“What, Sabena’s vulnerable point? Now that’s a handful.” I swung a glance at Sam, sniggering, and he grinned wider.
Maybe it was the unbelievable pressure of the job, but when I was with Sam, we always acted like a couple of naughty schoolboys. Our frivolous interactions sought to dissipate the tension in the room.
We all knew the job. We knew the responsibility that rested on our shoulders. But a little harmless, humorous banter goes a long way to ease nerves.
Maide ignored the juvenile quips and continued.
“By the twenty-seventh, Sam will have a definite location via our on-the-ground ISR.”
“This is an attempted assassination of Sabena. But wouldn’t it be wonderful to just wipe her out?” remarked Ashton.
“No, Prime Minister,” said Sam. “The assassination attempt is Matt’s ‘in’ with Al Nadir. He’s going to be the one to save Sabena from me, Dan and whatever team that’s been put together for Aphrodite. If she’s killed, it will be meaningless, and we’ll all die anyway.”
Sam’s voice shadowed annoyance. As much as we wanted to take out Sabena, she was a necessary evil, and she had to be saved. My saving her was also to be the distraction enabling Sam, and now, I hoped, Dan, to get away. The plan had been crafted and rerun a million times in Sam’s mind and my own.
“How can we be sure they won’t just kill Matt immediately after Sabena’s saved?” Ashton revealed the elephant that had started pacing the room.
“We can’t,” I replied. “It’s the only part of the plan that has an unpredictable element. All I can do is work to Sabena’s psyche, show her my cards as an MI6 turncoat, and use the Matt Kinley blue-eyed boy charm.”
“Think it’ll work on that deadly ice queen?” asked Sam.
“Never failed me before.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t this time,” stated Ashton with scythe-like sharpness.
He held my gaze for a few seconds. Then the prime minister’s attitude changed and became flippant.
“Okay, so you’ve got all lovey-dovey with Sabena as her white knight. What next?”
“Well, sir, then I have to convince Al Nadir I’m the best asset they could ever have. I’m expecting a rough ride before we get to that stage.”
I noticed the room drop to silence. Not even Sam took the bait to quip something saucy. I had to lighten the mood. I didn’t want to cast my mind to consider the things that could happen after I would be caught.
“But if I do a decent job on Sabena, she’s the one who’ll be getting the rough ride,” I said, laughing.
A half-grin hit Sam’s face, but Ashton and Maide stayed stoic. Respect for me was in their eyes.
I tried again.
“Right, well, if all goes to plan, by March, I’ll be having supper with Salim as his new BFF!”
Maide reached back and picked up a bottle of scotch and glasses on the desk behind him, poured three fingers’ worth and handed them around. I took mine and held it out. The other three men did the same.
“To Operation Snowdrop. May the new spring be brought forth,” I announced, and raised my glass.
“Operation Snowdrop,” repeated Maide.
He, Sam and Ashton chinked their glasses with mine.
Chapter 4
January 27, 2013
My head pushes against the purple velvet headboard and I let exhaustion wash over me. I’m not particularly tired; I just feel shattered from going through the intel and knowing what’s going to go down over the next twenty-four hours. Squinting at the information from ISR on the ground has drawn my eyes. The underside of my lids feel sticky and sore from focused concentration on that tiny screen.
I receive a potential sighting confirmation of eighty-nine-point-two percent probability via the AI analyzer back at GCHQ that the woman going under the name of Eva Morricone is, in fact, Sabena Sanantoni. Morricone checked into the Royal Suite Palazzo Della Gherardesca in the Four Seasons Hotel, Florence. The woman has been seen with an array of men around her. I click on the Passport and another image floats up: Morricone stepping into a new seven-series Beemer. A shot of her accompanying friend shows a flash of a gun underneath his tailored jacket. The four black G-Class Mercs backed up behind the Beemer suggests a significant entourage in Morricone’s employ.
I estimate that each Merc has four heavies, together with two more in the Beemer, plus the driver. That’s an army of just under twenty hot bodies. And if one counts Sabena as well (and when all is said and done, she does qualify as a ‘hot body’) that means Sam, Dan and Team Aphrodite are going to have a very busy afternoon tomorrow.
I scan the mission approach again. Targeting Sabena, if it really is Sabena, at her most vulnerable is critical. We’d all made a joke of it, but it’s pivotal to the mission to lessen agent loss and collateral damage.
I bring up the image of Morricone and zoom in on her face. It isn’t Sabena’s features at all. If it is her, she’s using a mask again and whatever the tech, it has gotten a whole lot more powerful. With an AI-powered facial recognition of eighty-nine-point-two, firmed-up confirmation of identity has slipped. Feeding in those earlier sightings in other Italian towns boosts the probability factor to ninety-eight-point-three, but there’s a strong level of bias within the strategic analysis. It can’t be counted as completely accurate.
Sabena could be on a plane somewhere by now, or she could be ensconced in the Royal Suite of the Four Seasons Hotel in Florence. Mission parameters require an AI probability factor of eighty-five-point-zero to proceed. Therefore, who was I to question an eighty-nine-point-two probability? It’s all systems go at any rate.
I stare at the images. The way in which Morricone arrived at the hotel implies she’s an extremely powerful woman, just like Sabena. But, of course, I know the world is full of powerful women. It’s just that not all of them are sadistic killers.
As I start to open another file showing the blueprint schematics of the hotel, a familiar ting sound emanates from inside my jacket. Shit! I’d forgotten to give my home phone to Sam for safe-keeping. I know it’s a risk to have another phone. I should’ve run everything through the Passport, as all field agents do and as I used to, but Angie gave me the new iPhone as a Christmas present, complete with her picture holding Lotte as a screensaver. I just didn’t have the heart to leave it behind. Now I curse my foolhardiness and know I can’t take it on the mission.
I swipe the front screen to answer a call from ‘Angel Face.’
“Hey, Angie, darling.”
“Matt, Lotte is driving me mad. When are you coming home? The heating’s on the blink again and it’s bloody cold over here. Everyone here hates me, and I’ve just fired the nanny.”
I hear the tired frustration and button-downed anger in my wife’s voice. New nanny, Miriam, obviously wasn’t cutting it with Angie.
“What happened with Miriam? What was she doing?”
“Chatting up the next-door neighbor most of the bloody time!”
“I’m sorry, Angel Face. She was the best of the bunch.”
“Yes, and what a bunch. Oh look, Matt, it doesn’t matter. I’ll sort it. How long are you going to be away? Lotte needs to see her father.”
“And I want to see her, but you know how it is.”
“Yes,” snapped Angie. “I know how it is. It’s about time you come home and see how bloody difficult things are for me!”
“Angel Face, baby, I love you, but you know I’ve got to sort this energy issue out. It’s big politically and needs diplomatic handling, and that takes time.”
I hear Angie sigh heavily.
“How long?”
“Not sure. Any time you need me, call Lynne and she’ll get a message to me.”
“Can’t I just call you directly?”
Angie’s getting more pissed off by the second. She hates going through my PA.
“Darling, I’m going to be in a lot of closed negotiations. I may not always be available.”
Another exasperated sigh, and th
en a begrudging, “Okay.”
“Angel Face, it won’t be for long. Once this is sorted, I’ll be back with you. I love you, darling. Kiss Lotte for me.”
“I love you too. Will do.”
Angie rings off abruptly. After that call, I’ll stay in her bad books for quite a while. Leaving her with nine-month-old Lotte hadn’t been the best move. I’d left a few days before for Boston and the global summit on energy. It backed up my cover as head of the science and technology section in the Science, Technology, Energy and Environment (STEE) Department of the British Embassy in Washington, DC.
Arriving last night back in London, I took a room at the Park Plaza near Waterloo, where a traveller bag currently resides in the wardrobe. I could have headed there immediately and checked out the chip, but I needed a place to think. So I came here. I also like to be unpredictable. The first rule of espionage: never, ever keep to a routine, however short and fleeting it is.
Alone, on the bed, my thoughts become more opaque as I consider possible outcomes of the mission. A month, I had originally thought it would last, but I’d be lucky to last a week if things went south.
Come on, Kinley. Get a grip. You’ve done all the rationalizing. The benefits outweigh everything.
I pick up the Blackberry and click Sam’s number.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“I’ve still got the phone Angie gave me.”
“Fuck, Matt! You know I said leave it behind. You’re a real annoying git. You know that?”
“I’ve already been told.”
“Angie?”
“Yep.”
“Did she press?”
“A bit.”
“And your reasons?”
“Handling energy security issues.”
“Well, you gave one word true in all of that. Is Lotte ok?”
“Yeah. Look, I don’t want to talk about my daughter on the phone, encrypted, secure and black as it is. So are you ok to come over?”
After a short harrumph, Sam agrees. It isn’t mission protocol to meet up again, but Sam always was one to bend the rules.
“I’ll be over later. I know where you are. Have a drink waiting for me. I could do with one.”
“Believe me, I could do with more than one.”
I visualize Sam’s typical wry grin, and we say our goodbyes.
I pocket the Blackberry and head out to procure suitable refreshments.
Chapter 5
Sam stared across the empty apartment. His throat tightened as he looked at his wife Ellie’s photo on the shelving stack, housing their massive sixty-inch television. Recently, she was never around. Cloud Nine, her virtual warehousing tech company had exploded on a sudden growth trajectory. She spent most of her time either travelling or in Winchester in their country pile, where Cloud Nine headquarters were located.
Sam was pleased for her. Success is what she’d craved, and she’d slogged relentlessly for five solid years to achieve it. He just wished she was there with him. Today of all days, he wanted her there. Operation Snowdrop was unlike any other mission, and God knows, every mission was dangerous. But with Snowdrop, the level of danger and inherent risk was extraordinary. It looked so simple on paper, but in reality, the operational variables and probabilities for deviation were like the possible moves in a game of chess.
Almost infinite.
Snowdrop wasn’t just about tomorrow. It wasn’t the quick in and out he was used to. It didn’t have a hit, extraction or acquisition objective. Snowdrop was about taking the long-term view. Not tactical but strategic. But at any time, the initial path could change.
Although Sam wanted to be the one infiltrating, secretly deep down inside, he’d breathed a peaceful sigh when the coin flipped in Kinley’s favor.
Kinley always was a better actor than him, and he kept his cool a little better too. Of course, he’d been in the game longer and experience in the field delivered benefits that would keep Kinley alive. But recalling Lotte, Kinley’s newborn baby daughter, Sam wondered how he could take such a risk.
For the same reason you do. To make sure that new life and all the new lives around the world have a future they own, and not one owned by Al Nadir.
Sam stood up and grabbed the keys to his Merc AMG C63 and his phone. Before he started at Six, he used to carry Ellie’s photo with him. He couldn’t anymore. It was too big a risk. But he kept her in his heart.
In his hand, his phone vibrated.
Ellie’s voice, determined but bubbly, suddenly filled him. “Babes. How are you, sweetness?”
“I’m okay. Still working,” said Sam, “I’m heading to Rome tomorrow. Big opportunity for the Brits to get into the new wearable tech wave hitting Gazelles over there. We want to check out possible Foreign Direct Investment routes from the UK, look at the ROIs, potential P/Es and growth value the market’s offering for UK investments. You know the stuff. I may be away for a few days. How’s business with you, sweetness?”
“Fantastic,” Ellie replied. “I’m flying to NYC later for a meeting and then off to the West Coast to structure a new deal to take Cloud Nine into the mobile tech market. Could take until next Friday. Sorry, babes. I love you. We’ll get it on next weekend when I’m back.”
Sam listened as Ellie sped her words out at a hundred miles an hour. Anyone listening would think she was pumped on narcotics, but Sam knew better. Ellie was high on being Ellie. She’d achieved her dream. Sam loved her too much to try to hold her back. And anyway, her life stopped her from asking questions about his.
“I love you too, sweetness. Why don’t I pick up something for you in Rome? You can try it next weekend,” responded Sam.
“Oh, something, sexy, silky and short?” purred Ellie, slowing down from her high-speed conversation.
“More like spicy, saucy and sustaining.” Sam laughed. “I was thinking of salami.”
“Oh you!” laughed Ellie.
“I know. I can’t help it.”
“And salami is just fine. As long as it’s yours.”
“Who’s the joker now? You dirty little devil.” Said Sam laughing.
“That’s why you love me. You know that.”
Ellie’s voice had softened to a whisper and a lump formed in Sam’s throat.
“I know that. I love you so, so much, sweetness.”
“I love you too, sweetness. Take care, baby.”
Ellie’s voice melted Sam. He found himself holding back unexpected tears.
“I will. You too. Love you.”
Sam realized as he spoke that a tear had dripped onto his forefinger holding the phone. He looked up at the television left on mute. It was a habit he’d picked up from Ellie, who loved to mute out ghastly adverts from personal injury lawyers or charities that seemed to spend more money taking prime media slots than on the needy they professed to represent.
Scenes of a horrific explosion somewhere in the world took over the screen. Sam hit to cancel the mute and the surround sound speakers kicked in.
“At least eighteen hundred people are thought to have died in this explosion, which has been claimed by Al Nadir, and rocked the town of Tucson in Arizona.”
Fuckers!
The scene on his television suddenly validated his reasoning and all the risks he took.
One day he’d tell Ellie everything. But today wouldn’t be that day.
He shut off the visual carnage and left for Putney.
Chapter 6
Inside Waitrose supermarket in the Exchange, I keep my head down and head for the liquor aisle. I grab a bottle of Jack Daniels and a few ginger ale mixers. I doubt we’ll need them as Sam and I both like our whiskey neat, but it looks more respectable at the counter.
I scan the row of checkouts, and head for the lady in her mid-sixties. It’s a surefire bet she won’t be affected by my bright blue eyes. Two guys are in front of me buying their lunches, an uninventive arrangement of sandwiches and sad-looking salads. They give a sideways condescending swipe at me in my cheap jeans,
hoodie top and ‘seen better days’ jacket, cradling my JD, and sneer. Self-appointed pious superiority flickers across their faces. I just grin and fix them with a glacial stare. Just how much shit would come out of your tight little asses if I stuck my Sig in your pathetic faces?
They must’ve read my look; they pick up their lunches and make a rapid exit.
“Sorry about this, just changing over shifts,” said the lady, and she maneuvers out of the way for a young girl in her early twenties to take her seat.
“Thanks, Marj. Now, where were we?”
I keep my head down and pull out cash.
“That’s thirty-two pounds, please.”
“Where is it?”
I look up, hearing the high-pitched male voice. I notice one of the tight-ass boys returning. In his haste, he’s forgotten to pick up his coleslaw salad. I turn back to the checkout girl, my eyebrow raised sardonically, enjoying their mistake, but I don’t realize what I’m doing. My eyes meet hers and I swear she literally swallows loud enough to hear.
The checkout girl blushes and stares at me, transfixed.
“Oh my God.”
Her cheeks redden again as she becomes aware she’s voiced her thoughts aloud.
Tight-ass boy turns back. His look of pure envy radiates palpably, and I can almost taste the bitterness in the air.
My bloody eyes again. That’s it, I’m going to get dark glasses and super glue them to my face.
I smile confidently and, of course, that makes it worse.
“Card…or cash?” checkout girl murmurs breathlessly.
I can see she’s praying, please be card, at least I’ll know your name.
“Cash.”
I hand her two twenties, and I grab a bag from the hanger.
“Would you like…help…anything?”
I see pleading in the checkout girl’s eye. One last desperate push to attract me.
“No, I’m good. I’ve got everything I need.”
I leave her with a gentle smile, duck my head and stride with purpose down the mall corridor back to the high street. I feel a little sorry for the checkout girl. She really didn’t stand a chance.
Operation Snowdrop Page 3