‘Great. Are you going to tell me where that is?’
Harry wagged a hand in the air. ‘I haven’t firmed that up yet. But that’s where your local knowledge will help. Where’s the nearest A&E to the industrial zone? Somewhere not too busy, maybe on the outskirts of the city.’
Clare thought about it, her brow furrowed. ‘The main A&E units are close to the centre, at Kizhevatova and Kiseleva streets. But I don’t think they would risk taking him to either of those – and not with a bomb strapped to him.’
‘I’m hoping they’ll get rid of that before they take him in. But there’s no way I can control that.’
‘There’s too much security in the city centre and they have police units based on the premises to prevent incidents, and scanners on the doors. Why would they need to take him to hospital?’
‘That doesn’t matter. If I can make it happen, it’s our one chance to get Rik out of danger. But I agree the central units increase the risk of something going wrong. Where else?’
She didn’t look sure and said, ‘I’ve got an idea, but I’ll need you to go with me on this.’ She took out a mobile phone.
Harry said, ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m calling Katya. She knows the city’s emergency units better than I do – and she knows the GRU.’
‘Won’t she blow the whistle as soon as we tell her?’
‘No. She’s here to provide training and assistance to the locals. She also hates the way Moscow treats Belarus.’ Clare leaned forward. ‘Harry, she’s our best hope to get this sorted out. Believe me – I trust her.’
He relented. ‘All right – call her. But only because you called me Harry.’
She grinned. ‘Yeah, but don’t get used to it.’ She touched a speed dial key and waited.
Katya arrived within fifteen minutes. She was blonde and slim and appeared small under a heavy coat. Harry could just see the edge of her uniform collar underneath.
‘I won’t take this off,’ she said, indicating the coat. ‘Some of the locals don’t appreciate seeing Russian uniforms on the street.’ Her English was excellent and fluid. She shook hands with Harry and took a seat while Clare ordered coffee.
Harry gave her a potted version of Rik’s situation and the threat of the cyber attack. She listened without comment, and when the coffee arrived she took a few sips.
‘If this is true,’ she said carefully, ‘then you are right to want to move your friend first. I can help with that. But—’
‘But what?’ said Harry. ‘You don’t believe the cyber threat?’
She put her cup down. ‘I can believe it might have been said, but as a genuine threat, it seems heavy-handed. And why would they do it?’
‘Why wouldn’t they?’ Harry countered. ‘We’re talking about Putin; he throws his weight around all the time.’
‘Maybe. But the GRU would not be authorized to make a threat of such magnitude to gain the cooperation of just one man. It’s unreasonable. Illogical.’ She leaned forward and tapped the table in front of her. ‘If what you say is true, your country would be brought to a standstill by this. There would be riots and looting and armed insurrection. The effects would be disastrous and the economy ruined. But Putin has no use for dead economies. How would he benefit from that? You think he wants to invade? Why? It would be crazy. He would be overstretching himself.’
‘So what does he want?’ said Harry.
Katya shrugged. ‘I don’t know. If he wants to do anything it’s to control economies through the supply of oil and gas – and gaining dependency on Russia. He wants to compete with the US and have countries reliant on Moscow’s support. He is already supplying the EU with a third of their imports of natural gas and wants to do more. A broken country would not be able to use such things effectively.’ She sat back and declared, ‘I’m not defending him, but I cannot see what he would gain by such an attack.’
‘Then who would?’
‘I don’t know. There are people around him … maybe some who want to gain influence or power or maybe even take over. But Putin? I cannot see it.’
‘You sound very sure.’
She nodded. ‘Before coming here I was a high-level officer in our Federal Protective Service – the FSO. I was close enough to hear many conversations among senior ministers around Putin – and these are the things I heard talked about.’ She gave a cool smile. ‘Strategies, they called them. Tactics … war games. They liked to quote famous Russian tacticians like Slashchov and Suvorov and even the Chinese General Sun Tzu. It was to show how well-read they were but in the end they are men: they want to show how big their dicks are and how close to the centre of power they might be.’
Harry let that one slide. ‘And this was with you right there?’
‘I was rated at the highest level of security, so why should they care what I heard? In fact, I think some of them got off on it.’
‘So it’s a bluff?’ Clare said. ‘Scare tactics.’
Katya nodded. ‘I’m sure of it. But you would be unwise to ignore the possibility.’ She looked sombre. ‘One day, maybe …’
‘Would the locals know they were here?’
‘Unlikely. But all it would need is an agreement from one official.’ She looked uncomfortable. ‘I know at least three senior ministers here in Minsk who would do anything to gain favours from Moscow. A nod from any one of them would be enough to allow the GRU in and for a blind eye to be turned by the police and security services.’
‘Fine.’ Harry put his hand on the table. ‘For now, how about Rik?’ He outlined his plan to get Rik away from Kraush.
Katya thought it over. ‘The only other place I can think of is a small satellite unit just off the M4. It’s not far from the industrial zone. I accompanied two ministers from Moscow there once to study the facilities. They treat victims of road traffic accidents on the outer city and regional roads and only send them on to the main hospitals for more serious injuries.’ She took out her phone and tapped in the name. When a map image came up she showed Harry where the clinic was located. It wasn’t far, which suited him fine.
‘Could we get inside without too many problems?’ he asked.
‘I think so. There are emergency vehicles coming and going all the time; the place is a beehive because the local drivers are crazy and accidents happen all the time.’
‘Then that’s where we’ll do it.’
‘What is your plan of action?’
‘If I can get Rik taken to this unit for examination, and the device is not attached, it’s all to the good. If it’s still in place we need to get a specialist in long enough to disable it. Once that’s done we’re away and clear.’
‘As simple as that?’ Clare looked sceptical. ‘There’s a lot of “ifs” in there.’
‘I know. But I can’t think of anything better. Hopefully the people holding him won’t be expecting such a move.’
Clare said, ‘What do you need from me – apart from getting Mitchell inside the unit?’
He looked at her in surprise. He wanted to say nothing at all, that she’d done more than enough already. But he knew he was in dangerous territory here, and another pair of experienced eyes would make what he was about to do much easier. ‘Some back-up would be good,’ he said.
‘People or mechanical?’
‘You, if you’re serious.’
‘I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.’ She stood up, but Katya held up a hand.
‘I will help, too,’ she said.
Harry was surprised, as was Clare, who plainly hadn’t expected it.
‘I can assist with getting you past any authority in the unit,’ she explained. ‘But that might be all I can do. Being compromised further would mean the end of my career.’ She stood up and checked her watch. ‘I must return to my office for a meeting. Clare can keep me informed from here on.’ She nodded at Harry and touched Clare briefly on the shoulder, then walked out.
‘We’d better be moving, too,’ Clare said. ‘I
’ll drop you back at the zone then collect your techie girlfriend and head for somewhere close to the accident unit. It’ll be quicker than driving all the way out of the city. I’ll text you when we’re in place.’
He thanked her, the logistics of his plan with the addition of Katya whirling through his mind and beginning to settle. ‘Actually, I need to hire a car. Something with a bit of beef, but looks like a clunker.’
‘Where will I be?’
‘You’ll be looking after Mitchell.’
She chewed her lip. ‘Right. I know a place. I’ll take you there now and make the arrangements.’
‘Great. Just one thing: if you receive a text from me saying “abort”, I want you to get Mitchell back to the airport, then bug out and resume normal duties without asking questions. I mean it. No heroics.’
She gave him a level gaze. ‘I hear you. It doesn’t sound very promising.’
‘Doesn’t matter. If it comes to it I don’t want to compromise you and Katya. I’d rather leave you out of it.’
‘Fat chance, Tate. We’re in. To be honest I could do with the distraction. As for Katya she’ll be fine. What will you be doing in the meantime?’
‘Keeping an eye on things and hoping Rik can keep them from pressing the button.’
They walked out to Clare’s car. It was parked between two bulky SUVs with consecutive numbers and a driver-bodyguard standing by each vehicle, eyes on the street. They stiffened as Harry and Clare approached, but one of the men lifted his hand to his mouth and muttered a few words into a sleeve mic, and they relaxed.
Clare ignored them and gestured for Harry to climb aboard and signalled to pull out into the traffic. ‘They belong to a private security company,’ she explained. ‘I see them a lot about town and they know what I do. The company they work for has the monopoly on providing transport and minders to senior government ministers. Some reckon the company is Russian-owned and the ministers don’t have much say in the matter. Neat way of getting government contracts, huh?’
‘And listening into official business, I bet.’
‘Yeah, that, too.’ She looked at him, picking up on his tone of distraction. ‘Are you all right?’
Harry was only half listening, his attention focussed on another vehicle just pulling into the kerb on the opposite side of the street. Black like these two, it was coated in a layer of dirt and had a dent in the driver’s door. Two men were sitting inside, the passenger with his head turned. He was looking right at Harry.
It was Garth Perry.
‘Get us out of here,’ said Harry. ‘We’ve got company.’
Clare didn’t argue but pulled out and put her foot down, leaving behind car horns and a screech of brakes. Harry watched in the side mirror and saw the black SUV attempt to muscle its way out but it was blocked by a heavy truck.
‘Who was that?’ Clare asked.
‘His name’s Perry,’ he told her. ‘Ex-military intelligence, now freelance contractor. He’s after Rik and probably doesn’t care who gets in the way.’
‘Good to have the heads-up, Tate. When were you going to tell me?’
‘I only just found out myself.’
She drove skilfully and smoothly, one eye on her rear-view mirror and slipping through the traffic with ease, using side streets and back-doubles. From the more elegant area where the hotel was located, she brought them to a more industrialized district of houses, small businesses and scruffy commercial units, until she pulled into the side of a street near a used car lot.
‘It doesn’t look much,’ she admitted, turning off the engine, ‘but the woman running it owes me a big favour and won’t stiff me with a wreck. You stay here while I do the deal. You look too much like a cop even in this country.’ She smiled and climbed out and disappeared inside. When she emerged ten minutes later she was in an old Nissan Pathfinder 4WD with mismatched panels and a general air of tiredness. But the engine sounded good.
‘It’s not pretty,’ she admitted, ‘but it’s been tuned up. Yulia says if you have to leave it somewhere, put the keys on the front tyre and call the number on the dash and she’ll get it picked it up.’
‘I’m impressed,’ Harry said, and meant it. But something was worrying him. ‘I think you should lose this car for a while. Perry will have the number and he’s got contacts in the city, probably in the police, too.’
‘Got it. I’ll leave it with Yulia and swap it for something else. I’m not rostered on to do a pick-up for a while now.’
Harry grabbed his cover outfit, then left her to it and drove back out to the industrial zone, one eye on the other traffic for prowling SUVs taking an interest. It was beginning to snow, with tiny flecks spitting against the windscreen and sliding down to form a small drift under the wipers, and he turned up the heater. Like the car it wasn’t in the first flush of youth and rattled like a string of tin cans on a wedding car, but it gave out a welcome measure of heat.
He parked the Nissan nose-outwards in some trees out of sight of the entrance to the industrial zone and threw some branches on top of the bonnet and roof. The scratched and weather-beaten panels would make it more difficult to see here than if it had been highly polished, and if he had to leave in a hurry he’d be lined up and ready to go.
He changed into his old clothes and was about to move when he heard the sound of another engine approaching. He ducked back into cover and waited.
It was a black SUV like the ones he’d seen earlier. Idling along the road, its exhaust was burbling away with the steady beat of something with muscle. It slowed before pulling into the side and stopped.
A man stepped out from the passenger side while the driver remained in the car, the engine rumbling. The passenger stood for a moment, back turned, scanning the trees on both sides of the road. When he stepped clear of the car Harry saw his face full on.
It was Perry.
Harry remained absolutely still, although he was positive Perry couldn’t see him. The man was of medium height and slim, with short hair and an angular face. He was dressed in a heavy bush-jacket style anorak, hiking trousers and boots, and had the upright stance of a military man. A hunter, not a tourist out here to appreciate the scenery.
Perry eventually got back in the car and it drove away, performing a neat u-turn and heading back towards the city, the hum of the powerful engine drifting back towards Harry until it disappeared from view.
Harry felt frustrated knowing that Perry was already in the area and had narrowed down his whereabouts to this particular spot. The fact that he had a driver indicated local help, and that meant he would be plugged into the local network with the means to have put out feelers looking for non-local visitors. And that had already led him right here. Taxi drivers, Harry decided; they talked because there was no profit in staying silent and they had no allegiance to people passing through.
He pushed it out of his mind. His primary job was to scout the industrial zone to make sure Rik and his guards were still in place. Then it would be down to time, place and circumstance. He looked up at the sky, noting the heavy cloud cover rolling in and a chill of ice water on his cheek. The weather might give him a slight edge; his presence would be more likely to go unnoticed as long as he didn’t make any stupid mistakes.
THIRTY-NINE
‘Sorry to hear about Bull,’ Cramer murmured. The two men were back in Trafalgar Square, navigating their way through the crowds. The news of Bull’s passing had trickled down the wires while Hough was on his way to meet him.
Hough gave him a summary of his talk with Bull, adding a little of the man’s history and the connection with Colmyer.
Cramer’s response was blunt. ‘I may be a simple soldier, but no wonder it stinks. You don’t get the Chief of the General Staff setting off a paper chase when a squaddie bunks off with some mess funds.’
Hough shook his head. ‘Maybe not. But civil service and politicians … it’s another kind of army with paper generals and cardboard squaddies. Different rules and outcomes.’
Cramer blew out a puff of air. ‘Bollocks. There are lines of responsibility. It doesn’t make any difference whether you’re in uniform or pin-striped kecks. Why would Colmyer get involved?’
‘He’s about to be king of this particular heap; he can ask any questions he likes.’ He looked steely but was sounding less sure of himself. ‘However, all that’s by the by. I’m going to give you the heads up because I trust you not to run to the Daily Express with it.’
‘Why would I?’
‘Yeah, well … some would.’ He coughed and said, ‘Tate asked who was driving this. I think we both know that now. But there’s a much bigger question: how would Colmyer have heard about Ferris’s breach of the files in the first place?’
‘Quite. You said the archives were closed.’
They didn’t speak as a clutch of schoolchildren in the care of at least four adults streamed by, chattering like a crowd of penguins.
Hough looked at him and said, ‘This is depressing me, you know that? I’m supposed to be retiring soon and here I am knowing that the current and incoming heads of the JIO are as rotten as month-old eggs.’ He stopped long enough to dig out a handkerchief and blow his nose, then said, ‘Well, I wish I didn’t.’
‘Go on.’
‘Bull gave Colmyer access … but much more than that. He told him precisely where to look.’
Cramer scowled. ‘So is this about Bull or Colmyer?’
‘Both … but mostly Colmyer. Bull kept secrets he shouldn’t have and Colmyer’s desperately trying to do the same but for different, purely selfish reasons.’
Cramer said, ‘You said his father was in bed with the Russians years ago and made a fortune from it. Is that what this is about?’
Hough pulled a face. ‘Colmyer senior wasn’t the only westerner to have made a mint out of the old Soviet empire. Where do you think all those oligarchs got their taste for football clubs, yachts and buckets of money?’
‘So what is it?’
‘Junior’s got money, but it only buys the same stuff other rich men can buy. Power’s different. It’s leverage.’ He stopped behind one of the plinths and looked squarely at his colleague. ‘But that can go both ways.’
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