impression somebody might have ramped up the argument to sell this mission, and it was feeding all the way down the lin
e.
In any case, my decision was already made. I was in.
‘I’ll need to work with people I know and trust. I’m going to need good intelligence and first-rate comms backup.’
He lifted his eyebrows. ‘For instance?’
‘Brian Callahan and Lindsay Citera.’ Callahan was a CIA Clandestine Service Officer, and knew all there was to know about field operations. He was sharp, incisive and didn’t take needless risks with personnel in the field. So, too, was Tom Vale, but I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be involved except in an advisory role. Lindsay Citera was a communications operator working with Callahan and had proved a real boon the last time I’d worked with her as my unseen ‘voice’. She was smart and cool under pressure, and although fairly new to the task, she had proved to have an instinct for working at long range with an operative in difficult circumstances. She also had a sense of humour, which was pretty useful when the going got tough.
Sewell shifted in his seat and like all good administrators, tried to dodge the point. ‘I don’t think we can nominate any specific persons at this stage,’ he muttered, and looked at the other two for support before adding, ‘in any case I’m not sure they’re available. We do have many other very competent people who can do just as good a job.’
‘I’m sure you have.’ It wasn’t an acceptance and he knew it from my tone of voice.
After several moments, Vale said pointedly, ‘Is it a deal-breaker?’
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