He was met by a company car at Logan Airport. The driver was Vincent Spinelli a young man recruited by Trent four years earlier who had become a personal assistant as well as bodyguard. “First port of call is Quincy Market,” he said, “I’ll need you to park up and take up station to cover my back for this meeting.”
Vincent looked in the rear view mirror; “You think we are being followed?” Trent nodded but before he could elaborate his phone rang. He glanced down and his eyes narrowed. It was Amsterdam but it was earlier than scheduled. That was never good.
Vincent could only overhear parts of the short conversation but it was enough. Something had gone badly wrong. Trent was ashen faced. He spoke through clenched teeth in a series of snapped phrases. His whole body was rigid. The voice on the other end of the phone was trying to be calm but clearly had little to offer by way of assurance. A minute later Trent closed the call and put his phone away. He couldn’t help thumping his fist on the side window in frustration: “Unbelievable.” he uttered in near despair, “I ask for a simple surveillance and protection job and she loses both him and probably all the valuable information he has with him.”
Vincent waited a full thirty seconds to see if instructions would follow but Trent was lost in thought. “Do we still go ahead with your meeting in the market?”
Trent pursed his lips. His mind was racing. Haller was a big piece of the jigsaw and a major asset in dealing with his problems. Maybe the NSA had already recognised that and snatched him for themselves? Perhaps the Chinese had stepped in when he tried to leave for the USA without telling them? Maybe it was the British? Maybe Haller arranged his own disappearance? He winced inwardly. This was already out of control and he needed to get the initiative back. “Yes” he replied eventually. The NSA was going to be the solution to this whatever. He needed to talk.
The car pulled up near to the market and Trent stepped out. He walked slowly in order to allow Vincent time to park and to follow him in. The meeting had been set up in a small café with individual booths. It was busy, but at the far end of the room, three booths were occupied by solitary figures. In the middle one sat a very tall, slim figure in a tan coat over a dark blue suit. In his late forties he was beginning to go grey and the lines on his face indicated he had not had a particularly easy life. Trent had met him several times before, usually in Washington DC. He was only ever referred to as Sidowski. The booth to his left had an athletic young woman in a leather coat and jeans and in the one to his right, a large denim clad figure who looked like a male bodybuilder. They were clearly the protection.
Sidowski stood up to greet Trent and the two men shook hands politely. A waitress appeared and they both ordered black coffee. From the empty cup on the table it was clear that the NSA man had been waiting for him for a little while, even though Trent had arrived exactly on time. It only confirmed that everything he said and did was being recorded and watched.
Sidowski spoke slowly and deliberately. His voice was even and dispassionate but conveyed a hint of menace. “I understand you have sold some valuable genetic engineering technology to the People’s Liberation Army.” His gaze was locked on Trent’s eyes but the latter didn’t flinch. Inside, however he was taken aback. All his worry about revealing the Chinese connection had been unnecessary. The NSA were already onto it. He took a deep sip of the hot coffee before responding.
“Not quite” came the reply. “Esterhazy has done a deal involving the Chinese it is true, but by proxy through a Swiss subsidiary and brokered by British intelligence. Strictly speaking therefore, nothing illegal and all within the spirit of NATO co-operation.”
Sidowski looked annoyed: “I don’t care a rat’s arse if it is legal or illegal. I care that our military grade technology is being handed to the enemy, either directly or indirectly.”
Trent decided to take the offensive. “It’s not your technology. You didn’t sponsor or pay for it. The problem is that you really still haven’t grasped that this new arms race is being led by private companies and not by nation states.”
The NSA agent shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He knew that Trent was right but he also knew that the balance of power in most nation states still rested with the government and military. “If we can get back to reality” he almost snarled; “you and your boss are not seriously going to take on the federal government in a dispute over trade sanctions that were approved by Congress?”
Trent paused for a few moments and then held up his hands in a gesture of submission. “Fair enough, but what we traded wasn’t going to be our secret for long. Nor is it much use to them of itself. That is why they aren’t too happy…” Sidowski looked unmoved.
Trent sighed “...ok, …what if I told you that a spin off from our arrangement will give us the ability to hack into the North Korean ballistic missile programme.”
Sidowski blinked hard, absorbing the revelation. He seemed lost for words then blurted: “When were you going to give me this information? Do you have any idea what you have just said?”
Trent leaned forward “I was going to tell you when the product was successfully beta tested, something that is scheduled to take place this weekend. Unfortunately, that test is now threatened and I need your help to sort matters.”
Sidowski looked at him disbelievingly. “This is horse shit,” he muttered. “For all I know you have been discovered in an act that is little short of treasonable. Just to wriggle out of it, you have concocted some missile hacking story.”
Trent sat back and gathered his thoughts. Sidowski continued: “I need the truth and I need it now.”
There was little option. For the next forty minutes Trent set out in detail what had happened. Sidowski only interrupted a few times with questions for clarification. When he finished both men sat back and looked directly at each other. After a minute Sidowski seemed to have made up his mind. “Ok. What exactly do you need from us?”
Chapter Fourteen
Ray had been woken by the text vibration. It was nearly two hours since the instructions to pull up on the slip road and the news that the safe house was compromised. The next instruction was equally blunt. He was to leave the sleeping Fawzia in the car without disturbing her and to walk over to meet with Nia Williams at the filling station. It was odd, but not unknown, to get this kind of message. Still he checked his gun for reassurance and set off through the fog. It took a minute to cover the distance at a steady jog. The filling station had twelve pumps and only two were free. His phone vibrated again. The text read “Grey Range Rover Pump 3 Get in the rear”.
The massive bulk of the vehicle could be seen at the front of the third row of pumps. As he walked towards the blacked out windows his instinct was caution. He put his right hand on the butt of the 9mm Glock holstered under his leather jacket. The rear passenger side door swung open. He looked into the back and recognised the Nia instantly. “Get in Ray.”
This was totally unexpected. As far as he knew the Head of MI5 Counter Terrorism was controlling operations from a command post in the Cotswolds. He registered his surprise but climbed into the back and closed the door. The burly man in the front passenger seat asked for his gun and phone. He looked at Nia who nodded and confirmed: “Hand them over Ray.” He felt he had no choice but to comply.
The Range Rover sped away into the fog and onto the motorway network. “Apologies for the deception Ray” the voice was smooth and insincere, the welsh lilt pronounced.
He felt a sudden rush of alarm “What the hell is going on?”
Nia Williams produced a pistol from under her coat and rested it across her lap. “I had your phone hacked and used secure codes to message you.”
Ray simply nodded at the weapon: “That thing is going to make an awful mess of your clothes if you fire at me in here” His mind was racing and he needed time to think.
She smiled gently “I can get a new suit more easily than you can get a new abdomen.” Nia eased the hammer back so the gun wasn’t cocked. “Less chance of accidentall
y shooting you” she acknowledged.
“Why leave the Major back there?” He continued.
Nia’s smile faded: “Just call it a retrieval operation. The Major should be fine if she co-operates.”
Ray looked horrified. His mind raced with speculation about what was happening both to Fawzia and himself.
The journey continued in silence for the next ten minutes. There was shrill bleep and the car voice phone speaker came to life. It was a thick Arabic accent, a woman’s voice. “She escaped. We have her tablet and notes. How do you want us to proceed?”
Nia tensed slightly. “Resourceful woman.” She paused for a few seconds and seemed to relax again. “I’m glad she isn’t dead. We have already had too much collateral damage. However this requires a slight change of plan. Take the tablet and the team to the secondary location on Exmoor and decrypt it there. I will proceed to the safe house as planned.”
Ray felt shocked and confused yet relieved at the implication that Fawzia had escaped. He hated the thought that, however innocently, he had abandoned the Major to her fate. “You orchestrated an ambush on us? You are behind this attack?” It was two heartfelt questions. Then after a brief pause; “Why did you pull me away from the Jaguar?”
Nia frowned as if surprised at the implication: “Taking you out of that ambush served a purpose. It was going to be easier to execute the attack if you were not there. I didn’t think you were going to do anything stupid but I couldn’t risk it.”
“Why are you doing this?” Ray was almost pleading. He was reeling from the unexpected shift in events but fighting to keep calm and keep thinking.
“A long story Ray. There are a few of us who still hold to the view we are here to protect our country from harm. Even when that harm comes from the very people supposed to govern us wisely.”
Ray thought that sounded arrogant and delusional but decided not to challenge it. “So what now?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.
“Simple,” she replied. “We shall go to a safe house. The failure to secure the Major is unfortunate but we have built in contingency. The team are well equipped. They should be able to break into the tablet in a few hours.”
The fog was still thick but the signage on the road confirmed that they were heading north. Ray decided not to ask more questions but to concentrate on how he might escape.
Eight minutes behind the Range Rover, Fawzia was also on the M5 heading north and travelling in far less comfort in the back of the flatbed truck. Her first priority was to get some distance from the scene of the attack. The protocol was that she should check in and report what had happened by phoning Olsson. She was hesitant. She was no longer certain whom to trust. Ray had conveniently disappeared leaving her to face her fate. The car had been positioned on the slip road, apparently on Alicia Court’s orders. At best, it was possible communications to MI6 and MI5 were compromised. At worst she had to consider the idea they had set up the attack. No, she would call her own Joint Cyber Warfare Unit in Cheltenham.
She fumbled in her inside pocket and pulled out her phone. She could be traced by the SIM card. Extracting it deftly, she waited until she felt the vehicle slowing for a junction and heard the indicator signalling. As they left the motorway she threw it out of the truck onto the carriageway. Coming to the top of the ramp the truck paused to wait for traffic to pass. It was enough time for Fawzia to slip over the rear and scurry into the long grass verge. She was lucky. No one appeared to have seen her but she was also aware most junctions were covered by traffic cameras. She slid down the embankment to find a railway line protected by wire fencing. Climbing over it she listened for the sound of a train on the tracks but heard nothing. Quickly she crossed and scaled a similar fence on the far side. Over a muddy ditch she could see hedgerows which afforded better cover so she headed in that direction eventually skirting a couple of fields to arrive on the outskirts of the small village of Samford Peverell.
Amazingly, there was still a working public phone box in the main street. Fawzia had a few pound coins in her pocket and put one into the slot, dialling the emergency number for Joint Cyber Warfare in Cheltenham. A dispassionate female voice answered: “JCW. Code number and identity please.” It was a well-rehearsed procedure designed to mislead those who were trying to infiltrate the system. Instead of following the instructions Fawzia gave a code phrase, her military serial number and her national insurance number. The voice responded: “Date of birth, mother’s maiden name, passport number”. Without hesitation Fawzia rattled off the information exactly as asked. The voice continued: Please repeat the phrase: “Several times the shed rocked and rattled in the wind.” Fawzia replied “I cannot repeat that phrase as it is not the authorised code for these circumstances.” There was a pause of several seconds and the voice came back; “please hold.”
An agonising minute passed. Fawzia looked up and down the street but apart from a couple walking a dog and a young woman with a toddler in a pram, it was deserted. Suddenly a male voice she recognised was on the phone: “O’Connell”, he said in a broad Belfast accent. Kevin O’Connell was the JCW duty officer of the day. Fawzia sketched a brief background of the previous 24 hours and then went through what had happened on the motorway slip road in detail. When she finished there was silence on the end of the phone for several seconds. Then O’Connell’s voice came back: “Walk to the north edge of the village on the main road and await helicopter extraction.”
She felt relief but also anxiety. “Extraction to where?”
This time the reply was instant. “Major we are bringing you here to JCW Cheltenham for debriefing.” He hung up. It was the answer she hoped for. Back at her own base she would be protected and have the resources she needed to better deal with the surreal nightmare her life had become in the last twenty four hours. She left the phone box and slowly walked up the main road.
Chapter Fifteen
Haller remembered being pushed and the pain of falling down the steps. The loss of his bag was a blur but he saw the alarm on the face of the young Chinese woman who raced past him. He remembered being helped to his feet and the tall Dutchman who appeared at his side and asked him in German if he was ok. The sensation of a pin prick on his hand as it was held by the stranger was less clear, but a memory nevertheless. After that it was a blur. He seemed to be staggering and supported to a wheelchair that appeared as if from nowhere. Next thing he was being rushed out of the far entrance of the station and into a vehicle. An ambulance? He wasn’t certain. Then he must have completely passed out.
He came to consciousness slowly. His head ached and his vision was blurred at first. His hand felt swollen and bruised. He must have sprained it in the fall. The sensation of his limbs being paralysed gave way to the realisation he was tethered to a chair by plastic zip ties. His mouth was dry and tasted metallic. Gradually his surroundings came into focus. The room had a concrete floor and white tiled walls. The ceiling was bare other than a single fluorescent strip light. His metal chair was bolted to the floor as was the steel table opposite him. A single metal stool sat unoccupied behind it. Gradually the apprehension kicked in and then, as he recognised what had befallen him, it grew into a deep seated fear. Minutes later the single door swung open and in strode a tall guard in the uniform of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army. He stood to one side as a smaller figure entered and closed the door behind him. He recognised him immediately. Wearing a grey suit and an open necked white shirt under a shock of ginger red hair it was the steel grey eyes behind the heavy framed glasses that caught Haller’s attention. They stared at him with the fascination of a cat looking at a half dead mouse it was about to finish off.
“We meet again Dr.Haller” he said in a rich English accent reflecting a privileged upbringing and education. The eyes remained cold but there was a rather affected smile. The man put a box on the table between them.
Haller drew a deep breath: “Mr Benning. I’m afraid I don’t understand where I am and why I am tied up. Have I have
been abducted?”
“Forgive me,” came the response, “I am afraid our Chinese colleagues have been rather insistent about restraints since you tried to run off to the USA. I have been sent here by your friends in Lansing Research to see if I can help you.”
Haller looked uncertain, “Do I need help? Is there some problem?”
Benning looked at the Chinese guard who stood impassively in the corner of the room. “The problem, dear Doctor, is that you are in the basement of the Chinese consulate, having disappeared in Amsterdam without explanation. The problem is that you tried to leave Europe without telling them. The problem is that they want your work and expertise to address a threat your stupidity created…so yes, you need help.”
Haller looked crestfallen. His worst fears were confirmed. The Chinese had followed him and apparently kidnapped him. Within hours he could be smuggled in a diplomatic container to Beijing or somewhere else of their choosing. What he didn’t understand was why he was being questioned by a senior member of the British intelligence establishment? “Why you?” Haller asked.
Benning rubbed his hand through his hair in an impatient gesture and opened the box in front of him. He pulled out the laptop that had been stolen from the doctor at the rail station and switched for the chopping board. “Remember it was me who set up our joint technology project and because of that, the Chinese feel I should be the one to put things right. Furthermore Dr. Haller, I am one of the few people that understands the significance of what is contained on this machine.”
Treasonable Intent Page 9
