by Will Jordan
Halvorsen said nothing for the next few seconds, though his mind was clearly working overtime as he processed everything he’d heard.
‘This file,’ he began. ‘What does it contain?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘We both know it does. You want my trust, then you must extend some my way.’
Glancing at Alex for a moment, Anya sighed, recognizing she’d have to give the man something. ‘It is a directory of all covert operations, units and people used by the Agency, accessible by executive-level employees only,’ she explained. ‘Only the most dangerous and sensitive information is held on it. Every dirty secret they choose to forget, every operation they deny knowledge of; it is all there, all carefully catalogued and stored away on this file. We call it the black list.’
Alex frowned in confusion. The very existence of this black list seemed in contradiction to its purpose. ‘I don’t get it. Why write down stuff that never happened?’
Halvorsen leaned back in his chair, his expression making it clear he understood all too well the purpose of such a list. ‘Shared responsibility.’
Sensing her companion still didn’t understand, Anya elaborated. ‘As the saying goes, nothing is truly secret if more than one person knows about it. There is always a chance that someone may betray the rest of the group for their own gain, or take matters into their own hands without fear of reprisal. The black list was created to prevent both of these things. It is what binds them all together and prevents any one of them from turning against the others.’
Now Alex was starting to get the picture. ‘Mutually assured destruction,’ he said, referring to the Cold War theory that it was impossible for one side to destroy the other without in turn being wiped out by the counterstrike.
Anya shrugged. ‘If that is how you choose to describe it.’
One thing however still puzzled Alex. ‘If it’s super secret and designed for high-rankers only, how do you even know about it?’
There was a dangerous look in her eyes at this implied insult. ‘Because I created it, Alex. Myself, and a man named Marcus Cain, back in 1989 when I returned from my work in Afghanistan.’
Alex saw something then at the mention of the man named Cain. A waver in her composure, a chink in the armour. A warrior feeling the twinge of an old wound. He wondered what hold this man had on her, but knew it wasn’t the time to interrupt.
‘I had been disavowed by the Agency after I was captured by the Soviets. I was a ghost. As far as they were concerned, I no longer existed, and it was only because of Marcus that I was able to return to duty. He had just been promoted to leader of the Agency’s Special Activities Division, and I convinced him that we had to change how things were done. There could be no more cover-ups, no denial of knowledge, no more lies and betrayals of our own people. The black list was supposed to represent shared responsibility, to hold us all to a higher standard.’ The anger in her eyes faded, replaced by a look of sadness and guilt; the look of someone reflecting on old failures. ‘It did not work as I’d hoped.’
Her expression told its own story. ‘So what do you expect to get from this list now?’
‘Six years ago I was ambushed and captured by Russian agents during a mission in Iraq.’ Anya looked away and chewed her lip, saying nothing for a few moments. Clearly this wasn’t a comfortable topic for her. ‘I spent a long time in one of their prisons because of it. But the ambush was no random accident – they knew where and how to find me, which means someone in the Agency told them. Someone made the decision to betray me.’
The look of absolute, cold-blooded conviction in her eyes told him there would be no mercy shown for those responsible. ‘Not many people even knew I existed then, never mind where and how to find me. Such a decision could only have been made at the highest levels of power.’
‘What do you mean? The White House? The president?’
She let out a derisive snort that might have been a grim laugh.
‘Presidents change. Administrations come and go. The men I am talking about are far more… permanent than that. They have held onto their power for so long, fought so hard and sacrificed so much for it, that they would never give it up. They no longer answer to the White House or anyone else, because no politician who holds that office for a few years can hope to control them. Most presidents don’t even know they exist.’
‘So who the hell are they?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I never met them directly. At least, none of the top members. Apparently I was not considered… reliable enough. Only Marcus seemed to know who and what they really were. He called them the Circle, said they were made up of senior men from nearly all branches of the government, even the military.’
Alex had heard conspiracy theories about secret organisations like this a million times before, from documentaries about the Illuminati and the Freemasons to movies with shadow government agencies as the antagonists. Even coming from someone like Anya, his innate cynicism wouldn’t allow him to accept it outright.
‘So you’re saying there’s some secret group of power brokers secretly controlling the government?’ he scoffed. ‘Meetings in impractically dark rooms, all that stuff?’
‘Is it really so hard to believe that there are men in positions of power who prefer not to have their own Wikipedia page?’ Halvorsen asked him. ‘The world we live in is more complex than you could imagine, and what you see on the surface doesn’t always reflect the reality beneath.’
Alex looked to Anya, hoping she could shed more light on it. ‘Let me guess – they’re trying to take over the world, right?’
She shook her head with the weary resignation of one who had long anticipated such doubts. ‘They have no interest in taking over the world, as you put it. And they don’t meet in dark rooms. They rarely gather in one place at all, in fact, because there is no need. Their purpose is to preserve the world, at least as they see it, by keeping it in balance. They can do this not just because they are powerful, but because they are free. Free to act, to do what has to be done without worrying about media reaction or opinion polls or congressional hearings. They are free, because as far as the world is concerned, they don’t exist.’
Alex frowned, surprised by the tone of her description. ‘You sound like you admire them.’
‘I believed in their purpose, at least for a while,’ she admitted. ‘Because I knew well enough that doing the right thing was not the same as doing the popular thing. Some people had to be there to do what others were not prepared to. I believed in them, even believed I could become one of them. For a while.’
Alex was stunned by what he’d heard. Never had he imagined the complex history behind her actions, or the scale of what she was attempting. Not only was she talking about taking on one of the most powerful and dangerous agencies in the world, but a group of men so influential and secretive that even she didn’t know their true identities or the full extent of their influence.
Halvorsen however was more concerned with their present situation. ‘You said you had a way to recover this file. How?’
Anya nodded and gestured to Alex. ‘Tell him what you told me.’
He took a breath, trying to compose his chaotic thoughts and express the complex technical problem facing him in simple terms. Halvorsen didn’t look like the kind of guy to understand the complexities of server-gateway access protocols.
The older man listened patiently while Alex did his best to describe his hacking attempt earlier in the day, his breach of the CIA’s system and his attempt to download the Black List, and finally his discovery that the file had been backed up automatically online.
‘The only way to get our hands on the Black List without being detected is to physically go to the server where the file is stored, connect to it and manually download. It’s ugly, but it’s pretty much our only option at this point.’
The Norwegian intelligence officer rubbed his chin, pondering what he’d said. ‘And if you do this, the Agency will k
now nothing of it?’
‘Assuming we do it properly, and quickly,’ Alex agreed. ‘Sooner or later they’ll figure out the ghost drive just like I did. And we’ve got a few… hurdles to overcome.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, first of all the server building is in Istanbul. Second is physical security on-site. I can give you the IP address to find the building, but we’ll need as much information as possible about the place to plan a way in. Security protocols, staff on duty, even the keycard system they use for internal doors. Three, we need a way of getting into the country without being arrested.’
‘Alex’s identity is compromised,’ Anya explained. ‘He has no passport, no entry visa, no driver’s license. He needs a whole new identity, and I don’t have time to create one for him. We also need transport to Istanbul that avoids customs and border checks, which means diplomatic identities for both of us.’ She eyed Halvorsen hard. ‘That is where you come in.’
Halvorsen chuckled, his hands resting on his ample stomach. ‘You don’t ask for much, do you? Basically you want me to give you all of the resources and intelligence to mount your own covert operation.’
Anya spread her hands in a gesture of reluctant acknowledgement. ‘You know I wouldn’t ask if there was another way.’
‘And tell me, what exactly do I get in return?’
At this, Anya raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you want?’
His smile broadened. ‘Come now, Anya. You’re asking me to commit resources, time and effort to this, not to mention put my own career at risk. If I do this for you, I want something in return.’
Alex’s gaze flicked to the woman, looking for a reaction to Halvorsen’s demand. But there was nothing. She could have been a professional poker player, such was her self-control.
However, her response left him in no doubt where she stood on the matter. ‘I can’t give you the Black List.’
Halvorsen shook his head. ‘You misunderstand. I don’t need it all, but I want information about any operation concerning my country. Anything the Agency has been doing here that it shouldn’t have, I want to know about it.’
‘And what will you do with that information, Kristian?’ Anya asked, her tone faintly challenging. ‘Threaten? Blackmail? Profit from it?’
‘Hardly,’ he said, looking almost insulted by her accusation. ‘But the relationship with our friends at Langley is rather… unbalanced these days. They take what they need, and give us only what they see fit. With the Black List, I might just be able to redress the balance.’
Anya said nothing for several seconds. She just there opposite Halvorsen, her piercing blue eyes focussed on his. Alex could practically feel the tension hanging in the air as the seconds stretched out.
Then at last she seemed to reach a decision.
‘Agreed.’
With that, Halvorsen seemed to relax. ‘Then I’d better get moving,’ he said, rising from his chair. ‘I have some phone calls to make. Stay here until I come back, and do not open the door for anyone who isn’t me.’
Anya didn’t need to be told twice. Drawing the USP from her jeans, she laid the weapon down on the table with a heavy thunk.
‘Any chance of a takeaway?’ Alex asked without much hope, having searched the fridge and cupboards and found them as disappointingly empty as the rest of the apartment. ‘I’ve got a real craving for a kebab.’
The Norwegian spared him a glance as he donned his overcoat, but said nothing.
‘Thought as much,’ Alex grumbled.
Halting by the door, Halvorsen looked at them both. ‘With luck, I’ll be back soon.’
With that less-than-promising farewell, he departed, leaving Alex and Anya alone.
Chapter 34
I dream.
A confused dream, jumbled thoughts and images tumbling through my head.
I’m standing in Tim Dixon’s cubicle of an office, waiting while he reads through a report on everything I’ve done so far. The expression on his face tells me the news isn’t good.
‘Oh dear, Alex. This really doesn’t make for good reading, does it?’ he asks in his most patronizing tone, looking up from the document. ‘You can’t honestly believe you’re cut out for this, can you? I mean, you’ve barely done a thing right since this all started.’
I look down at my feet, unable to look at him.
Sweating, I stammer a reply. ‘I-I didn’t know what—’
‘Shut up, you useless bastard,’ Dixon snaps. ‘And look at me when I’m talking to you.’
Reluctantly I drag my eyes up to look at him, except he’s not Dixon any more. He’s Gregar. Sitting behind the desk, with the top of his head blasted apart, blood dripping down his face onto his neatly pressed work shirt.
‘Look at me, Alex,’ he says.
But I can’t, because his eyes have already rolled back into his head.
I open my mouth to scream in horror, but no sound comes out. Instead I stumble backwards, groping blindly for the door handle as Gregar rises from his chair on dead legs.
‘Look at me, Alex!’ he yells, rounding the desk and coming right for me, arms outstretched to grasp at my clothes. ‘Look at me!’
*
Alex awoke with a start from an uneasy sleep, his heart pounding and his skin coated with a faint sheen of sweat. The pain from his injured ribs at the sudden movement barely troubled him, the urgency of the moment overriding such minor discomfort.
For several seconds he sat upright in bed, staring into the darkness around him as if hidden terrors waited to spring at him from every shadow. Gradually however the clawing fear of his nightmare subsided, allowing him to think more rationally.
It was just a dream. He was safe here. Well, as safe as one could be as a wanted fugitive in a foreign country, spending the night in an apartment controlled by an intelligence officer of dubious intentions, with a woman he neither understood nor trusted.
He was tired and his injured body was keen to remind him of everything it had been through over the past few days, yet he had no desire to go back to sleep. The dreams that seemed to find him were no better than the reality that surrounded him.
He lay in bed for a few minutes more, unsure of what to do but reluctant to make a move. Finally however he’d had enough.
‘Shit,’ he muttered, throwing the sheets aside and pulling himself out of bed.
Trying to be quiet, he crept down the hallway towards the living room, pausing for a moment outside Anya’s door and straining to listen for any sounds within. There was nothing. No snoring, no breathing, no movement of a body on the mattress.
He wondered if she was even in there, and briefly contemplated opening the door to check, before abandoning the notion. Still armed with the automatic that he was sure she kept under her pillow, there was no telling what she’d do if someone tried to enter her room in the middle of the night. Being shot and killed by his only ally would make for a disappointing way to go out.
Instead he carried on towards the big open-plan living area, crossing the room before coming to a halt in front of the main windows. There he stood and stared out across the brightly lit skyline of central Oslo. With a population of just over 600,000 people, Norway’s capital city could hardly be considered a sprawling metropolis, but from this height the view was nonetheless impressive.
Leaning forward, he closed his eyes and allowed his forehead to rest against the cool glass. It was so quiet up here, he realized. The apartment’s triple-glazed windows filtered out all noise from outside, leaving the interior bathed in tranquil, meditative silence.
Seen but not heard; he wished he’d had that option back home in London, where the blare of car horns, the rumble of trains, and his neighbour’s love of heavy metal music had been a constant intrusion into his life.
Not that that was much of a concern now, he reminded himself with a flash of grim humour. He was a fugitive now. Home for him no longer existed. Perhaps it never really had.
He heard the soft tread of b
are feet on the wooden floor, and opened his eyes as Anya appeared beside him. She said nothing, just stood there at his side staring out across the city. Some people might have considered such behaviour odd, but for him it was starting to make sense. Words weren’t always necessary; sometimes it was enough just to be there. She seemed to understand that better than most.
‘Couldn’t sleep either?’ he asked.
She gave him a sidelong look, a hint of humour in her eyes. ‘You do not move as quietly as you think, Alex.’
It was a minor jibe, but he sensed no offence was meant. ‘I’m new to this,’ he said without apology.
‘So I noticed.’ Anya surveyed him for a long moment, no doubt sensing his tension and unease. ‘You have something on your mind.’
‘Lots of things, actually.’ He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. ‘The man you mentioned earlier – the one who helped create the Black List. Cain, wasn’t it?’
He stole a glance at her just as he said the name, and saw that same look as during their earlier conversation with Halvorsen. The same moment of recollection, the same flicker of pain.
‘What about him?’
‘He means something to you, doesn’t he?’ Alex asked. ‘Or he meant something once. I saw that look when you mentioned him before, and… I see it again now.’
‘You notice things,’ she conceded, looking none too happy at his observation.
‘I remember things,’ he corrected her.
She elected not to follow up on that one.
‘Why do you want to know about him?’
He shrugged, deciding to give her the only thing she ever expected – the truth. ‘Because you don’t want to tell me. Which means he’s important, and you don’t like to give away things that are important. I understand that, but I’m asking anyway because I want to know what I’m risking my life for. I think I’ve earned that right by now. You can tell me it’s none of my business, or that I’m safer not knowing, or a hundred other versions of the same bullshit if you like. I don’t care, and I can’t make you talk. But you asked, so… there it is.’
