Assassins Rogue

by Rachel Amphlett

  ‘The Section.’

  ‘Knox’s black ops project?’ His eyes widened. ‘I thought that got mothballed years ago.’

  ‘You wish,’ Decker sneered. ‘You still haven’t answered my question. What are you? Ex-MI6?’

  ‘A long time ago.’ Leavey paused, pulled a cigarette packet from his back pocket and lit one before blowing smoke up to the ceiling. ‘I came across your skills in Belgium, late ’99. The target was a Hungarian dissident hoping to sell his secrets to the West while on a trade mission. You were sent to dispatch him after we discovered he was a double agent working for the KGB.’ He shrugged, his face rueful. ‘There are some jobs where MI6 prefers to keep a hands-off approach, more’s the pity.’

  Decker’s lip curled. ‘I remember the job. I don’t remember you.’

  ‘I was the one who was sent in to clean up afterwards. I recognised you from the surveillance footage we were watching during the op. We were parked half a mile away.’

  ‘What do you want, an apology?’

  Leavey chuckled. ‘No. We were both simply doing our jobs back then, weren’t we?’

  Eva held out her hand and made the introductions.

  ‘Yes,’ said Leavey. ‘I’ve heard your names before, too. Why are you here?’

  ‘First of all, why the subterfuge with the dressing up?’ said Nathan. ‘Have you received threats?’

  ‘Oh, all the time.’ Leavey waved them across to a round wooden table at the back of the room while he threw the cosmetic aids into a rubbish bin beside a single stove. After placing the glasses, wig and scarf on the worktop, he turned to them. He gave an apologetic shrug, although a smile creased his features. ‘Can’t take any chances at the moment.’

  ‘Tell us about Jeffrey Dukes and Adrian Ogilvy,’ said Decker.

  Leavey’s smile vanished. ‘So, that’s why you’re here. It’s true, then? They’re both dead?’

  ‘Murdered,’ said Eva.

  The former MI6 agent leaned against the workshop and lit another cigarette, his brow furrowed as she told him what had happened to his comrades. He shook his head when she finished, his green eyes troubled.

  ‘I worried about Jeffrey after I heard nothing since receiving a message from him over a week ago. I didn’t know about Adrian.’

  ‘What did Jeffrey’s message say?’ said Nathan.

  ‘That he believed he’d identified the person using the British government’s arms trade agreements to smuggle arms to unapproved countries, and that those countries could pose a threat to the stability of the region.’

  ‘Given their current policies of supplying finance and arms to suppressive regimes, that doesn’t surprise me,’ said Decker. ‘What’s so different about the countries being supplied on the black market?’

  ‘We – myself, Adrian and Jeffrey – think someone is trying to break the stranglehold on oil and gas supplies in the Middle East. Rather than the West trying to dictate terms with OPEC, why not simply reset the whole region, disrupt supply at that end and then renegotiate who’s entitled to what?’

  ‘But the British government already supplies arms to countries in the Middle East,’ said Eva. ‘What difference will it make?’

  ‘Because the man behind this isn’t supporting those countries – if he did, nothing would change. No, our research shows that the illegal arms are being sold to a country on the fringes of the Middle East and Europe run by a man with ambition. The problem is, he doesn’t know he’s being used because his ego is clouding his judgement.’

  ‘In what way?’ said Decker. ‘And by who?’

  ‘Think about it – what if a war was started by the leader of a country who had no other interest but to reset that power balance so that he could then take advantage amongst all the confusion? And, what if he was supported by someone with a vested interest in the outcome? Someone who would make money from the ensuing war – and the aftermath?’

  Eva leaned back in her chair, and drummed her fingers on the table. ‘It’s been done before.’

  ‘Exactly. Often with the public being told that a despot needs to be removed,’ said Leavey, his eyes gleaming. ‘Except this time, a Western government isn’t involved. It’s one man.’

  ‘You said you found out who,’ she said.

  The former MI6 agent nodded. ‘It was only by chance. We used to catch up for drinks in London from time to time––’

  ‘The Association of Former Intelligence Officers,’ said Nathan.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So much for being retired,’ said Decker.

  Leavey’s mouth twisted. ‘I don’t think you ever retire from this, do you? Anyway, both Adrian and Jeffrey were working legitimate jobs these past few years – I think they found other causes to get their teeth into, but they always kept their ears open. The skills might get rusty over time, but you never lose them completely.’

  ‘Who’s your target?’ said Eva.

  ‘Elliott Wilder.’

  Nathan coughed. ‘The owner of the biggest supplier of weapons to the British government?’

  Leavey jabbed his cigarette towards him. ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Why? He’s already making a shit ton of money through legitimate arms sales. Why do this?’

  ‘Because Elliott Wilder is a Russian agent.’

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  ‘Mr Wilder?’

  Elliott flicked down the top of the broadsheet newspaper he was reading and peered over it as a slim woman in her mid-forties approached the cluster of Chesterfield armchairs, a welcoming smile on her lips as she balanced a clutch of manila folders under one arm.

  ‘Charlotte Hughes,’ she said, extending a hand as he stood. ‘We’ve spoken on the phone. If you’d like to come with me? He’s ready to see you now.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He leaned over, drained the last of his coffee, then picked up his briefcase and fell into step beside Charlotte as she led him away from the plush surroundings of the reception area and along a wide corridor.

  ‘I trust you had a good flight?’ she said, steering him through a melee of junior civil servants who were talking at the top of their voices.

  ‘I did, thank you.’ He shot her a casual smile. ‘The benefits of having one’s own private aircraft.’

  ‘Indeed,’ she replied. ‘City Airport, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She paused beside a wooden panelled door. ‘Here we are.’

  Charlotte knocked once, then opened it and stepped to one side to let him pass.

  ‘Elliott – good to see you,’ bellowed Edward Toskins.

  The Minister for the Department for International Trade moved away from the large windows overlooking Whitehall Place and rounded the large conference table, beaming.

  ‘Edward, likewise – I was surprised to get your call, though.’

  ‘Just a formality, old boy. Appreciate you coming all this way at short notice.’ Toskins pumped his hand, his cheeks flushed with the signs of a man who enjoyed a brandy or three on a daily basis. He turned to the other man in the room. ‘I don’t believe you’ve met my senior adviser, Neil Hodges.’

  Elliott nodded to Hodges, declining to shake his hand and instead turning his attention to Charlotte as she set out the manila folders alongside water glasses, notepaper embossed with the Ministry’s letterhead, and complimentary pens.

  The room held a mustiness, a history that soaked into the thick crimson carpet and oak-panelled walls, and he took a moment to savour the moment, conscious of the part he was about to play in the near future of the country’s political wrangling.

  ‘Take a seat, Elliott,’ Toskins said, waving his hand expansively. ‘Anywhere you like.’

  Moving around to a seat by the window and facing the only door in and out of the room, Elliott busied himself with the contents of his briefcase while the others took their places.

  ‘Char – could you chase up some tea and coffee?’ said Hodges. ‘That is, if Mr Wilder would like some?’
/>   The woman grimaced at the familiarity but, to her credit, forced a smile.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you. I’m sure Ms Hughes has enough to do,’ said Elliot, ‘but you go ahead if you need something.’

  ‘No – no, that’s all right,’ Hodges simpered. ‘As long as our guest is comfortable.’

  Elliott dropped his gaze to avoid Charlotte’s ill-disguised smirk, took his seat and folded his hands on top of the folder she had left in front of him.

  Remaining silent while the two men traded chit-chat and attempted to convey a sense of business as usual while taking their seats opposite him, Elliott ran his eyes over the paperwork they laid out.

  No surprises – as he and Aaron had suspected, the British government was covering up the theft of four Hellfire missiles, and was now busy interviewing suppliers to find out who to blame for the lax security that led to it.

  He bit back a surprised retort at the second name on the list – he hadn’t been aware that the Brits had awarded a contract to that company, and resolved to task Aaron with a little corporate espionage in the coming weeks to find out why they had been successful, and then systematically destroy their credibility.

  ‘Now, Elliott. Sorry to be an absolute bore, but needs must,’ said Toskins. ‘This request comes straight from the top – the PM herself – and one of our intelligence agencies, so we have to be seen to be toeing the line.’

  Elliott smiled. ‘Not a problem, Edward. I’d expect nothing less from a man of your stature.’

  The Minister visibly preened. ‘Charlotte, dear – ready to take notes?’

  ‘Yes, Minister.’

  ‘Elliott, as you can see from the papers we have here, we had a situation in Ízmir last week whereby a shipment of arms from the US was missing four Hellfire missiles,’ said Toskins. ‘Hate to bring this up, old chap, but we’re concerned as to who knew about the missiles being on board in the first place. We’re at a loss as to what went wrong. Perhaps you could tell us whether you’ve received any threats to your business or are aware of any problems in the past?’

  ‘I’m very sorry to learn about this,’ said Elliott. ‘I can assure you that if this had been brought to my attention at the time, I would have been able to ascertain from my associates in the US whether there were any threats made,’ he said, leaning back in his seat and savouring the late afternoon sunlight that bathed his shoulders. ‘However, it would have been more prudent if you’d asked me when the theft was first discovered. As you know, I have innumerable people at my disposal who could help with any investigation.’

  Toskins cleared his throat, and lowered his voice. ‘Yes, well, I must apologise that no-one in my office thought to contact you last week.’ He waved his hand at the woman. ‘No need to note this, Charlotte. We only found out about it ourselves four days ago, and as you’ll appreciate we deal with a number of arms suppliers so these meetings have been non-stop since.’

  Elliott shot him an enigmatic smile as Charlotte picked up her pen once more. ‘I understand from my sources that the ship conveying the container made two stops prior to arriving in Ízmir. What efforts have been made to see if the missiles were stolen there?’

  ‘Our intelligence agencies report they have nothing to share with us yet,’ said Hughes, and wrinkled his nose. ‘They tell us they’re underfunded and understaffed.’

  ‘Well, I do hope you’ll let me know when they’re concluded, and what you’ve managed to glean from your investigation,’ said Elliott.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Toskins glared at Hodges before turning back to Elliott, his cheeks flushing. ‘So as far as you’re aware, Elliott, those missiles were not removed by any of your subcontractors? Even by accident, shall we say?’

  ‘I should hope not. My contractors have the highest security clearances,’ he said, tapping the pages in front of him and injecting a note of consternation into his voice, ‘unlike some of our smaller competitors, by the look of it.’

  Toskins’ face flushed. ‘Well, good. Good. I’m very glad to hear it, Elliott – and thank you for being so frank with us.’

  ‘Not a problem, Edward.’ Elliott flashed a smile at the two men, then flicked his wrist and checked his watch. ‘Are we done here? It’s just that the Foreign Secretary’s asked me to have drinks with him at five.’

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Eva couldn’t prevent the choked gasp that escaped her lips. ‘What proof have you got that Elliott Wilder is a Russian agent?’

  Patrick Leavey pulled out a chair and dropped into it with a sigh.

  In that moment, she noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the weariness in his shoulders, and wondered what he had done for Queen and country over the decades.

  As if sensing her concern, he managed a small smile before continuing.

  ‘His parents moved to the UK from Romania in the 1960s – they were lucky to get out by all accounts, but the Russians kept an eye on them, particularly their son. We think the KGB got their claws into him at university in the late seventies.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Decker. ‘And no-one ever knew?’

  ‘Too much else going on with nuclear Armageddon just around the corner in ’83 thanks to the Able Archer NATO exercises,’ said Leavey. ‘After university, Wilder set up various companies, selling them at a profit each time until finally establishing the arms supply business he has now.’

  ‘How’d he get away with that?’ said Nathan.

  Leavey shrugged. ‘It’s a legitimate business. He pays his taxes, supports a number of veterans’ associations – ironic, I know – and he’s friends with several government ministers. He’s used the business to whittle his way into British government contracts. Using it as a front, he’s now covertly selling arms to countries that will cause unrest – unrest that will play into the Russian government’s wider plans to destabilise Europe and sour its relationship with the United States.’

  ‘Why kill Dukes and Ogilvy?’ said Eva. ‘Did they get too close?’

  ‘That, and the fact we’re the only ones who can identify him,’ said Leavey. ‘Our individual agencies – MI6 and Interpol – had a watching brief on Elliott Wilder during the eighties and early nineties while he was building up his business empire. The agencies watched everyone that had a remote link with communism. He was too good for us, though. We never managed to get any proof to support the suspicions about him at the time, but the three of us kept an open file on him and a few others, just in case.’

  ‘And being retired, you haven’t had the full support of your old network to protect yourselves while you tried to uncover what he was up to, right?’

  ‘Yes, and because the UK side of the Association is so fractured compared to that of our US compatriots, we didn’t have such a strong network of people to call on. We knew we were dealing with a dangerous man. They both knew the risks.’ Leavey shook his head. ‘It doesn’t make it any easier to bear, though. How did they die – have you got any intel about that?’

  Eva told him, and saw the hatred in his expression as he clenched his fists.

  ‘He’ll pay for that,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how, but I will make him pay.’

  ‘How did he locate them so easily?’ said Nathan. ‘Our lot couldn’t find any history for them prior to their current jobs – nothing legitimate once they started digging, anyway.’

  ‘For someone like Elliott, it wouldn’t have been difficult. Money talks, after all,’ Patrick said, shaking his head. ‘I’m sure between him and his paymasters that they have their own network of spies and informants all over Europe.’

  Eva rocked back in her seat, her mind racing. ‘Could it really have been that easy for him?’

  ‘Must have been. Both Jeffrey and Adrian are dead, aren’t they?’

  ‘What about the others? The other retired agents in the UK who know about what Elliott is planning?’ said Decker. He placed his hands on the table and glared at each of them. ‘Well? We have to warn them, don’t we?’

  Patr
ick took a final drag on his cigarette, blew the smoke at the ceiling and then ground out the butt in an already overflowing ashtray in the middle of the table.

  ‘That’s the problem. I’m the only one left.’ He gestured to the small apartment. ‘Not that hiding is a problem. They’re hardly going to launch a missile attack on me all the time I’m in the middle of the city, are they?’

  Decker shot Eva a glance, then cleared his throat and turned back to Leavey.

  ‘That’s why we’re taking you to North Africa.’

  Chapter Forty

  London

  * * *

  ‘Chief – got a minute?’

  Miles poked his head around the corner of Knox’s office, his words breathless after sprinting along the corridor from the operations centre.

  The Section chief glanced up from his computer screen, then beckoned to him.

  ‘Thanks.’ Miles crossed the room and collapsed into one of the armchairs opposite him.

  ‘Nathan’s just reported in – they found Leavey holed up in an apartment in Lisbon.’

  Knox exhaled and pushed his keyboard away. ‘It’s about time we had a breakthrough.’

  ‘There’s more.’ Miles took a deep breath. ‘Leavey says Elliott Wilder is behind all this – and that he’s a Russian spy.’

  There was a pause, a beat, a split second where Knox’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ he managed. ‘For how long?’

  ‘Leavey reckons since he was at university in the seventies.’

  Knox’s jaw clenched. ‘We need to act fast, Miles. This can’t go public.’

  ‘I realise that, Chief. Hang on.’ Miles walked back to the door, closed it, then pulled down the blind on the window beside it, ignoring the curious glances from passing Section staff.

  ‘You have a plan?’ said Knox as he returned to his seat.

  ‘We think we do.’ Miles took a moment to compose his thoughts. Knox was likely to agree, but he needed to set out the steps to be taken with clarity – after all, it would be Knox’s job on the line if it went wrong.