by Matthew Dunn
The chief was silent for five seconds before saying, “I’m not interfering. I’m giving you help.”
“Help that I didn’t request. You don’t make decisions like that without consulting with me first.”
More silence. Then, “The man I sent is run by a controller who was on your intake when you joined MI6.”
Sentinel’s eyes narrowed. “Name?”
“Alistair McCulloch.”
A thin smile emerged on Sentinel’s face. “I’d heard he got promoted. I’d also heard that he’d been put in charge of a trivial administrative department.”
“That’s what you and everyone else were supposed to have heard.”
The smile vanished. “The service doesn’t withhold information from people like me.”
“When did you last see Alistair?”
Sentinel answered through gritted teeth, “Nine years ago.”
“It must have been an awkward meeting. After all, that’s when you were stripped of your Spartan code name.”
The mention of the code name clearly surprised Sentinel. “They were closing down the Spartan Section.”
“Why?”
“Read the files.”
“I wonder why my predecessor sent Alistair to break the news to you.”
“Probably because the former chief was too scared to do it in person.”
“I’ve read the files. You were stripped of your title because events had moved on since your imprisonment. Russia was no longer the only major threat. For the Spartan Section to have any relevance, its officer had to be globally deployable. They couldn’t do that with you because you were too vital to the Russian operations.”
Sentinel slid the gun close to his body, away from Will’s reach.
“You’d become too . . . specialized.”
“Their loss.”
“Their gain. MI6 couldn’t afford to underestimate your im-
portance.”
“You’d damn well better have a reason to be talking about this.”
“Oh, I do. Alistair was sent to you for a very specific reason. It had to be him, because he’d just been given command of the revamped Spartan Section.”
Sentinel stared at the phone, and his expression changed. He seemed to be deep in thought. Eventually, he brought his gaze up to Will and asked, “Is this him?”
“It is.”
Sentinel nodded slowly, looked away, and muttered, “They kept it going.”
“It wasn’t easy. Eight recruits before him . . . failed. The future of the section was entirely reliant on someone passing the Program. I sent him to you out of respect for who you are.” He paused. “I’d like you to work with him. But I concede that I can’t order you to make that happen.”
The room was silent. Will kept his eyes locked on Sentinel.
Sentinel picked the phone up. “Okay, I’ll do it. But no more surprises. Understood?”
“I understand very well.”
Sentinel ended the call and tossed the phone at Will. He spoke in a quiet, measured voice. “Razin and his men have been instructed by Russian high command to covertly train with twenty prototype weapons. These devices are about the size of small suitcases and are highly sophisticated. There’s a view that the devices can be used in conventional battlefields and unconventional theaters of war and peace. Alpha’s task is to prove this view correct and to also prove that the weapons can be smuggled into heavily defended areas. Over the last few months, Razin and his men have been secretly entering Russian air bases, navy installations, army depots, and government buildings to plant these devices. Every infiltration so far has been successful. The devices have since been removed by Razin’s men and kept by them. The training exercise is due to be complete in the next few weeks, at which point the devices will be handed back to the army.”
“This is how he’ll spark a war?”
“It must be.” Sentinel looked at the prone cartridges again and shook his head. “I’ll send an urgent message to Razin that we need to meet in a safe house on the Russian border. We’ve used it before, so it shouldn’t seem suspicious. The message will also say that people are being killed, I’m concerned for his safety, and I need to brief him on new security protocols.”
Will’s stomach muscles tightened. “The devices?”
Gun in hand, Sentinel rose and walked to the window. Outside, snow was falling faster and was being whipped up by a strong wind. Their surroundings no longer looked eerily serene; instead they appeared harsh and violent. Sentinel slowly turned to face Will. When he spoke, his voice was deep, and somber.
“The devices are nuclear bombs.”
Chapter Seven
Will stood naked in his room in the Hotel Otrada, staring at his belongings laid out on the bed. He selected some clothes, carefully checked each item to ensure that none of them contained any compromising items such as receipts, and dressed. He examined himself in a mirror and decided that he looked as though he were about to embark on a winter hike. Stuffing cash into a jacket pocket, he repacked all of the remaining items, including his wallet and passport, into his case. The case he would leave with the concierge. He could see lunchtime traffic from the window, moving slowly below him through thick snow. There was no fog now. In the distance the Black Sea was easily visible.
He flicked on a kettle, tore open three tea bags, and emptied their contents into a mug. He poured boiling water slowly over the loose tea, carefully stirring the brew. Grabbing the mug and looking at the sumptuous sofa and two armchairs in the room, he ignored them and sat instead on the floor with his back leaning against a wall. After waiting a few minutes for the tea leaves to settle to the base of the mug, he took a delicate sip of his drink and closed his eyes in appreciation. Though the drink was not up to the standard of his favorite Scottish breakfast tea blend, it was still good. He’d always known that even the coarsest of teas could be coaxed into tasting nice if one prepared its leaves properly and added nothing but hot water to them.
He thought about Sentinel, wondering if he would become the same as him by middle age unless something drastically changed the path of his life. There was so much about the man that Will not only understood but also saw in himself: mistrust of others, a life lived in extremes, a life lived with unrelenting focus, a life lived alone. But Sentinel had something that he did not yet have: an acceptance of that way of life, a realization that there would never be an alternative to his mode of existence.
Will recalled words spoken to him nine years before when an anonymous MI6 officer had asked if he was prepared to go into the Spartan Program.
Before you agree, understand this. There’s no going back. If you survive the Program, everything will be different for you. Your body, your mind, your life. Everything.
He remembered being dragged to the edge of a forest in Scotland after two weeks of imprisonment, sleep deprivation, and torture by MI6 and special forces instructors, prior to which he had been chased by armed trackers and attack dogs over a hundred miles of frozen mountainous terrain. As he was dumped on the ground, an instructor walked quickly up to him, yanked his head up, pointed at the woods, and gave him his next task: “The forest is two miles long and one mile wide. Inside are four very skilled SBS soldiers. They’re armed. You won’t be. You’ve got to find them and render them immobile, but alive. If you exit the forest before doing so, you fail the program. And remember, this is not an artificial test. The men in there have authority to hurt you badly.”
He took another sip of his tea and opened his eyes. Many years before Will had done so, Sentinel would have gone into that forest. He would have moved through the place exhausted, disoriented, desperate to find the men before they found him, but all the while doubting that he had the speed, strength, and skills to beat them. He would have wondered if that day was his last day on Earth, just as he had wondered every other day during the twelve-month Spartan Program.
Like Sentinel, Will had succeeded in that forest. But there was one thing he’d never been
able to conquer: a fantasy about a different, normal life. Nine years before, he’d briefly had the opportunity to take that path. He was about to graduate from Cambridge University when one of his professors took him aside and offered him a full scholarship to do a Ph.D. and the chance to become an academic.
“I know how hard it’s been for you, coming here after your experiences in the Legion. I know why you’re quiet, while the other students like the sounds of their own mouths. But you’ve a razor-sharp intellect, and you have the chance now to put it to good use. Stay in Cambridge.”
Will had answered, “I don’t belong here.”
The professor had countered, “So where do you belong? Do you really have a clear idea of where that place is? I suspect you don’t. Be careful, because one day you’ll stop, look around, and realize that you’re totally alone.”
Will knew that day had long since passed for Sentinel. But for a very brief moment, Will had seen real compassion and sadness on Sentinel’s face as the officer recalled the memory of his four dead agents. Will understood. Sentinel’s agents and assets were his kin, a disparate family.
But even though their work was dangerous and their lives isolated, Will was certain that none of them carried the burden that Sentinel did. Will had worked with many courageous and powerful men and women, but Sentinel was in a different league. To have survived so long in deep cover was in itself remarkable, but Sentinel had done so while at the same time building up an intelligence network that was second to none. Will had never met anyone so capable.
He finished his tea, checked his watch, and sighed. He needed to leave, to join forces with a man whom he was probably destined to become. Razin had responded to Sentinel’s message, agreeing to the meeting. Nothing in Razin’s response suggested he was suspicious.
But then again, Razin was a professional operator.
If the three of them did meet within the next twenty-four hours, in all probability at least one of them would end up dead.
Chapter Eight
The sedan drove east across the snow-covered Ukraine, covering four hundred miles, keeping the Black Sea and later the Sea of Azov to its right. Will sat in the back with Sentinel. A young Ukrainian man named Oleksandr was in the driver’s seat. None of the men spoke during the journey.
It was night as the car reached the brightly illuminated industrial port city of Mariupol before traveling northeast for a further 180 miles. After fifteen hours of near-continuous driving since leaving Odessa, stopping only twice to refuel the vehicle, Oleksandr brought the car to a halt on a dimly lit deserted road, turned off its engine and lights, and pointed ahead into darkness. “Russia.”
Sentinel opened a door, stretched, and got out. Will and Oleksandr followed suit, with the Ukrainian moving to the back of the vehicle to open the trunk. Snow fell fast around them. From within a rucksack, Oleksandr withdrew two HS 2000 handguns and spare magazines, then handed the items to the MI6 officers, who secreted the pistols and ammunition in their jackets.
The driver pulled up the collar of his thick coat and thrust his hands into his pockets. Light from an adjacent streetlamp showed that the man looked exhausted and cold. He glanced at Will. “Have you done this crossing before?”
“He hasn’t.” Sentinel looked in the direction of Russia.
Oleksandr nodded. “Normally it’s easy. There’re no barriers, just open fields covering the border, and the Ukrainian State Border Guard Service has been undermanned and underequipped to cover the thousands of miles of its borders. They’ve averaged one guard per twenty miles. On the other side, the Russians have faced the same problem.” He looked at Sentinel. “Things have changed. The Russians and Ukrainians have recently strengthened their border, reinforced their guards, and equipped them with thermal and infrared surveillance and detection technology. They’re worried about illegal immigrants coming over the border from Russia.” Reaching back into the trunk of the car, he withdrew two IR/TG-7 thermal goggles with head straps. “These should help. But you’ll still have to be very careful.”
Sentinel looked at Oleksandr. “After five miles, pull over somewhere quiet and get some sleep for a few hours. Wait for us there.”
He nodded, rubbing his fatigued face. “Sure, boss.”
Sentinel gave a sympathetic smile while gripping the young Ukrainian’s shoulder. “Give my regards to your brother and uncle, and tell your mother that I will give her more cash for her husband’s funeral when I’m back.”
Oleksandr bristled. “My father would have wanted to be here with you now.” He spat on the ground. “Fucking FSB. They should’ve arrested him when they trapped him in Moscow, not shot him like a dog.”
Sentinel nodded slowly. “I was privileged to work with him.”
“Bless you, boss.” Oleksandr sighed, reached into a jacket pocket, and withdrew a small slim metal case. “Please give this to Polina. Twenty cigarettes, hand-rolled by my mother, containing her favorite sun-cured Ottoman tobacco.” He gave the case to Sentinel. “We didn’t have time to make more.”
Sentinel secreted it within an inner jacket pocket. “She’ll be very grateful.”
Oleksandr wrapped his arms over his chest and glanced toward Russia. “Come home safely, boss.”
“The border’s five miles away; we’ve got to get there while it’s still dark. Let’s go.”
Will strapped his thermal goggles onto his head and looked around. Even though there were no light sources, his TG-7 gave him perfect black-and-white vision of everything up to a range of three hundred yards. He and Sentinel were prone on the ground; the flat, open fields before them held no trees or other large features. It was still snowing. They were a mile from the border.
They stayed like that for ten minutes; then Sentinel slowly rose to a crouch, gripped his handgun, and moved quickly forward. After three hundred feet he stopped, dropped to the ground, and waited before beckoning to Will. Will moved fast but kept low, holding his gun ready to shoot. He reached Sentinel, lay flat on the ground next to him, looked around, saw nothing, and glanced at his colleague. Sentinel nodded, pointing ahead. Will got to his feet and sprinted forward for five hundred feet, the whole time glancing left and right and ahead. He reached the edge of the field, keeping his head below the low hedge. Another field was before him, but this one was much larger. Lifting his arm up, he waved Sentinel to join him.
When Sentinel reached him, he knelt on one knee, moving his head 180 degrees to examine everything before them. Then he jumped over the hedge and ran until he was approximately 250 yards in front of Will, before stopping. Will stayed still, focusing on only the white image of Sentinel. The MI6 man was flat on the ground, motionless. He stayed like that for nearly ten minutes. Will knew that something was wrong.
Sentinel raised a hand, gesturing for Will to come forward but stay low. Will moved, gripping his gun with both hands, running as fast as he could in his crouch stance, watching Sentinel the entire time. As he came to within 150 feet of the officer, Sentinel waved a hand downward. Will dived forward, thumping to the ground. He stayed still for several minutes, his eyes fixed on Sentinel and his surroundings. Sentinel moved his hand. Will leopard-crawled over the snow-covered ground between him and Sentinel.
Sentinel lay motionless, silent and staring ahead. Will followed his gaze. Five hundred feet ahead of them were two soldiers, both carrying assault rifles. One of the men was looking through binoculars.
Sentinel crawled right up to Will, cupped his hands around Will’s ear, and whispered, “Ukrainian border guards. The man on the right has got thermal imagery, but he’s not seen me, so the binoculars must have limited range. We’ll take a route around them.”
Will nodded as Sentinel moved away from him. The guard with the binoculars was rotating, then standing still for a few seconds before moving again. He was covering his entire surroundings but most likely was blind to anything beyond 150 yards from his position. The other soldier was still, gripping his rifle. Will rose carefully and moved back fifty
feet. Sentinel did the same. Keeping his upper body low, Will ran to his left, examining the route ahead of him as he did so. Sentinel was directly behind him, and Will knew that he would not be looking ahead but instead would be watching the soldiers for signs that they had spotted the MI6 officers.
After a quarter mile, Will adjusted direction so that he was running back toward the border but was far enough away from the two soldiers to remain out of their sight. To his right he could just make out the men; they were still stationary. He looked ahead and stopped abruptly, dropping to the ground. Two other soldiers were 150 yards away from him, sideways to his position. Both were on one knee; one was looking through a large rifle scope across the route directly in front of them, the other had his back to his colleague and was looking through his rifle scope in the other direction.
Sentinel crawled alongside Will. The man said nothing for a moment, but Will knew he would be thinking the same as him. The soldiers were also Ukrainian border guards. But these men looked as though they had very powerful night-vision equipment, and they were positioned in such a way to monitor at least a half mile of land on either side of them. The soldiers were motionless, not looking in their direction.
Sentinel again cupped his hands against Will’s head. “It’ll soon be daylight. Follow me, move fast.”
A foot of snow already covered the ground, and more was quickly falling. They jumped to their feet and ran parallel to the guards. A further ten minutes and Sentinel stopped again, grabbing Will’s arm and pulling him down. Both men were breathing hard. Sentinel glanced in the direction that they had come from before looking at Will. “I’m sure they can’t see us now.”
Sentinel swiveled to face Russia and walked fast, with Will close behind. It was clear that he knew exactly where he was going and was choosing his route with precision. Occasionally he would stop, motion to Will to do the same, look around, and move a few paces to his right or left before continuing. After two miles, he slowed, then stopped. The land around them was now undulating and forested.
