by Dan Latus
‘Back to Petrov, Harry. Tell me again why he’s so desperate to get this plan back.’
‘Pride comes into it. He trusted me, and I ran off with it. Loss of face, and getting even, are big things for someone like him. More than that, though, he won’t want the Russians to find out he lost it in the first place. He’s one of their go-to guys. At present, they trust him to be effective and reliable. A failure like this would undermine their confidence in him and might even mean them having to rework their plans for Estonia.’
It made sense. I could understand all that, once I’d started looking at the world through Harry’s eyes — and Petrov’s.
‘So, Petrov has abducted Johanne to stop you giving NATO the plan, which you very much want to do — and indeed is what NATO expects of you?’
‘Not good, is it?’ he said. ‘Me holding on to the battle plan is all that’s keeping Johanne alive.’
‘We’ll find a way around it,’ I said, trying to sound more optimistic than I actually felt.
‘You can see now why I’ve kept Henderson at arm’s length,’ Harry added. ‘If I’d involved him, Petrov would assume I’d handed over the battle plan, and Johanne would be dead by now.’
‘So you’ve reached a stalemate?’
Harry nodded. ‘Meanwhile, of course, Petrov continues looking for me. If he finds me, it will be checkmate. So far, I’ve managed to keep out of his clutches, but—’
‘We’ll keep on doing that,’ I said firmly. ‘Harry, I hate to ask this, but do you have any proof Johanne is still alive?’
He nodded. ‘She is — or she was. Petrov let me speak to her once, briefly.’
‘Try to do it again. We need to be sure.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘Now I suggest we take a break and have a little walk. Get some fresh air. You can tell me more about Coal Harbour. Then we’ll come back here and sort out what we’re going to do about Petrov.’
Harry chuckled. ‘Ever the optimist, eh, Frank?’
‘Oh yes. We’ll sort this, Harry.’
Chapter Thirty-Six
Coal Harbour was as I’d seen it from the bedroom window. The waterfront area consisted largely of derelict land, buildings and equipment. It would be generous to say that the town had seen better days. The First Nation had quite a job to do if it ever were to tidy up what had been returned to it.
For all that, there was something about the place that I liked. I suppose industrial dereliction appeals to me because I’m used to it. It reminds me of home and speaks of a complex history involving good times as well as bad. As much as anywhere, albeit on a smaller scale, Coal Harbour reminded me of the South Gare breakwater and the ruined land all around it bequeathed by the now almost disappeared Teesside iron and steel industry.
‘The trick,’ I said, as Harry and I began to wander towards the jetty and the fishing boats, ‘is to offer Petrov something that he finds irresistible, something that would make him want to deal and give up Johanne.’
‘Like what — my head on a plate?’
‘I’m hoping we don’t have to go that far, Harry. But we need to come up with something appealing.’
Somewhere off to our right an engine started up in high-volume-screech mode. We stopped and turned, and I watched with astonishment as a small plane manoeuvred away from a short jetty where it had been moored and began to taxi out into the bay. I hadn’t even noticed it was there.
‘You didn’t tell me it was still an air force base, Harry.’
‘It isn’t. That’s a private plane. It will be flying a couple of loggers out to where they’re working. Either that or bringing some back. Perhaps both.’
‘Is that a regular activity?’ I asked as the pilot gave it full throttle and the plane began to lift off the water after a remarkably short take-off.
‘Sure, it is. Up here, it might be the only way to get to the designated working area. It’s certainly the quickest.’ He nodded towards a parking area accommodating thirty or forty vehicles. ‘All those cars and trucks back there belong to loggers. Those guys work out in the forest all week and come back home for the weekend.’
What a life! Amongst those big trees all week? It wouldn’t do for me.
We walked onto a big timber jetty and headed towards the boats moored at the end.
‘What else might Petrov really, really want?’ I asked, getting back to business.
‘Nothing I can think of,’ Harry admitted. ‘He’s got pretty well all he needs.’
‘Weapons? Explosives?’
Harry shook his head. ‘Out there, the militias have far more than they can use. Not only Russian-made stuff either. They have quite a lot of US equipment they’ve captured from the Ukrainian regular army. Then there’s the huge stores left behind by the Soviet Union and the Red Army.’
‘OK. I take the point. Petrov is fully equipped.’
We strolled on a few more paces before I said, ‘Let’s look at it another way. What does he not want? You’ve already said handing NATO the battle plan would seriously undermine him in Moscow’s eyes. So he doesn’t want that. Is there anything else you can think of?’
Harry thought it over. By then we had reached the end of the jetty and had turned to watch a couple of crew members hosing down the decks of one of the fishing boats. Either it had been late in coming home or its catch had been a good one. Slushy ice cascaded over the side, along with fish parts and no doubt much else.
‘Not really,’ Harry said eventually. ‘As I’ve said, if there were a handover of the battle plan, it would be better for Petrov if Moscow didn’t know it was his copy that had been leaked.’
That didn’t help much. Harry had already told me that copies of the plan were unique and coded, each one was linked to a name.
I sighed with frustration and took refuge from my thoughts for a moment and enjoyed the fine sight of the four fishing boats tied up at the end of the jetty. I couldn’t help thinking how Jimmy Mack would have loved to see them too. These were big boats, more like trawlers than the Whitby cobles we were used to handling. Big, all-weather, commercial fishing boats with deep-sea capability.
‘What do they catch?’ I asked.
‘Depends on the season, and the quota system. When a skipper has used up his quota, he has to stop or fish for something else, if anything is still available. But black cod part of the year, salmon another part, are the mainstays for most of ’em. Once the quotas for those have gone, a boat can be condemned to a long lay-off.’
Which would be difficult for both owners and crews. These were big, powerful vessels. Expensive to buy, and expensive to keep.
‘They have access to the open sea from here?’
‘Oh, sure! Like I said, Coal Harbour is on a major inlet connecting to the Quatsino Sound and the Pacific Ocean. It had to be. Back in the day, when people were first settling here, the only practical way of moving anything much at all was by sea. No railways back then, and no roads either. Not many now, if it comes to that. No aeroplanes either. You had to move stuff around by water. Either that or by horseback, I suppose.’
Good access to the sea, eh? Sounded interesting. I wondered if we could make use of that in some way.
On the way back to the house, Harry pointed out the big shed I’d seen from the window. ‘It’s an old air force hanger they’re trying to develop into a museum. They’ve got old boats in there, bits off planes and helicopters — that sort of thing. Some of it is left over from when the place was a whaling station. Any old junk, basically.’
Before we went back inside, I took another look out across the bay. It was a lovely stretch of water, and just now the surface was very calm and tranquil. More like an inland lake than a stretch of water attached to the mighty Pacific Ocean. Quite beautiful, in fact. Coal Harbour was growing on me. If I were Harry, I would forget the log cabin in the forest. I would much rather be somewhere like this.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
When we got back inside, I asked Harry if he knew where Petrov was.
‘Pe
trov? No idea. How would I know?’
I shrugged. ‘I just wondered if you might.’
‘Why? What’s on your mind?’
It was hard to explain. It was just something that had occurred to me to ask. One of those loose ends I was trying to pull together.
‘His location might make a difference, that’s all. It’s one thing if he’s in Moscow, but if he’s somewhere in Ukraine, it’s another. We might be able to do something in Ukraine. Well, Henderson might.’
Harry looked sceptical.
‘Anyway, I would just like to know,’ I said. ‘His location might determine what pressure we can bring to bear on him.’
‘Frank, for chrissake! We can’t put any pressure whatsoever on Petrov.’
‘Not yet, perhaps,’ I said carefully, ignoring Harry’s obvious exasperation. ‘But we’re working on it, aren’t we?’
‘I don’t know. Are we?’
‘Yes, we are.’
We stared at each other for a few long moments, neither of us willing to back down. Then Harry pulled back and said with a sigh, ‘I suppose we might be able to find something out.’
‘Then let’s do it.’
I’d wondered if we might be able to ask Henderson for his help in locating Petrov, but Harry wouldn’t hear of it. Henderson would want to be told why we wanted to know, he said, and then one thing would lead to another. Before long, he and GCHQ would be all over us, then people would be hammering on the door, wanting the battle plan.
Our primary concern — mine as much as Harry’s now — was Johanne. Henderson’s, quite properly given his job, would be national — or, perhaps, Western — security. That was too amorphous for me. Like Harry, I was focused on a concrete issue — a lady in peril. Well, that and keeping Harry and myself alive.
Over endless mugs of coffee, we tossed it around. How could we discover Petrov’s whereabouts? One possible approach after another was ruled out. Either it would make things worse for us or further scrutiny showed us it wouldn’t work anyway. It was frustrating, and we became frustrated with each other. We got nowhere — until, at last, we did.
In the end, it was remarkably simple. Harry broke cover and made a phone call. He phoned another undercover field officer in Donbass, which surely had to be a basic no-no in the world of espionage. Undercover was undercover. Contact not allowed. A court martial offence. Unthinkable. Normally.
‘Will he know?’ I asked before Harry made the call, surprised he even had a phone number to ring.
‘It’s a “she,” Frank, not a “he.” As for if she’ll know, I have no idea. All I can tell you is that she’s close to Petrov, and she owes me one or two favours. Besides, she loves me.’
I stared at him, aghast, as well as amused. ‘Harry! What are you saying?’
‘Well, she used to love me.’
‘What? Before you dumped her?’
‘Something like that.’
All I could do was shake my head. It hadn’t occurred to me that real life could ever get in the way of spying. But, then again, how likely was it that Harry had changed?
‘What nationality is she?’
‘Ukrainian, but not the Russian variety. She’s actually working to keep the country together, just as I was.’
I gave him the green light and then got out of the way as soon as I heard him start speaking. I was impressed by that as well. One of the many accomplishments Harry had acquired in the years since I’d known him seemed to be fluency in the Russian language. Or was it Ukrainian? Were they different? I had no idea. Either way, I had to take my hat off to him. A linguist, as well as everything else.
I went back outside and strolled down towards the office by the main jetty where the big fishing boats were tied up. It was a compact, single-storey, prefabricated building, not much more than a portacabin really.
A diminutive young woman who looked as if she might belong to the First Nation glanced up from behind a desk that was far too high for her and greeted me with a friendly smile.
‘Hi, there! How may I help you today?’
‘Hello. I’m not here on business, I’m afraid. I’m just a tourist. I was wondering if you have any information about the local area. Pamphlets, maps — that sort of thing. Anything, really.’
‘We don’t have too much right now. We got cleaned out during the tourist season. We’ll have to get more for next spring. What were you looking for? Places to stay? Restaurants?’
‘Actually, no. I’m more interested in the local economy, especially the fishing. I was wondering what they catch from here, and where they go for it. That sort of thing. How far are we from the sea, for example?’
‘Well, I can help you there. I’ve lived around here all my life.’
She proceeded to deliver a useful little lecture on the Coal Harbour economy. As much as anything, I was interested to learn that although we were a long way from the Pacific Ocean, the Quatsino Sound really was navigable all the way. That was something I had wondered about. Again, for no particular reason.
I thanked her and went back to the house to see how Harry was doing.
‘I have some interesting news, Frank,’ he said as soon as he saw me. He was looking strangely excited, I noticed.
‘Go on.’
‘How uncanny that you asked such an odd question. You must have known something. Did you?’
‘What question was that?’
‘About Petrov’s whereabouts.’
I shook my head.
‘Well, he’s in Victoria.’
It took a moment for me to re-calibrate my brain. Then it clicked.
‘The Victoria that’s on Vancouver Island?’
‘That’s the one!’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
It was overwhelming news. Quite extraordinary. Petrov so far from the battlefield — and so close to us?
‘What’s he doing here? Do you know?’
Harry shook his head. ‘Irina said she didn’t know why he was here.’
‘Irina? That’s your Ukrainian colleague?’
‘That’s her.’
‘Did you tell her you were here?’
‘No. The less she knows, the better. I just said I was concerned about Johanne, who had been abducted, probably on Petrov’s orders.’
‘I wonder what he’s doing here?’ I mused.
‘It’s obvious,’ Harry said airily. ‘He’s here because of me. The battle plan is really important to him. Even more important is safeguarding his reputation and standing with Moscow. He’d become quite the blue-eyed boy after Crimea. I think he’s here to lead the hunt for me in person.’
It was possible, I supposed. Petrov being here on the island certainly couldn’t be a coincidence.
‘There isn’t any other reason for him to be here, is there?’
Harry shook his head.
The news was obviously disturbing, but I felt it might also open things up a bit. At the moment, I couldn’t quite see how, but the game had changed. A major new piece was in play. We had to think about that. Perhaps we could wring some advantage from it.
‘Let’s see what it means for us,’ I suggested.
Harry nodded.
I was making another of our many cups of coffee as an aid to concentration and the thinking process, when I heard the front door bang open. Harry sprang up and rushed into the corridor. I reached for the hatchet we had been using to chop kindling for the stove and followed him.
‘Hi, there!’ It was a woman’s voice. ‘I sure hope I’m not disturbing you guys?’
In the corridor we were confronted by a cheerful-looking, thirty-something woman dressed in blue jeans, cowboy boots and a plaid wool jacket.
‘Hello,’ I said uncertainly.
Harry merely stared at her.
‘Which of you guys is Franklin Doy?’
I was as taken aback as Harry, but I fielded the question and admitted to the identity. ‘That would be me. How can I help you?’
‘Oh, good!’ she said with eviden
t satisfaction. ‘I’ve found you at last. That’s progress. Mind if I come in?’ And she strode towards us along the corridor.
I stepped back to let Harry deal with the situation. It was his house, even if it was me she had asked for.
‘Coffee would be good,’ she said, following Harry back into the kitchen where she spotted what I had been in the midst of doing.
There seemed to be no alternative but to make an extra mug of coffee, which I did. We were obliged to extend the usual courtesies — it would have been difficult not to — however unexpected the visitor.
‘Well, how can I help you?’ I asked again, handing her a mug.
‘A lot, I hope,’ she said cheerfully. ‘So, you’re Mr Doy. And you are?’ she added, turning to Harry.
‘What do you want?’ Harry said bluntly. ‘Who are you anyway?’
‘Oh, excuse me! Didn’t I say? That was very remiss of me. I’m Greta Campbell from the CSIS.’
‘Canadian Security Intelligence Service,’ Harry said for my benefit. He turned away, shaking his head.
‘That’s right,’ the lady said. ‘Based in Ottawa ultimately, currently on assignment in my home patch of Alberta, and now temporarily pitched out here to the west coast.’
That introduction grabbed my attention. I was a bit stunned, not least by the geographical references. Harry seemed to be too, judging by the way he frowned and looked puzzled.
‘Ottawa? Alberta?’ he said. ‘You’re a long way from home.’
‘Aren’t I just? And your name is?’ the woman asked again.
‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded in response. ‘What do you want?’
‘You were looking for me?’ I asked to divert her attention from Harry.
I was just as puzzled as Harry by the visit, but I was afraid he was going to lose his temper and create trouble we didn’t need. Physically throw her out even. Try to, at least. Given her self-confidence and appearance, she would no doubt have put up a fight and given a good account of herself.
‘In part, yes,’ she said.
‘Why? How did you know where I was anyway? I haven’t exactly advertised my presence, or my whereabouts.’