A Shadow Intelligence

by Oliver Harris

  A meeting with the President and the head of KMG was lined up for 8 a.m. tomorrow. Two hundred more GL5 contractors were set to roll into Kazakhstan by nightfall.

  I was shown into a glass-walled side office with framed pictures of flare stacks and six tense individuals standing around a table of contracts. Lucy Piper was there, typing, one phone between ear and shoulder, one flashing on the table beside her. She raised an eyebrow by way of greeting. I was introduced to Jill Friedman from the European Bank, Ahmad Suleiman representing the Qatar Investment Authority. Carter stood at the back, arms crossed, bristling. He had a rugby player’s build and a drinker’s flush to his face. He had taken a big gamble and was a presidential signature away from breaking the casino. I recognised him, seeing him up close, and knew I’d been in his company before, but couldn’t think where. His lawyer and chief negotiator stood beside him, sixty-something, thinning white hair, tight-jawed. This was Ronald Steiner, who I’d heard about in Iraq: go-to man for oil contracts. He looked furious.

  Walker was playing an audio file off his MacBook: two men talking in what sounded like a car, a debate in Russian about the term pon-yatino. From people’s expressions, he’d played it a few times before. A translator was struggling.

  ‘A pon-yatino is like an understanding, rather than a written agreement.’

  ‘So which is stronger?’ Steiner wanted to know. The men on the recording, I gathered, were the head of Kazakhstan’s state energy company and the Russian Minister for Oil and Gas. Saracen had extraction rights on any new discovery, but it seemed the Kazakhs weren’t compelled to grant those rights unless certain criteria had been fulfilled. The criteria were spread across the table alongside intel on Gazprom’s proposed offer, and satellite images of the region with military activity circled.

  The voices continued:

  ‘No Western company.’

  ‘No. He is clear.’

  ‘He understands. It is unacceptable.’

  ‘You have spoken to …’

  ‘To Putin, to his people. They say this has always been the position.’

  ‘Always.’

  Steiner hit pause.

  ‘The field or the line is unacceptable?’ he asked.

  ‘Both, I think,’ the translator said.

  I was trying to figure out what the line referred to, when I saw it. Among the paperwork on the table was a map showing a proposed route for a pipeline. It ran west from the field to Aktau, under the Caspian to the terminal south of Baku in Azerbaijan. From Baku to Erzurum in Turkey, up through Bulgaria and Romania to Austria. Plans came courtesy of Bechtel Engineering. They were costed. Either a team of hundreds had worked overnight or there were longstanding ambitions in play.

  ‘You’ve been up to the drill site?’ Steiner asked. It took me a second to realise I was being addressed.

  ‘Just returned.’

  ‘How does it look?’

  I talked them through the situation, indicating that these were highly trained fighters coming in. I mentioned the local support Saracen might need to draw upon, alluding to Akan Satayev without actually using the words ‘heroin-trafficking warlord’. When I’d finished, Steiner clicked a mouse and a map appeared on a wall-mounted screen: Kazakhstan divided horizontally by a meandering dotted line. It took me a second to realise what I was looking at, then I felt sick.

  ‘These are the regions we think the Russians would go for: Akmola, Pavlodar, East Kazakhstan.’

  I followed the dashed line that signified the Russian border sinking south.

  ‘Those regions mostly have forty to fifty per cent ethnic Russian population. Then there’s West Kazakhstan and Kostanay which are less clear.’

  Piper waved her phone, cleared her throat. ‘Sir Mark Jameson from the Foreign Office is on the line.’

  ‘Get him a copy of this,’ Steiner said, gesturing at the map as he gathered his papers. ‘I want him to see this.’

  The Saracen crew moved as one towards the secure communications area, followed shortly by the others, leaving Walker, Piper and myself. We all stared at the map.

  ‘The Crimea rerun narrative is strong,’ Piper said, eventually, managing to sound level-headed. ‘We let Russia get away with that. Not again. This is a challenge to the world.’

  ‘Where did you get the map?’ I asked.

  ‘Analysts. Does it fit what you’ve seen?’

  ‘It fits a nightmare. Why exactly is Robert Carter on the phone to the Foreign Office?’

  ‘Saracen want guarantees, backed up by military commitment if Russia oversteps the line. They’re in conversation with the EU as well, with regards to the pipeline. People are up for this,’ Piper said. ‘It’s a game-changer.’

  ‘I really wouldn’t push the pipeline-to-Europe angle,’ I said.

  ‘Not up front, no,’ Piper agreed. ‘In-house perhaps, for Westminster. Energy security.’

  ‘The whole project cuts Russia off from Central Asia.’

  ‘Should we shed tears?’

  ‘They won’t let it happen. They never do. I can tell you at least three similar schemes in the last ten years, all of which led to a protracted conflict and no line.’ I stepped closer to the map and traced the new border with my finger, then down into the empty spaces. There were few population centres. An army could gain a hundred miles with a single battle.

  ‘Apparently the military base in Omsk has become lively,’ Walker said. ‘A couple of hundred ground forces from Russia’s Central Military District arrived in the last few hours.’ He seemed phlegmatic, the SAS man in his comfort zone. ‘Russia’s Armenian bases have also lit up. Same with the airfield near Bishkek. And we’re getting repeated reports of Russian civilians arming in Kazakhstan. GL5 are holding twenty of them who came near the site: possibly Sigma, possibly amateur local protection units.’

  I didn’t want to dwell on the legal sensitivities of a private security contractor holding twenty Kazakh citizens. I concentrated on the big blank map.

  ‘If they make a move it will be fast and on the ground,’ I said. ‘Government buildings, roadways, telecom cables – they’ll have them within hours.’

  ‘We’re preparing for that. Lines open with both Kazakh military and China. GL5 have some advanced capability: the means of blocking radar and electronic jamming. They’re monitoring.’

  ‘China’s invested too much to let Russia march in,’ I said.

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘Any annexation would cut their new Silk Road in half. That’s our biggest asset.’

  ‘For sure.’

  ‘What about the other ’Stans? Who would they side with? Could they turn against Russia?’

  ‘We’re hearing positive noises. Certainly Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan would be reluctant to fall in line with Moscow, if it came down to it.’

  ‘Find out what kind of loans Russia has given this place, and then how much China’s put in. Most war is debt collection. See who’s left out of pocket.’

  Walker agreed, collected his papers and went to speak to his own analysts. I was briefly alone with Piper and her press releases.

  ‘Whose idea was it to call the field Conqueror?’ I said.

  ‘Not us.’

  ‘You should try to find something local, something Kazakh.’

  ‘We can try.’ Piper thought. ‘This is about independence, right? Local strength. What could be more independent than selling your oil to Europe?’

  ‘When you’ve got five thousand miles of border with Russia, that’s not a joke. Eight billion pounds: a flagship for the Kazakh economy, the largest-ever foreign investment in Kazakhstan. Money from this deal will keep the peace, keep Kazakhstan at the heart of international values and progress. And Gazprom don’t have the tech. They won’t get it out of the ground.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. But it sounds right. This is fracking, horizontal drilling, new advances. Show diagrams, flag up old Russian kit. Get photos of dead herons from Gazprom fields. Russia w
ill be ready to exploit environmental issues. Spin Conqueror as a clean-up operation. This isn’t wilderness, it’s a brown site. We’re going to leave it in a better state than we find it. We’ll clean up the groundwater, dispose of the radioactive tailings. Then get the British Prime Minister over here on Independence Day. Now or never. Gold fountain pens.’

  She stared at me, unblinking, tongue pressed against her teeth.

  ‘That’s a big ask.’

  ‘What you get the man who has everything is moral approval. The President doesn’t need more money, he needs to look good in the eyes of the world, so he can hand it all to his daughter and people still cheer. It can be twenty-four hours in and out.’

  ‘I’ll put out feelers.’

  Walker returned with paperwork. ‘Kazakhstan owes Russia five billion for arms sales alone. Then there’s about three billion in cash-for-oil financing: pre-pay deals.’

  ‘China will have more,’ I said.

  ‘China’s loaned this place fifteen billion in the last two years. Mostly through joint ventures.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Piper said.

  ‘That’s how they colonise,’ I said. I’d been expecting a lot, but not that much. You look in the accounts book and the whole thing’s floating on thin air. It’s a shell game, and then something threatens to bring it down, some little thing, and the tanks appear.

  ‘It makes it pretty obvious,’ I said. ‘There’s no way Beijing would let Russia invade.’

  Walker handed me the report. The China Investment Corporation had issued 60 billion dollars in bonds to underwrite construction in Kazakhstan. They needed to make a profit of 20 million yuan every day just to pay the interest and operation costs.

  ‘You know, the Chinese refer to the Russians as the warring nation,’ I said.

  ‘I hear you,’ Piper said, writing this down.

  ‘Do they try to hack us?’ I asked.

  ‘The Chinese? Only about ten times a day.’

  ‘Put the annexation map on the system, take the security off.’

  ‘I’m not in a position to do that,’ she said, more like a disclaimer than a fact. ‘But I’ll pass the suggestion on.’ Her phone rang. She checked the screen and got to her feet. ‘You can still make the party?’ she asked me, heading for the door.

  ‘The party?’

  ‘Galina’s birthday. Tonight.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Will you get a chance to shave?’ She was serious. I nodded. She slipped me what I thought was a flash drive but turned out to be a tube of concealer – ‘for your injuries.’ I nodded. Then she was gone.

  Walker said, ‘People are asking about the local support on the ground you mentioned, as a temporary measure for keeping the field secure. How much of a politically acceptable option is Akan Satayev?’

  ‘He’s the only option.’

  ‘How many men does he control?’

  ‘I think he’s got two or three hundred in the area now. And it’s a clan system, with alliances: each of those men can bring in thirty or forty more. There are gangs in Tajikistan and Uzbekistan that ultimately answer to Satayev. They can be protecting Conqueror in days.’

  ‘What would he need to work with us?’

  ‘A few hundred thousand, I reckon. Get his trucks moving, crossing borders, his men equipped, confident that they’ve got backing. In the longer term, with the field, it may come down to giving him a cut of final profits.’

  ‘There’s no way he’s getting final profits,’ Walker said. ‘But keep that channel open.’

  ‘He’ll need reassurances. Concrete ones.’

  ‘You know more about that side of things than I do. There are options. Keep him onside if you can.’

  ‘Sure.’

  He glanced outside the office, then shut the door, locked it, turned to me. The mood had changed. I let him work his way out of the silence.

  ‘We know she pursued Craig Bryant. All Carter knows for now is that there was a leak of some kind, somewhere along the line. They want to sue Auracle.’

  ‘That’s going to get messy.’

  ‘We’re going to make sure it doesn’t. We’re going to bury the whole Joanna thing. Understand?’

  ‘No, I don’t understand.’

  ‘Are there any other copies of the footage showing Joanna in Vishinsky’s car?’

  I felt myself thrown off-balance. My muscles tensed, and I glanced across the room for objects I could use as a weapon if it came to blows, wondered how much of his training Walker remembered. Where did he get that information? Shomko? From taps on me? There was no shortage of ways.

  ‘Your pisshead police officer needs to forget he ever saw it.’

  ‘And the computer-generated clip I showed you? What has that got to do with spying for Vishinsky?’

  ‘What’s it got to do with anything? What are you really doing here, Elliot?’ He was too cool, too experienced for all-out anger. And he held cards. ‘Both you and Joanna have been on a caution list since 2010, with some heavy question marks by your names. Security Branch are very, very keen to speak to you right now, as you can imagine. So be thankful you’re in here and not Belmarsh. I may be the only one still willing to trust you.’

  It was possible, but the feeling wasn’t mutual. If he didn’t trust Joanna he didn’t trust me. Manage the immediate situation, I thought: Russian incursion, a possible bomb in Astana. Then get out.

  ‘Do you know where she is?’ I asked.

  ‘Moscow, I expect.’

  ‘I was hunting her for you.’

  ‘I don’t remember asking you to come over here. Joanna Lake’s seen in a car connected to Vladislav Vishinsky on Saturday the twenty-fifth. Over the next forty-eight hours there’s huge Russian activity: flights booked, meetings arranged, money transferred. The first troops move down to the Kazakh border. We’ve checked imagery from the last week down to minutes and hours. Vishinsky arranges an emergency meeting at which he presents data to Gazprom. And there’s a payment of half a million dollars into a Cayman Islands account Joanna set up the previous month.’

  He produced the last fact with a flourish, and enjoyed watching me hesitate.

  ‘How do you know?’ I asked.

  ‘We know.’

  ‘That’s my point. She’s a trained officer. You think she sets up a visible account in the Cayman Islands?’

  ‘Elliot, do you really think it’s impossible she’d do this?’

  ‘She’d do it better. This is being handed to us.’

  ‘So why didn’t you tell us about the footage from Lieutenant Shomko?’

  ‘Why would I trust you?’

  Walker sighed. ‘The phone line’s secure,’ he said. ‘Sigma troops have begun taking hostages. Call Satayev, tell him we need him. Unless it turns out you do favour Moscow. If so, I’d find a way of moving there.’

  He walked out. I picked up the phone, called Craig Bryant instead. I was surprised that he answered. He sounded like he’d been drunk but sobered by my call.

  ‘Toby, what’s happened?’ he said.

  ‘Why? You okay?’

  ‘The company’s had some problems.’

  ‘What problems?’

  ‘Big problems. You struck me as a guy who might hear things. Have you?’

  ‘Nothing. I don’t understand.’

  ‘Shit, Toby. You work somewhere like this and you know it’s not going to be Houston, but I’m not equipped to operate in a jungle.’

  ‘A jungle?’

  ‘We spoke about that woman, Vanessa. Ever hear anything else?’

  ‘The documentary maker? You think she caused you problems?’

  ‘This town, Toby … ’ It sounded like he dropped the phone. I heard him shuffling around, then his voice returned. ‘Are you going to the party later?’

  ‘Maybe. Are you?’

  ‘If I don’t make an appearance people will talk.’

  ‘What will they say?’

  ‘They’ll say I’m not there. See you later, Toby.’

&n
bsp; I studied the annexation map, then social media: a burning building, the first clips of refugees, cars laden with mattresses and furniture and mirrors. It looked like Bosnia to me, but the licence plates were Kazakh. I went to the window. The dome of the Presidential Palace shone blue through the snow. The Triumph of Astana muscled into the horizon beyond it.

  I called my contact for Jan Jágr, the Slovak arms dealer, and once the contact had called back I spoke to Akan Satayev.

  ‘Jágr’s on. If you can find somewhere for a plane to land, he can get you the equipment you need. My people can cover the cost.’

  ‘And for us?’

  Satayev named his price: 1.5 million dollars in cash, hand-delivered to his man in Astana.

  ‘I’ll ask. If they do agree, that’s going to take some time.’

  ‘The Russians are not taking their time. More men are coming in every hour.’ He lowered his voice. ‘They have spoken to me. They have reached out.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  I left a message for Walker:

  1.5.

  When I tried to leave the HQ it turned out I needed an escort: the lifts were pin-code entry. I was searched before I entered them, my phone checked for photos. I watched Carter march back from his call with the Foreign Secretary, poker-faced.

  I thought of the Herald Tribune clipping I’d seen at Elena’s: Both rivals and shareholders claim he has paid well over the odds on a quixotic and personal mission. Lucky gamble, I thought. Choosing Kazakhstan as the place to drill, buying up Saracen, billions of his own money thrown in. The chips were stacked high, the ball spinning.

  I looked at his face and tried to think where I’d met him before.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Six hours to party time. I looked a mess. At the Ramada Plaza they seemed surprised to see me.

  ‘Mr Bell.’

  ‘How have things been?’

  ‘All very fine here. We have an oriental buffet in the restaurant tonight, if you are interested.’

  I went up to my room and stood there in the light of the TV holding a crumpled shirt, Semey on the TV. I glanced across the faces in the angry crowd, and thought of my experiences there. Thought of Akan Satayev and his men, who weren’t on the TV yet.