As the sun beat down on the back of his neck, Rice thought he was going to pass out. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and it was going to get even hotter according to the forecast. His face as white as the lighthouse walls, no matter how much water he drank he still had a raging thirst. No, Rice thought. This wasn’t a virus he’d picked up, this was something more serious.
On nearing the end of the pier, he spotted “Barracuda”. She wasn’t a large vessel, but as dive boats go, she looked every inch the part. Barely a week ago, Rice would have given his right arm to be clambering onboard and venturing out to sea. Not today. The thought of being tossed around in a heavy swell didn’t sit well with him. Despite having taken a couple of sea sickness pills, he felt he was going to throw up.
Rice stood for a moment as a man in his late fifties moved several oxygen bottles towards the aft of the boat. Some were green and red, the others yellow and silver. After he’d checked out a couple of diving regulators, he watched as the man dropped them into a wooden crate full of fishing harpoons and stared up at him over the starboard side.
‘Looking for someone?’
‘Yes,’ Rice replied. ‘I’ve arranged to meet with Captain Fernando Perez.’
Wiping his brow with a rag pulled from his pocket, the man worked his way towards the front of Barracuda. ‘You’ve found him,’ he replied in broken English, ‘and you must be Stephen Rice?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Welcome aboard, Mr Rice,’ Fernando said, extending out a hand. ‘I’m so glad you could make it, I wasn’t expecting to see you here today.’
‘I’ve not felt well since the day I first set foot in Spain,’ Rice said pitifully. ‘It’s something I’ve picked up on my journey over here.’
‘Yes, Cornelius told me all about it. Let’s hope it’s nothing serious and you make a quick recovery.’
‘I’m sure I will.’
The moment he stepped onto the swaying walkway, Rice felt his stomach lurch. He thought he was going to be sick, but somehow managed to crawl his way to the back of Barracuda. As the first of the maritime pleasure cruisers noisily drew alongside them, it caused him to lift his head.
‘I’m not up to any diving today,’ Rice weakly admitted, ‘but perhaps we can take a leisurely cruise around the Medes Islands and sample what’s on offer.’
‘The Medes is for novices, Mr Rice. There’s far better diving further out to sea. We have a good sonar navigation system onboard, and I can show you where the best dive wrecks are located.’
‘How far out to sea is that?’
‘About an hour’s sailing at the most, but it’s more in line with this new business venture you are proposing.’
Rice gulped hard. ‘An hour!’
‘Barracuda is an amazing boat and is more than capable of handling any kind of weather you care to throw at her.’
‘I’m sure she is, Fernando, but I certainly don’t feel up to it today. Perhaps we could glimpse the coastline and get a feel for how she handles.’
‘Anything you say, but I doubt you’ll see any of the decent dive sites.’
Rice hesitated, still unsteady on his feet. ‘No, I guess not.’
‘Are you sure you’re up to this? You don’t look at all well to me.’
‘I’m fine. . . just a little wobbly on my feet, that’s all.’
Fernando shouted something through the boat’s hatch in Spanish, and a head suddenly appeared. A short man, balding, with the muscular physique of someone who worked out regularly.
‘I’d like you to meet Jose.’ The captain smiled. ‘He’s an experienced scuba diver who has been part of my crew for the past three years. The other crew member is also called Jose, but he’ll not be joining us today.’
‘Two Jose’s?’
‘Yes, but to stop confusion we call the other one Soriente – which roughly translates as jovial.’
Rice nodded as he flopped down on an upturned catch box; he wasn’t up to humour. Sweating profusely, his energy levels felt zapped and he could hardly concentrate let alone make business decisions.
As the captain fired up the twin engines, Jose loosened the mooring lines and jumped into the moving boat. Slowly at first, they slipped effortlessly out of the port of L’Estartit before hitting the open sea. Now moving at a leisurely speed, Barracuda glided effortlessly towards the northernmost tip of the largest island in the group. He could see the 19th century lighthouse and several steep rocky outcrops jutting out of the sea, and an armada of small fishing vessels hugging the foot of the cliffs. La Meda Gran wasn’t the kind of diving spot he’d dreamt of, but at least he’d been forewarned. Besides, the way he felt right now he couldn’t have cared less what the hell he was looking at, if only the head pains would go away.
Barely a mile from shore another small flotilla of diving boats came into view. This was obviously where beginners learnt their diving skills and his interest levels quickly waned. Pity, he thought. If only he’d felt up to it, he would have hit open sea to more interesting waters.
‘We call this Novices’ Bay,’ Fernando pointed out with a smile.
‘So I see.’
‘In Spain we have a saying that little fish soon grow to be enormous fish. The same goes for inexperienced divers they’re always on the lookout for new adventures.’
‘I’d considered that when I was setting up the business.’
‘It’s a clever idea, Mr Rice, and I’m sure Barracuda will serve you well.’
‘I’m sure she will,’ Rice replied, tapping the side of the boat as if to emphasise his point. ‘She’s a striking vessel and everything I had in mind.’
‘Once you feel up to it, I’ll show you the new wreck sites we’ve recently discovered. Many are war ships sunk by mines or attacked by British submarines during WWII. There’s blue shark out here too, which all adds to the fun. One thing for sure, the visibility in this part of the Mediterranean Sea is very good . . . sixty-five to one hundred and thirty feet is quite normal.’
‘Do you get many heavy seas?’
‘Sometimes, but they are quite rare. Besides, we can always find somewhere else to dive when the weather gets too rough.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘You have no worries with us, Mr Rice. Once we sign the contract papers, we can start advertising on the internet. And if you agree to our terms, I can also set up a small booking office in the centre of town which should generate a lot more interest.’
‘Yes. That’s a wonderful idea.’
‘Now that Cornelius has taken over the legal side of the business, everything should slot into place.’
‘I’m sure it will.’
Totally drained, Rice closed his eyes and stretched his aching limbs. Whatever he did, nothing seemed to ease the pain anymore. As the boat pitched and rolled in a one metre swell he suddenly felt his grip on the handrail slacken. The next thing he knew, after opening his eyes, he was staring up at the sky and his whole body was on fire.
‘You okay, Mr Rice?’ Jose said rushing to his assistance.
‘No, I feel terrible. I can hardly breathe.’
‘Try to lie still,’ Jose insisted, ‘we’ll get you back to port as quickly as we can.’
The words had barely left the crew members lips when Barracuda’s twin engines roared into action. Nothing had ever prepared him for this, as the deck beneath his body shuddered and vibrated, he fought to stay conscious.
The next thing Rice remembered, after they’d stretchered him into the back of a waiting ambulance, was an oxygen mask being strapped to his face. He knew he was in deep trouble and considered the agonising fate that could be awaiting him.
As the doors to the ambulance slammed shut, he overheard the driver garble some inaudible instructions into his radio handset and the warning siren wailing. Everything was a blur, and his whole body was convulsing in pain.
As the ambulance eased forward over uneven ground, every bone in his body jarred with pain. Trying to stay conscious, he knew he was f
ighting a losing battle. As his mind began to drift, his eyelids felt as though they had lead weights attached to them and he was tumbling into a bottomless pit. It was then that the penny finally dropped.
He’d been poisoned.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Stephen Rice’s demise had sent shock waves throughout the backroom senior staff at Northumbria Police Headquarters, and the Secret Intelligence Service (MI6) was now in top-secret discussions with their Spanish counterparts the Centro Nacional de Intellencia (CNI). Rushed to L’Estartit medical centre, Rice had then been transferred to a Spanish hospital in Barcelona where tests found he’d been suffering from radiation poisoning. Not only that, both the British and Spanish governments were now locked in talks as to where Rice had initially been poisoned. Some national secrets spread like deadly wildfire, and once the international press got hold of a story it was never out of the headlines.
Not the best of starts to his day. Mason was facing an even bigger challenge – what to do with the boy? The game plan had changed and as he walked towards the Area Commander’s office, his phone rang.
He answered it without stopping.
‘Call me back later, it’s not convenient right now,’ the Chief Inspector said.
The moment Mason stepped into Superintendent Gregory’s office, he wasn’t surprised to find a Special Branch delegation sat waiting for him.
‘Good morning, gentlemen.’
‘Take a seat,’ said Gregory guardedly, ‘coffee is on the way.’
He recognised the nameless senior officer from their previous meeting, but the other officer he’d never seen before. Wearing a neatly cut blue mohair suit, he had an owl face and wore a thick pair of horn-rimmed glasses across a high forehead.
The senior officer spoke first. ‘Fun at the zoo, Chief Inspector?’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘Rice’s death has certainly come as a bit of a surprise to everyone, but it was inevitable, I fear. Either Yavlinsky has been active again or one of his Russian counterparts has beaten him to it.’
‘What’s going on?’ Mason asked outright.
“Officer Jay” as he was known, gave Mason a sullen look. ‘Working with the Spanish Centro Nacional de Intelligence, we know Rice boarded an evening flight to Girona in northern Spain using a false passport. Having picked up a Hertz hire car at the Spanish airport, he then drove to the coastal resort of L’Estartit where he’d taken out a twelve-month lease on an exclusive property there.’
‘Any idea what he was up to?’
‘Rice was involved in a new business venture in the port – wreck diving apparently.’
‘How was he poisoned?’
Officer Jay didn’t fit into any particular pigeonhole in Mason’s books, and names didn’t mean a thing in this game. Good operational officers always had a number of different cover stories with specialist departments within the intelligence services whose job it was to maintain those covers. Times had moved on since his days in the Metropolitan’s Murder Investigation Team (MIT), and a lot more preparation and research went into the intelligence role these days.
‘We believe his drink may have been laced with some form of radioactive poison.’ The officer’s eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘We’ve been down this avenue before, of course, and it’s the preferred choice of the Russians. Alexander Litvinenko was a prime example, so we know what we’re up against.’
‘How come the Russians were able to trace Rice’s movements when British intelligence couldn’t?’
‘Let’s not forget that Rice initially worked for the Russians before he came over to us, so they obviously had a covert operation in place and were monitoring his activities.’
Mason thought a moment. ‘So where was he poisoned?’
‘Nobody knows for certain where the poison was administered, as there are still fragments of evidence out there that need to be pulled together. Who ordered it is a completely different matter, of course.’
‘These people obviously mean business,’ the Area Commander added.
‘Never underestimate their will to succeed, Superintendent, they have very dubious pasts.’ Officer Jay muttered something inaudible under his breath, then turned to face Mason. ‘When the Russians got wind that Rice had defected to us, that’s when they wanted rid of him.’
‘So, you believe Rice was deliberately assassinated?’
‘I’m convinced of it. That’s what happens to you when you change your allegiances in this game. Rice was not only a liability to the Russians, he was a risk to our national security. According to government sources some nerve agents used by these people are a trillion times more toxic than hydrogen cyanide. That’s why most agents prefer to use this method of elimination as it demonstrates to future defectors what will happen to them should they step out of line.’
‘This is straight off the pages of a political spy thriller.’ Mason shrugged. ‘If you now have hard evidence to prove that Rice was poisoned by these people, then why haven’t you arrested Yavlinsky?’
‘Good question.’
Mason raised his eyebrows a fraction. ‘And––?’
Officer Jay gave Mason a cold look. ‘It’s not that simple, I wish it was, but some things are best left untouched. One thing you can be rest assured of, we’ve never had such a high-ranking Russian agent under our radar before and we’ll never get another opportunity like this one again. Rice knew how the international banking system worked, and how to lose money in it. That’s what made him such a catch for the Russian oligarchs – they used him to filter their dirty money away and turn it into tangible assets. The fact he was acting as a double agent makes this a much more complicated operation. Not only did Rice know the names of the people involved in the Russian banking scam, he knew who the main benefactors were.’
‘Surely by allowing Yavlinsky to walk free means you’re allowing him to go after another unsuspecting victim. Isn’t that the case?’
‘Think about it. Yavlinsky is our best source of intelligence gathering right now. The list of bankers he meets, the lawyers he dines with, and his meetings at the Russian Embassy. These people are all potential links to the missing pieces of a bigger puzzle that we’re trying to piece together. Not only that, his every movement at his Belgravia property is under our watchful eye. The British Secret Intelligence Service aren’t daft. Take Yavlinsky out of the equation and we lose our biggest source of intelligence gathering.’
Officer Jay pushed back in his seat. He wasn’t a tall man by appearance, slim, with a pale complexion and blue piercing eyes. Every now and then he made a funny little clicking noise with his tongue, which intrigued Mason.
The Chief Inspector turned his gaze back to Officer Jay. ‘So, it’s now a waiting game?’
‘Rice was a traitor who sold his soul to the devil for his own financial gain. When the stakes got too high for him, that’s when he wanted out. But that’s not how the Russian Federation’s ethical code of conduct works. Turn your back on the Kremlin and you virtually sign your own death warrant.’
‘Now that Rice is no longer a threat to the Russians, where does that leave young Martin Kennedy?’
The Special Branch officer gave Mason a withering look. ‘The question you should really be asking yourself is, who’s pulling Yavlinsky’s strings? Is it the Russian mafia, a rogue state, or do his orders come from the Kremlin direct? Yavlinsky’s a hired man, make no mistake about that. It’s not that simple as these people offer their services to the highest bidder and are trained to eliminate their targets as and when the situation dictates.’
Officer Jay was self-driven and spoke with an air of confidence, which Mason had picked up on. He sat silent for a moment, and then said, ‘What else do we know about Yavlinsky’s background?’
‘In what way?’
‘His past?’
Officer Jay bristled, then shot Mason a pensive glance. ‘During the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Russians were looking for potential military intelligence officers
to support the new Russian Federation cause. At the time, Yavlinsky was an army major with connections going back to the old-style KGB. He was an ideal candidate with impeccable credentials and that’s why he was recruited into their fold.’
‘So, who’s pulling Yavlinsky’s strings?’
‘We’re convinced he was recruited by the Russian Mafia, but we’re still not one hundred percent.’
‘This doesn’t get any easier,’ Mason sighed. ‘What about this fraud trial that’s now listed for the 19th September?’
The senior Special Branch officer interjected. ‘If the Crown Prosecution still has enough hard evidence to support a conviction, then the trial will go ahead. If not, we suspect the Russians will be eager to switch to other banks.’
‘Which ones exactly?’
‘Who knows at this stage, that’s why we haven’t arrested Yavlinsky as he still remains a key figure of interest to us.’
Mason thought about it, but not for long. ‘And young Martin Kennedy?’
‘That’s your decision. It’s what you agreed to do in the first place – protect the boy and any other potential targets involved in the trial. No doubt the Russians will find other ways of getting at the Crown Prosecution’s case, and their lawyers will demand disclosures at some point. This isn’t a straightforward operation.’ Officer Jay opened the folder in front of him and stared across at his Special Branch companion and said, ‘A part of me says that Yavlinsky is a bit of a loose cannon.’
‘What, you think he could be working for himself?’ Mason replied.
‘Whoever’s behind this money laundering scam are keen that their identities are kept secret. The minute they find out that Yavlinsky’s cover is blown, they’ll want rid of him too – and quick.’
‘Holy shit,’ Mason gasped.
‘That’s how the system works – everyone is expendable in this game.’
‘Then apart from the Russian Mafia, who else are we dealing with?’ Mason questioned. ‘Could some other Eastern European rogue state be involved?’
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