by Tomson Cobb
‘The system had been tampered with. We don’t know how though. The control room is manned twenty-four seven. There were two of our people in the room when it happened. The system just went dead, they said. It took them two hours to find the fault.’
‘Natsu. They may be lying. You need to check both their stories separately.’
‘That’s already in process. With the driver involved as well, it may be that our whole team has been infiltrated here. My father has always taken great care who he takes on to work for us so it would be unusual if that was the case. You’re right though, we must be sure. I have our most trusted people working on this now. Whatever happened I will find out, believe me Jago.’
‘I know you will, Natsu. How about the rest of your employees? Someone must have seen her between the first and top floor surely?’
‘That’s not clear so far. At the same time we have three hundred people from many nations who work here, not just Japanese, so she could have passed for one of them without suspicion. Our security team will interview everyone. If anyone saw her we will find out. I will let you know as soon as I do.’
‘Thank you. I’m sorry to have to have this conversation with you now. You must be very worried about your father.’
‘More than I have ever been, Jago. He is a strong man but whatever the woman used on him has left him as weak as a baby. The doctors have given him three different types of medication. None have worked so far. They do not know how to treat him I think. I am so worried, Jago.’
‘Natsuko, your father is a modern-day samurai. If anyone can come through this, he will. Be strong for him. Let me know when you have any more information my love. I have to go now. I have a meeting with our friends. You remember, the ones you met them when you worked here?’
‘I understand, Jago. I know who you mean. Let’s talk again when we have both had time to absorb what’s happened.’ The line went dead.
Jago found himself at the bedroom window. He’d been pacing up and down the room as he talked to Natsuko without any idea of where this might all lead.
Was all this the work of Chetwynd once again? Or was it connected to his wife’s death? Was it to do with the events in Africa? First her, then Sammy Hayes, Tom Bryan, Frank Thompson and now Hiro Yamada. Whoever had targeted them, the link was Chiltern University Press. Did the Organisation know about the secret side of the company, or were these incidents planned for another reason entirely? Had the traitor in SIS decided to eliminate all the Yamada family? If so, why? Would he be next? The questions kept building but the answers were still beyond his comprehension.
He wondered if his own involvement had created all this bloodshed. Perhaps that was closer to the truth than he wanted to believe. The only way he could hope to find out was to continue his investigations.
He decided to start with Hordiyenko.
Chapter 12
It was the sound of rain dropping from the overhang of the roof onto the two pots on each side of the kitchen windowsill that pulled Jago’s attention away from his laptop onto a more mundane subject. They hosted tomato plants that he’d just planted to give him give him a link to the world that he’d lost. Growing tomatoes, together with other vegetables, every spring in the yard outside the house had been Frankie’s favourite distraction from the stress of her own work.
‘Why do you bother with them?’
‘Because they’re easy to grow. They taste much better than any you can get in the shops. Most of those have no taste at all. They’ve been manufactured rather than nurtured,’ she said with false indignation. ‘We don’t have enough natural light in the mews to grow fruit so allow me my one small bit of horticulture, if you don’t mind. It reminds me of my parents’ cottage in Somerset. Mum used to love her garden…’
Jago forced himself back to the present. He’d worked all day without a break, mostly by the use of online resources with the addition of some phone calls to trusted colleagues in the ICIJ around the world. A couple of people had suggested one untried area for him to research on his prey. It showed Hordiyenko had close contacts within a shadowy group that ran a mercenary army. With its origins in Eastern Europe, it was available for hire in various hotspots around the world. Africa and North Africa both featured in their more recent incursions, their apparent aim being to prop up local despots by the protection of oil fields or mines in return for at least twenty-five per cent of the lucrative, tax-free revenue from them. It also allowed for what the media dubbed ‘plausible deniability’.
He stood to stretch, which took the dog by surprise. She raised her head with hope more than expectation from her vantage point in the basket by the door.
‘No chance, Chob. No walk for now. I’ve got more work to do yet. Maybe in another couple of hours.’
He poured another coffee from the thermos, watching the birds in the yard crowd around the feeder that his wife had erected on the opposite wall which he kept full of fat balls mixed with seeds. It was her other distraction when at home.
‘If every house with a yard or garden had a feeder, we could encourage so many different species to survive you know, Jags,’ she said as she prepared the dinner in the kitchen while he struggled with an article for one of the dailies that had a deadline at midnight.
‘Hmm? Oh yes. I’m sure that’s true, darling.’
‘You know, Jago, you should try to chill out sometimes. Don’t be so obsessed with the job. You can’t solve all the world’s problems with your articles. Look up, breathe the air, watch nature, start a hobby. You’ll burn out otherwise.’
‘I’ll start knitting maybe. Anyway that’s rich from you. You’re hardly ever here. You’re always off to some exotic place or other around the world without any break between. It’s a wonder we see each other at all.’
She sat on his knee and pushed the laptop away.
‘You’re right, my lover. We don’t keep enough time for each other do we? We should spend more of it together to make some babies,’ she said with a coy smile.
‘I have to agree, you’re right. And there’s no time like the present. Sod the deadline for once,’ Jago said as he kissed her. He lifted her in his arms, then with some difficulty he switched off the hob and led her to the stairs, both of them laughing like teenage virgins.
Is it only hindsight that teaches humans the value of the present, he wondered? Was he so preoccupied with his own personal crusades that he missed the signs that stared him in the face? Maybe if only he’d stopped to think what was important through those years of what he believed was a happy marriage, both his wife and unborn child might be with him today.
Life has ways of assuaging grief. So it was that Jago was brought back to the present by a commotion in front of him where one bird was engaged in a sortie against another two. There was much more activity from them all now the breeding season had raised their energy levels, so it was only to be expected at this time of the year. The air war outside brought a half-smile to the face of the sad part-time writer. He made himself a promise to stop and smell the flowers as Walter Hagen the golfer had once said. Or was it the roses? Rather than continue with more inconsequential diversions from the requirements of the moment, he pulled himself back to consider the day’s results so far.
The small professional army now numbered over 10,000 fighters by some estimates. Aged between thirty and fifty-five, many of these soldiers of fortune had special-forces backgrounds, most Russian or Ukrainian, some from more unexpected places such as Denmark, a few even from the US and UK, his ICIJ colleague in Prague had disclosed in a Skype call earlier. It had its origins as a Russian-based organisation, set up to provide an operational yet deniable force run by the GRU which had evolved into a more international brigade since those early days, with bases in other old Soviet states as well. What Jago was more interested in was how the group was funded. They were well paid by all accounts, the average pay over $60,000 a year according to some reports.
The name Simon Hordiyenko had appeared in many of his sea
rches on this mysterious group. Jago was sure that he’d taken over the responsibilities of Roni Chomsky since the elimination of his ex-boss by the Chetwynd high command. The list of parties he’d compiled featured many of the names from his earlier investigation into that previous regional leader of the Organisation in Europe, and he was now also adding new ones. One company in particular interested him, as it had also been referred to in one of the documents he’d found at Sammy’s place.
‘Nigel. Hi, it’s Jago. Have you got a minute?’
‘Hello Mr Hale. Great to hear from you. Are you well. I read about all that trouble you had in Japan. Terrible news about the death of your friend’s daughter. I know it will be difficult for him to get over it. I’m sure that’s not what this call is about though, so how can I help you?’
Jago felt relief at the question. He knew how much Nigel loved to talk once started.
‘Are you back up to speed again after your own little adventure, Nigel? Did my doctor sort you out?’ he asked. He already knew the answer, as he’d received a lengthy report from the SIS medics two weeks earlier.
‘Oh yes. I’m fine now, thank you. Fit as a fiddle once again.’
‘That’s terrific, Nigel. In that case, can you do some research on a company for me? It’s called Real World Analysis. They’re based here in London. Usual terms of engagement of course.’
‘That’s fine. It’ll be a pleasure. What do you want to know?’
‘The usual. Bank accounts, directors, contracts, sources of funds, links with other companies, any connections with tax havens. You know the headings by now. We’ve worked on enough projects like this that you can probably do it in your sleep.’
The voice on the other end of the line burst into laughter that ended with a cough.
‘I suppose I could at that. Okay, Mr Hale. I’ll start straightaway.’ He cleared his throat.
‘Are you sure you’re okay Nigel?’
‘Yes, yes. Perfect. Good as new. Well, maybe not quite that. I need to do more exercise other than the park walk every day. The doctor tells me I still need to lose some more weight. Apart from that I’m back to normal. Maybe I’ll join that gym of yours. Back to business, when do you need my preliminary report?’
‘When you can, Nigel. This is not related to an article I’ve been commissioned to do, it’s just for my own interest.’
‘I understand. I don’t need to know anyway. I’ll get started tonight, then get back to you when I have some worthwhile information.’
Jago put the phone down. He knew his personal financial researcher would be as good as his word. Nigel had an unbelievable ability to find information that even the largest, most expensive accountancy partnerships couldn’t uncover. That’s why he paid him well for his efforts, because he didn’t come across people like him very often. Jago was also loyal to anyone who provided excellent service, so he would always rather use them again than look for new alternatives. It was good business for both sides, ultimately.
He decided to put another call into a friend at BBC Monitoring. He was in a meeting so his PA promised he would call Jago back as soon as he was free. He’d known Steve Cross since they were both cub reporters on a local paper in the North of England. They’d been close then, though they didn’t make contact often now, which he knew was more down to himself than his friend. Steve was now a senior editor at the little known offshoot of the broadcaster that kept a close eye on local media around the world, so with thousands of contributors he could always offer Jago a more detailed context on news aimed at the general public.
He’d barely put the phone down when it rang.
‘That was quick, mate,’ Jago said. He was taken aback for a moment by the realisation that the caller was not the editor. It was another familiar voice that he’d got to know in more recent times.
‘Mr Hale. It’s Tony Shapiro. Can we talk? I’m in the pub near you, so I can come to your place this time to save you another late-night ride.’ He laughed. Jago didn’t.
‘This is an unexpected surprise Mr Shapiro. Okay. As you’re in the vicinity, how can I refuse? Come on over. I’ll open the door.’
Chapter 13
The big American almost blocked the door frame as Jago ushered him ahead into the hall. The dog also waited to greet him, her eyes fixed on the visitor, tail immobile as she decided whether he was a friend or possible foe. Shapiro glanced down but didn’t try to make contact with the suspicious animal. Jago guessed that he must have remembered what happened when Toye tried to befriend the dog the last time they were all in the same room. Discretion becomes the better part of valour, thought Jago, as he watched the CIA man flop into one of the chesterfields in the lounge. Jago sat opposite Shapiro, while the dog followed suit to sit alongside him on the floor, as if she was the second interviewer of a prospective candidate for a new job.
‘I’m sorry, Shapiro. I’ll tell you now this is a smoke-free establishment.’
‘Please, call me Tony. I’d appreciate it also if you’d let me call you by your first name as well. It’ll make our conversation less formal. As far as the smokes, don’t worry Jago, I’ve given up. At least that’s the intention.’ He glanced around the room to change the subject. ‘Nice pad you have here. Must have cost a lot?’
‘I guess you’re not in the market for a London home, so what can I do for you Tony?’ Jago wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries with this guy. The last time they’d met he’d felt an animosity that emanated from the American, which had been reciprocated.
‘Look Jago, I know we didn’t hit it off last time. That was my fault, okay? You gotta believe it when I say we had a different idea how to handle Chomsky but your bosses in MI6 disagreed. That’s why I was, well, a little cautious when we first met.’
‘Understood. They’re not my bosses though. I’m a freelancer who sometimes works with HMG. Don’t you remember?’
‘Sure. Sure. Okay, forget I said that. I wanted to break the ice this time, so the best way was to come here instead of inviting you to a place where you might feel uncomfortable.’
Shapiro squirmed in his chair. He wasn’t comfortable himself. It looked like a friendly approach wasn’t the technique that the CIA man was used to, thought Jago.
‘I’ll get to the point, we want… no, need you to work with us again on Chetwynd.’
‘Who’s we? Second question: why?’ Jago said. He was suddenly popular again.
‘I’ll get to that. Look, I was wrong about you, I admit. You did well in the Chomsky operation despite my original reservations, okay? My report to Langley confirmed that. I told them you had skills we don’t have that we need to utilise, plus contacts that don’t fit into the usual intelligence circles.’
The comment was prescient as Jago’s cell phone began to vibrate in his pocket. It was Steve.
‘Hi mate. Apologies. I’ve just had someone call round. Can I call you back when they leave...? Sure. It shouldn’t be too long.’
He pocketed the phone and turned his attention back to the American, who was animatedly fingering a pencil he’d picked up from the side table. Jago could see that the recent withdrawal of nicotine was having its usual effect on a long-time addict, nurtured for years by the tobacco industry’s aggressive campaigns for ever greater profits.
‘Hale. I’ve been authorised to give you some more background.’ They were back on a surname basis. Jago was happy with that. It felt more authentic somehow.
‘Fine. Would have been useful if you’d done that at the start when we first met, but let’s park it as you say. What more can you tell me about the Organisation? Maybe you can enlighten me about Hordiyenko?’
‘He’s small potatoes, a little cog in a much larger wagon wheel. He could be the bait but there’s bigger fish to land than him. This involves the US as well.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know by now that this isn’t just a Russian mafia operation, it’s far bigger than that. I mean that the same structure has been set up in my back
yard as in other parts of the world. It has plenty of money, connections with corporations, politicians and the military.’
‘Military, you say. Current or ex?’
‘Both. We have information that would make your hair stand on end, I tell you boy… sorry, Jago. That was just my southern way of expression. No insult meant.’ Shapiro realised he’d started to get carried away.
‘None taken. Listen Tony, cut to the chase. Why am I so involved in your plan, and why are you here unannounced?’
‘Okay. Straight up. We don’t trust your SIS. Toye’s a good guy, nevertheless we both know there’s someone above him that’s in league with this bunch of slimeballs. Maybe he even runs the whole show, we don’t know. Till we do, no one in there has my complete confidence. That means no full clearance for me to be open with them from my people either.’
‘Yet you trust me? Is that what you mean?’ Jago asked, now with an increased interest in the burly American sat opposite him.
‘That’s exactly what I mean.’
‘So why would that be?’ Jago thought he already knew the answer, however he wanted Shapiro to spell it out before he said too much about his own concerns.
‘This is unofficial, Jago. When this all blew up after you and your pal Haber got targeted, then your SAS pal Sammy got wiped, the accepted view was that this was a Chetwynd op to discredit the UK which got complicated by Chomsky’s little side-line deals that you discovered. Am I right?’
‘If you say so. Go on.’ Jago was determined not to answer any questions at this stage of the new relationship before he found where it would lead.
‘We both know it, so don’t try to kid me. We’re all adults. Anyway, I didn’t buy it, so when you flew to Japan I started some of my own research which I didn’t tell Toye about. Or Langley either.’ Shapiro sat forward in the armchair. He was now very animated.
‘Phew Tony. No shit? You mean you’re not an obedient employee of Uncle Sam, instead you’ve become a fully paid-up freelancer like me?’ Jago couldn’t help the sarcasm.
