Spycatcher

by Matthew Dunn

  The smoke in the hallway of the top floor was less dense but still swirled around his legs. He moved his gun left and right and saw that the rooms to either side of him were on fire, sending sporadic flashes of light into the corridor he was in. He stepped forward, and as he did so, he felt his leg brush against a large inanimate object. He angled his flashlight downward and saw the dead body of another man. He walked on and crouched low before sidestepping into the last bedroom with his gun directly in front of him. The smoke in this room was thicker, and curtains were on fire. On the floor in the center of the room Will saw a body lying on its side. It was rocking back and forth, a hand clutched to one leg. Will checked the surroundings but could see no weapon. He moved closer and put the muzzle of his Glock against the body’s neck before slowly pulling it onto its back. A woman looked up at him. Will glanced down at her leg and saw that she had been shot in the thigh. Her trousers were torn and covered in blood. The bullet had clearly done severe damage.

  Will bent to the woman’s face and said loudly, “Who sent you?”

  The woman’s eyes blinked rapidly. She looked terrified. Tears were streaming across her face, and they were clearly caused by pain, fear, tear gas, or all of those. She looked very young.

  “Who sent you?” he asked her again.

  The woman began coughing, and the sound instantly told Will that she had gas in her throat and lungs. He knew that he could not allow her to suffer like this. He ripped off his respirator and fixed it over the woman’s head. He said to her, “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out of this place.”

  He swept his arms under her body and lifted her, retaining hold of his gun and flashlight. He swiveled to face the room’s exit and quickly walked the woman into the hallway and down the stairs. She moaned as he carried her through flames and more smoke. Will pulled her closer to his body to try to shield her from the fire. The heat on his own exposed face was intense. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned and made his way toward the building’s rear door. He stepped over two more dead bodies and scattered guns as he did so. He walked out of the house and onto a small grassy area of garden. Four GSG 9 men were standing waiting there, and when they spotted Will, they immediately swung their weapons toward him and the woman, shouting in German. Will ignored them, placed the woman down on the wet grass, and removed the respirator from her face. She stared at him with a look that remained one of terror and pain.

  Will again leaned in close to her and spoke quietly and gently. “I’ll make sure you get medical help. This is not your fault. None of this is your fault. But I need to know who gave you instructions to attack the Reichstag Building.”

  The woman clamped her hand again over her leg wound, and Will saw that more blood was pulsing from under her palm. He knew that it was likely the bullet had torn through a vein, and he also knew that the woman would probably soon be in hypovolemic shock.

  “Who sent you?” Will’s voice remained hushed but urgent.

  The woman’s eyes widened. She said something inaudible. Will leaned closer so that his ear was against her lips. He heard her moan again, and then he heard her words.

  “The Iranian.” The woman’s voice was accented and raspy. “He sent us to die. But it was all a game.”

  “What do you mean?” Will remained motionless.

  The woman exhaled raggedly, and as she did so, she said seven words before pushing Will away and clutching her chest. Will watched her, knowing that the bullet had done more than just damage her leg. It had also induced a fatal heart attack.

  He stood as the GSG 9 men took charge of her dead body and carried it back into the burning house. He pulled off one glove, ran fingers through his hair, and remained still for a moment, breathing heavily. He cursed and shook his head as he wondered what kind of life the young woman could have had if she hadn’t chosen the path that had brought her to this house. He frowned as he repeated the woman’s words in his head:

  It was a game—to trick you.

  Twenty-Two

  “A game?” Patrick was hunched over a cup of instant coffee in his room at the Ritz-Carlton in Berlin. It was four hours after the attack of house 7 on Onlauer Street in Treptow.

  Will shook his head. “The German police found the twenty-five canisters containing the explosive and the thermite cutting charges in the attic of the house. They also found detailed plans of attack. The attack was going to happen.”

  “But Megiddo told us all about it via Hubble because he wanted us to believe that it was his main target.”

  Will rubbed the back of his neck. “We failed to anticipate the possibility that the Hubble Berlin report was both genuine and manufactured. It’s incredible that Megiddo constructed an operation of this magnitude and then sold it out.”

  Patrick clasped two hands around his coffee mug. “It means he’s hiding something far worse than the destruction of the German parliament.”

  Will stared at Patrick for a moment and then frowned in thought. “We’ve got to take things up a level.”

  Patrick’s silver eyes flickered. “I agree. But are you ready for that?”

  Lana showed no surprise when she saw Will waiting in her Zagreb hotel room. She set her two shopping bags on the floor, walked up to him, and kissed him on the cheek. Then she removed her coat and sat on the end of her bed, pulling a cigarette from the pack in her handbag. She was dressed in jodhpur-style cord slacks and a thick roll-neck sweater. As ever, her look was one of casual elegance.

  “You have hesitation in your eyes, Nicholas.” Lana lit her cigarette and smiled slightly. Her cheeks had color in them, and she exuded confidence and energy. “Are you wary of my intentions toward you now?”

  Will thought about her question and shook his head. “No, because I can control any such intentions.”

  Lana inhaled smoke, placed her elbows on her thighs, and rested her chin on her hands. She watched him for a while before saying, “I’m sure you can. But something is making you uneasy.”

  Will frowned.

  Lana retained her smile. “Maybe you are wary of yourself.”

  “You could be right.” Will knew she was right. He wanted more than anything to sit next to her and hold her.

  Lana studied him for a while longer before reaching back into her handbag. “The concierge just gave this to me.” She withdrew an envelope and held it out at arm’s length.

  Will moved closer, took the envelope, and unsealed it to remove a letter. He turned it over a few times and decided that it was not written on Iranian embassy stationery. The words were handwritten in a blue ink.

  Dear Lana,

  Of course you would not deliver to me the British man without being under my protection. I am reassured that you have taken such a stance. I am also grateful that you have sufficient confidence in my intentions to give me the man’s name. But hiding from him no longer serves any purpose. You must bring him near to you so that after you and I are reacquainted, I can make swift plans.

  Contact him and tell him that you are scared. Tell him that you are sorry you left Paris without telling him you had done so. Tell him where you are staying in case he needs you.

  I am closer to you than you may think. We will meet very soon.

  Your dear friend,

  Megiddo

  Will read the letter three times before handing it to Lana. He watched her read and then look up. Her expression had changed, and she now seemed agitated.

  “It’s him. It’s really him.” Lana extinguished her cigarette and immediately lit another one.

  “You’re sure?”

  She rocked back and forth a little. “I’m sure.” When she rubbed a hand over her mouth, the action smudged lipstick onto her chin. “What happens next?”

  Will walked over and took the letter from her hand. “We’ll give him what he wants as well as something unexpected.”

  He then gave her
a new sheet of stationery and dictated her response to Megiddo. When she had placed the completed letter in the envelope, Will pointed a finger so that it was touching the document. “You need to take that to the Iranian embassy now.”

  Lana nodded and placed her hand over his. She squeezed tight and said, “It’s funny. I’ve lived with years and years of hatred and a desire for revenge against Megiddo. That’s all that mattered to me. But now”—her smile faded, and she looked longingly at Will—“I wonder if that’s all that matters.”

  To my dear Megiddo,

  I did what you asked, but when I spoke to him, he sounded angry. He told me that he was in Berlin and had prevented you from doing something dreadful. He told me that you were playing games and that you were trying to mislead his people.

  He wants to see me again, and he will be traveling to Croatia within the next day or so. He told me that I had now become important to him. He told me that he needs to know what you look like.

  Please tell me what I should do. Please hurry and take me away from here.

  Yours,

  Lana

  “Okay, so what’s this idea of yours, Harry?” Will had traveled to Oslo Airport merely so that he could spend a few moments with Lace in the transit lounge where he was now seated. He had come straight here after receiving an SMS from Harry as he was leaving Lana’s hotel. Harry was flying on to Helsinki, and Will intended to leave the Norwegian airport on the next available flight to Zurich.

  Harry took a large gulp of his complimentary whiskey. “Human Benevolence Foundation. Have you heard of it?”

  The name sounded familiar to Will. “A nongovernmental organization?”

  “Yes. It’s Iranian and quite small. Not like some of the other Iranian NGOs and less obvious than the likes of Red Crescent, which we all know is a front for their intelligence services. HBF’s been in Bosnia for about three years and has been mostly building and rebuilding religious places. They seem”—Harry angled his head a little—“quite legitimate.”

  “You think this is where Megiddo is working from?”

  “I think it could be where he’s working from. I would not like to put it stronger than that.”

  “Why do you believe he could be there?”

  Harry smiled and swirled ice within his glass. “One of my other business interests is construction. We use a lot of subcontractor companies, and there’s a Bosnian guy who works for one of them who I’ve known for a long time. We go way back—before, during, and after the war. His own company has recently been awarded the contract to build a mosque in Sarajevo, with HBF money and according to their designs.” Harry waved one of his manicured hands in the air. “So my guy is working with HBF people. And there’s a man there. He’s midfifties in age, quiet, does nothing. My guy recognizes him.”

  “Qods Force?”

  “Yes.” Harry set his glass down. “At least he was when he was last in Bosnia during the war.”

  “A name?”

  “Nothing. My guy’s asked around to try to find out more.” He held up a finger. “Carefully, mind. He made it look as though he was just checking up on HBF to make sure they’re good for their money.” Harry dipped his little finger into his whiskey and then sucked the spirit off it. “Nobody knows anything about this Iranian man. It seems he keeps an extremely low profile, which is quite a difficult thing to do in a goldfish bowl like Sarajevo. And he seems to have no involvement or interest in HBF projects.”

  Will thought through a few issues. “Why would your guy do this? Why would he try to check up on this man?”

  Harry shrugged. “Because I asked him to.” He laughed. “Don’t worry, none of my people know about our arrangement.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “Trust?” Harry sniggered. “You know my views on that word. But I can say that he and I have been through too much together for us to distrust each other.”

  Will nodded his approval. “That’s excellent, Harry. I think your guy may have stumbled onto the Qods Force Western Directorate’s location. Maybe even Megiddo himself.”

  Harry finished his whiskey, and for once the man looked quite fatigued. He checked his watch and then said, “Business beckons. My flight will now be boarding.” He managed a tired smile. “On price I’ve just lost a deal with the Russians, but I’m hoping to offload the same deal to the Finns.”

  “Weapons?”

  “Warships.”

  Will leaned forward so that he was closer to Harry. “I have a request, but given the level you operate at, you may think it somewhat beneath you.”

  Harry waited.

  “If, and I only say if, I were to need guns for an operation in Bosnia,” Will asked, “would you be able to get them for me?”

  “How many users?”

  “Five men.”

  “Special operations gear?”

  “Yes.”

  Harry smiled in earnest this time. “I can arrange such a thing in seconds, but surely a man of your standing would not have need for under-the-counter equipment?”

  Will mimicked Harry’s shrug. “What you and I are doing has to be completely off the radar. Nothing can be official. You understand?”

  Harry flashed his white teeth. “Absolutely.” He forced himself upright and grabbed his leather overnight bag. “When you need the stuff, just call me and I’ll arrange everything.”

  Will stood and shook hands with his agent. As he did so, Harry pulled him closer to his body. All traces of his smile had vanished.

  “My associate’s name is Dzevat Kljujic.” Harry’s words were clipped and quiet. “He lives on Bulevar Branioca Dobrinje in the west of Sarajevo.”

  Will frowned. “You don’t need to tell me this. Your guy’s information is enough for me.”

  “No, it’s not because there’s more.” Harry gripped Will’s hand tighter. “Yesterday morning Kljujic called me with an update. He said that he was still drawing a blank on getting information about this Qods Force man. But he also said that he managed to discreetly take a photograph of him.”

  Will felt a rush of adrenaline course through his body. “When can you get hold of the shot?”

  Harry looked around quickly and then returned his gaze to Will’s eyes. “That’s the problem. I was supposed to meet Kljujic this morning before I traveled here. But he never showed up, and since then his cell phone’s been switched off. He’s disappeared.”

  It was 4:00 A.M. and very cold and dark as Will trudged over fresh Bosnian snow toward the urban house on Bulevar Branioca Dobrinje in Sarajevo. As he neared the property, he stopped and took shelter within the doorway of another house on the same street but across the road. He stood hidden in the unlit entrance and carefully examined his surroundings. Widely spaced lamps lined one side of the street, casting a dim yellow light over patches of the route. Some cars were parked near the properties, and judging by the snow cover on them, none had been driven for several hours. Will scanned the area of snow around the front door of Kljujic’s house but could see no sign of footprints or indeed any disturbances over the snow. He listened carefully but could hear nothing out of the ordinary. He looked directly at Kljujic’s property. It was part of a terraced complex and appeared quite modest from the outside. There were six windows on the façade, and all were dark, with wooden shutters closed behind glass. Will placed his hands inside his overcoat and waited for thirty minutes while analyzing every house that could overlook the target property. It seemed to him that the street was asleep.

  Finally he walked quickly across the street to Kljujic’s front door. He pressed the buzzer a total of five times, waiting fifteen seconds between attempts. He glanced up to look for lights being switched on, but there were none. He repeated the ritual, waited another twenty seconds, and strode back up the street, counting the number of houses on his left as he went. When he reached a small alleyway, he cut through the
place so that he was facing the rear gardens of the properties on Bulevar Branioca Dobrinje. He counted again as he walked alongside the backs of the houses until he knew he was standing directly behind Kljujic’s house.

  The garden before him had wooden fencing that Will estimated was ten feet high. He leaped up and swung his body over the top of the fence before dropping down into a crouch within the garden. He’d been hoping that the place around him would contain at least one feature or item that could help him with his task, but instead the garden was bare. He looked at the six windows on the rear of the house and saw that those on the ground and first floors had external bars to protect the property from forced intrusion. But the windows on the top floor had no such bars, although the wooden shutters behind the glass were clearly shut. Will made some quick mental calculations, breathed in deeply, and sprinted forward. As he neared the house, he jumped to place one foot on the sill of the ground-floor window, thrust upward so that he could grab the bars of the second window, and then pulled up so that his other foot was on that window’s sill. When both his feet were on the first-floor sill, he released his grip from the bars and allowed himself to fall backward a few inches before again thrusting both legs to jump up and grab a metal overhang above the top-floor window. The overhang moved a little with his weight, but he quickly fixed his feet into position on the top-floor sill so that his weight was now accommodated. He stayed in this position for a moment while listening. He heard nothing and quickly punched his fist into the glass. The sound from the strike carried down the windless street, and Will held his breath as he again listened, glancing left and right. He placed his gloved hand into the hole and started gradually and quietly breaking away pieces of glass. Within a minute he had stripped the window of all its glass. He placed both hands back onto the overhang and kicked hard into the center of the closed shutters. It took two attempts before they gave way and swung inward. He climbed into the house and total darkness.