by Tim Heath
“The Irishman is coming for you,” was the sole message sent from a private room at Vauxhall House. Bethany May soon left the room, checking the hallway carefully before venturing out. She even looked up into the camera, a nervous, suspicious look. Bethany knew she was walking on thin ice. She proceeded directly to the communications room, clearing out the three people present––which wasn’t really the done thing, but she was the Deputy Director General of MI6. She could bloody well do what she wanted.
Bethany tapped away at the computer. She deleted the camera footage from the hallway she’d just walked down, removed her passcode information from the door she’d accessed to get into that area. No one would know who it was. She couldn’t delete an outgoing call––that showed on a different log, but the number would mean nothing. Once connected, it sounded like a deadline. Only then did she key in another code, not recorded as a dialled number, when she was patched through to Filipov’s answering service.
Happy she’d cleared her tracks, she left the room. She bumped into Anissa almost immediately, Anissa herself startled by the sudden collision.
“I’m sorry,” Anissa said, the DDG brushing the comment aside, muttering a few words, and was off. Anissa had never seen Bethany May so rattled and out of sorts. “Is everything okay?” she called after her, but Bethany was gone, scampering back down the corridor like a rat evading the beam of a flashlight in the sewer.
Anissa carried on, wanting to see Gordon, but the communications room was empty. Bethany had just been in there, yet no one was there. Maybe that was why the DDG was so annoyed?
Anissa left. She caught up with Gordon in the canteen, his three technicians with him.
“I was wondering where you’d got to,” she said.
Five minutes later, Gordon had told her all that had happened.
“So she cleared everyone out?” Anissa asked.
“She had no authority to, either. Had I been there, I would have reminded her of that fact, regardless of her position.”
“Any idea what she was doing?”
“No, but I’ll have a look. I don’t like the idea that anyone in May’s position thinks she can act in such a way.”
“I’ve been having my own concerns about her, but I can’t put my finger on why,” Anissa said, Gordon urging her to go on. They spent the next ten minutes chatting through Anissa’s hunches.
In Moscow, Filipov was planning for his trip up to St Petersburg, now that Svetlana was safe with him and the dust had settled in Zurich. He was due to leave in two days. It would be his first return trip since becoming President though images would only be circulated once he was back in Moscow. They wanted to keep this trip low-key. The convoy around the streets of the city could be for any number of dignitaries, though a few would no doubt wonder if it was, in fact, the President himself. Security was to be tight, but as Filipov knew all about the Volkov mansion––he’d been there for his only Games event two years before––he knew it was about as fortified as anywhere else in the city. It made the natural base, especially as Svetlana herself would accompany him. She made the perfect host.
It alarmed Filipov, therefore, to hear Bethany’s confirmation that Phelan was coming for him. Once more, Filipov wondered if he’d bitten off too much with Phelan, a man of such menace who didn’t easily back down and who was still only operating at a fraction of his former capability. If Filipov was about to experience a glimpse of the actual legend, he needed to be prepared.
Filipov sent Rad an urgent command. Number three is coming for me. Due to arrive in Russia imminently. Drop everything, find me and await further instruction.
He pressed send.
Once Bethany knew anything more, Filipov would set things in motion. If Phelan was heading to Moscow, the Irishman wasn’t about to find the President, and Rad could eliminate the terrorist once and for all and close that danger. Filipov thought about Phelan heading to St Petersburg, but few knew he was going there. It made the trip somewhat riskier. Not to go, however, would only force any attempt to happen in Moscow. A city that held power and influence, but also the focus of the nation. Moscow was the heart of Russia. Any attempt there with a President involved, regardless of the outcome, would send waves around the world, and give hope to any opposition within Russia. Filipov couldn’t allow that to happen, nor would he leave the outcome up to chance.
St Petersburg offered a more subtle canvas. He could make the story go away more naturally in the north, with fewer people aware of what might have happened. He only had to recall how he kept the Foma shooting silent. That had happened in St Petersburg, outside Volkov’s mansion, with Filipov ultimately pulling strings to save his, as was, close friend. A man he’d since had killed. How loyalties had changed over the last few years.
Almost immediately Rad received confirmation of his order to come back to Moscow. He had been about to set off in search of Nastya. Now she would have to wait.
He picked up his bag and dropped his items into it. On the table, he packed away the weapon that had served him so well. It seemed it was needed once again. Its bullets would once more be cutting through human flesh instead of animal meat as had been the case recently.
Every bullet Rad had ever fired, had always hit its target. To pull the trigger, was to take a life.
It wasn’t something Rad was overly proud of, nor something he ever boasted about. It was just how it was. He trained so that, when the shot came, he only needed one attempt. Usually, and especially in his line of work, you got just one shot, anyway.
Ten minutes after receiving his command, Rad was loading his equipment into the back of his vehicle. Rad locked the door to his property, putting everything in place the way he always did. Rad wondered, this trip, if Nastya might come looking for him. Would he be able to tell the difference between her searching feet and that of a potential threat? He didn’t dwell on the thought for long. It only made his imminent departure all the more complex. He wasn’t just leaving the quiet of nature behind. He was moving away from her.
Rad jumped behind the wheel. Reversing out, he put up a cloud of dust and sped down the forest road heading towards the main road that would eventually get him back to Moscow. If the traffic were light, he would be there within three hours.
“Where is Alex?” the DDG said, almost demanding the information.
“He’s not here,” Anissa replied, taken aback by the tone coming from Bethany. Alex had gone to meet Phelan less than twenty-four hours before.
“I know that, obviously. I need to know where Alex is. He’s not logged anything on the calendar, and I know he’s not taken any days off.” There was an intensity that didn’t feel right about the whole conversation as if Anissa herself was about to be interrogated.
“Alex picked up on a lead.”
“About what?”
“Sorry?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Ms Edison. He’s your colleague, and I’m your senior chain of command. Where is he searching out this lead?”
“It’s Mrs Edison, actually, and I don’t bloody know where he is, okay!” Anissa stormed back, the flash of anger taking Bethany by surprise. It froze the DDG’s mouth slightly open before her face reddened and her eyes went wide. However, what followed wasn’t a barrage of insults. Bethany swallowed hard, and as calmly as she could manage––she was obviously still worked up––she said:
“You need to be careful speaking like that, Mrs Edison.” She couldn’t help but emphasise the Mrs part as if it was a dirty word to her. She’d never married, though there had always been plenty of men in her life. There still were. “It’s just that I do not want to discover that Alex has done anything, shall we say, stupid.”
Anissa looked blankly at the DDG. “Stupid?”
Bethany studied Anissa carefully as if trying to read her mind, trying to decipher what her eyes were saying. Bethany saw loyalty, and she saw a lack of trust. Bethany would have to be careful with this one.
“And the Irishman? Are we any closer to
his arrest?”
“No, ma’am, we aren’t. Phelan’s gone to ground.” The DDG paused at Anissa’s words.
“Interesting,” she said as if coming to her own conclusion. The two women locked eyes. Bethany then walked away.
She knows, Anissa couldn’t help but worry. She knows we’ve been talking to Phelan. Oh god, she knows!
31
Rad pulled up outside the Kremlin shortly after five in the afternoon. They told him where to park his car and he could then come in through a side door––no luggage––where Svetlana was to meet him. He’d been waiting ten minutes when the elegant former actress came sweeping into the room.
Formal greetings out of the way, Svetlana handed Rad a copy of the itinerary for St Petersburg.
“You are the only person outside the core leadership who has a copy of this.” Rad glanced down at the information. It went without saying he wasn’t to share it with anyone, but that was always the case with nearly everything he got given in his line of work. Usually, it was just someone’s name, or maybe a photo.
“St Petersburg?”
“Yes, he’s leaving tomorrow night. You’ll make your own way there. Study the schedule. Two known threats are coming to St Petersburg. It’s your job to make sure they don’t succeed.”
Filipov had used Russian spy contacts to track Alex after they knew he’d flown to meet Phelan. They had reported Alex in Helsinki, and a quick check had him flying north to Oulu. On that same flight was an Irishman using a little-known alias. They tracked their hire car from the airport, and Russian satellites picked up the abandoned vehicle in the far north of Finland, close to a Russian border post. Neither passport had passed through the border––nor would they have allowed them in––so Filipov knew they had to be attempting illegal entry, and given how far north they were, they had to have known about St Petersburg. They were heading to that city.
Filipov put aside the fact someone was speaking to the British, otherwise, how did they know about the visit? He would work through that one later. He had instructed Svetlana to tell Rad everything. Russian authorities were trying to locate where the two had entered Russia, and where they now were. Given the distance between the border crossing and their supposed destination in St Petersburg, even though the Russians were playing catch up, Phelan and his MI6 bodyguard were still on the journey. They couldn’t have made up the time yet. There were no trains from the region, no flight options either. Driving the over seventeen-hundred kilometres was the only way, and would prove a safer option too.
Filipov had increased the Russian police presence on all routes leading south. Stop and search was in force.
“There are two of them?” Rad was unaware of the second name.
“Yes, and the President has been clear. This one you can kill,” she said, pointing to one name on the information in front of Rad, “but this one Filipov wants alive.”
“Very well,” Rad said, placing the itinerary into his jacket pocket and standing to leave.
“Your country once again depends on your skill and ability,” Svetlana said, coming over to Rad and taking him by the hand. With a menace such as Phelan in play––an expert in fire and explosives––anything that threatened the life of Filipov threatened her life too. The schedule showed that she and Filipov were to go everywhere together. Was it Filipov’s way of making sure Svetlana got the job done? She wouldn’t put it past him. However, he was President, and a known foreign threat was coming to kill him. That had to be stopped. Russia had their own menace, and as the young man Rad left the room, Svetlana could only hope he would cause more terror to the Irishman than anyone else had ever managed.
Vauxhall House, MI6––London
“I think our new DDG is passing information to Filipov,” Anissa said, just her and Sasha together, as they had been for two days already.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’ve suspected her for a while. She knows about Alex. She knows I’ve been speaking to Phelan.”
“Are you sure? Did she say that?”
“No, not directly. But I got Gordon to check up on her. She was in the communications room by herself the other day. Cleared out Gordon’s team, which she’s not allowed to do, not that they realised that.”
“Why?”
“Gordon found that she’d accessed the cameras. Can’t tell what she did, but on review, only one camera doesn’t show us anything from moments before. She entered a secure room, I believe. Made a call to a number that goes nowhere.”
“Sorry?” That last comment confused Sasha.
“Yes, assuming it was her, someone accessed the room. A security card was used, but that had been deleted from the system, again something she could have done herself when she wiped the camera feed. The call log from the service provider gives us one number dialled that day. The call lasted less than twenty-seconds. Gordon can’t tell us anything about this number. When dialled, it’s dead.”
Sasha had heard about such systems before.
“Not necessarily, though we’ll never be able to access it without the right code, and these could be multiple digits. Get too many attempts wrong, and it locks you out while alerting the user. It’s Chinese made, but I know we used it in Russia. It’s virtually an untraceable answering machine.”
“So she could use this to pass information to Filipov?”
“If that’s who is on the other end, yes.”
Anissa let out a deep breath. She’d been suspicious, but the phone line had seemed the dead-end that stopped them in their tracks. Now if it was possible that the line wasn’t a dead-end and if their own DDG was passing along information to Filipov, it changed everything.
“What are we going to do?” Sasha asked, looking to Anissa. In Russia, a rogue spy was often just quietly murdered, no need for red tape and bureaucracy. He knew the UK was different.
“We need to catch her, to know everything. We get one go at taking her out, and we need to make it watertight. If we go to the Director General himself and get this wrong, if we can’t back up the claim, we’re in hot water. They’ll kick us both out. It’ll expose you, Sasha.”
That was something he hadn’t considered. They based his right to live in the UK on his role within MI6 and the need, therefore, to keep his identity secret, especially from the Russians. If Bethany was feeding information to Filipov, it was highly likely they already knew. If that were the case, they were leaving him to it, for the time being. Sasha had slept a little less comfortably, especially since Alex had gone, though he had been able to have Helen, the woman he’d met at the National Records office, to stay for a few nights.
“Then let’s do what we need to do. I suggest you speak to Gordon. We might need his expertise on this one. I’ll see what contacts I can pick up in Russia, see if I can get any evidence from that side that she’s speaking to the Kremlin.”
They set to work on things right away. It would risk everything they were doing if word got out to the Russians before Phelan was in place.
With Filipov due for meetings in St Petersburg––hardly official, though the British at least knew––the window of opportunity that Alex had been looking for was open.
They had presented Phelan with his option. Alex had known all along that the Irishman couldn’t make it there on his own, that he would need someone with him, at least to get him over the border, but probably to get him down to St Petersburg.
Alex had thought about doing that the official way––though Sasha was no longer there to get them through customs. Besides, with Filipov in power, Phelan’s presence in the nation, if they found him, would only be seen as a threat. Alex had to get Phelan in illegally. The whole operation had to be as if it never happened. The British couldn’t be seen to be a part of it.
It was a tall order, and even travelling with someone like Phelan proved a risk––he was a man with a dark and dangerous history even if that was a long time ago, and even if he claimed to be a new person altogether. Some things you never f
orget.
With everything that had recently happened to Alex, and between him and Anastasia especially, he needed something else to focus on to help him ignore his aching heart. He needed to put right the wrongs, to strike back where it would hurt. Alex needed to at least give it a go. He couldn’t be anywhere near Phelan when and if the man ever got a chance of redemption. But Alex would be close by until that point. It was the only thing to do.
Alex had studied the maps and chatted with Sasha about it all extensively. Northern Finland was the agreed point to gain entry into Russia, and while it would mean they had some distance to make up once in Russia to get down to St Petersburg, the remoteness of the national park and cover the trees gave them in the summer would help them make their illegal entry less visible to the authorities.
Alex had thrown his phone away as they crossed into Russia and so he didn’t see the message from Anissa that would come through an hour later:
We have Dmitry Kaminski. He’s under arrest. Anastasia gave him up. She still loves you, Alex. Please call me when you can. Stay safe.
32
Leningrad Oblast & St Petersburg
As Svetlana, Filipov and Rad were heading for St Petersburg, Alex and Phelan’s progress had been slow. The two men had been fortunate to avoid the first roadside check but had needed to find their way around two others.
“They know,” Alex said, more concerned with each passing kilometre. They were in Russia, he was sitting next to a wanted terrorist, and Alex was a member of MI6. Their mission––unofficial and unsanctioned––was to kill the President. Alex was wondering what they had been thinking.
He’d initially wanted to help Phelan get into the country, but in doing so, they blocked their exit. Alex couldn’t get back to Finland, even if he wished to, and travelling south was better than being stuck in the middle of nowhere. He would think about their exit at a later point though Phelan was to make his own arrangements. If all went to plan, there could be an imminent change of leadership in Russia. No one would know who carried out the attack though there would be plenty of active groups happy to claim responsibility. Daesh were one option though most likely it would be one of the Chechen terrorist organisations. They had carried out a metro bombing in the same city a few years previously. A hit on the President would undoubtedly score a victory, though Alex thought anyone who linked their name to the kill might only provoke a war, one no doubt waiting to happen.