by WOOD TOM
After the disaster at the hotel, Sykes had raced out of the country, crossing the northern border into Kenya. He’d rolled options around in his head while throwing antacids down his throat and vomiting periodically when they ran out. In the end he realized he didn’t have the balls for life as a fugitive or the know-how to last as one.
If he really tried, there was a slim chance he might be able sort things out enough to survive the inevitable fallout. But Reed had been at Sykes’s hotel. He was sure of it. The man who had shot Wiechman. And the only explanation for Reed being there was that Ferguson had sent the assassin to kill Sykes. It was enough to change Sykes’s priorities. Getting rich and his career came a clear second to staying alive.
He gave himself up at the embassy and had been in CIA custody since then. Ten minutes ago he’d been led from his room to an agency office in the basement of the embassy compound.
Sykes stood silently before Procter, who sat behind a desk in a chair obviously too small for him. Ten seconds past. Twenty. Procter saw he was struggling to start.
‘Would you like to sit down?’ he asked.
‘I would like to stand if it’s all the same to you, sir.’
‘They’re your legs.’
Sykes kept his hands clasped behind his back. He would do this with some dignity. In fact, he reminded himself, it was about the only thing he had left. Sykes spoke without pause for almost thirty minutes. He started with just the highlights: Ferguson’s coming to him with the plan; his agreeing; recruiting Kennard and Sumner; using Sumner to hire Tesseract and to identify him through dummy jobs; getting Hoyt to hire Stevenson; hiding the money trail through Seif and Olympus; using information supplied by Kennard to help Tesseract kill Ozols; having Stevenson’s team attempt to kill Tesseract; sending McClury after Tesseract when Stevenson failed; dispatching Reed to kill Kennard, Hoyt, Seif, Sumner, and Tesseract; thinking Reed had been successful in Cyprus; decrypting the flash drive and locating and recovering the missiles; and how it all went wrong.
When he had finished, Procter seemed far too calm considering what Sykes had just told him.
‘And,’ Procter began, ‘the purpose of his highly illegal course of action, one that resulted in a large number of deaths, was to sell the Oniks missiles to the highest bidder?’
‘Yes,’ Sykes admitted. ‘We did it for the money.’
‘Okay, good.’ Procter seemed pleased at his cooperation. ‘And you were involved in this operation from the start, were you not, Mr Sykes?’
Sykes knew he was going down hard. And he deserved it.
‘I was instrumental from the very beginning.’
‘I appreciate your honesty. I can certainly understand how difficult this is for you.’
What was going on? Did he just hear some sympathy? Procter was obviously softening him up for the killer blow.
‘Now,’ Procter continued, ‘it may surprise you to learn that I already knew much of what you’ve just told me.’
Something exploded inside Sykes’s stomach. ‘How?’
‘How doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you’ve come in voluntarily. If I’d been forced to bring you in unwillingly, this conversation would have been decidedly more unpleasant. Tell me more about what happened on Monday.’
Sykes’s throat was dry. He explained about Dalweg and Wiechman and the recovery of the missiles from the sunken frigate and their return to the hotel, the conversation with Ferguson. ‘That’s when everything went bad.’ He explained things as he remembered them.
Procter took everything in silently and made the occasional nod. When Sykes was finished, Procter asked, ‘Why was Tesseract in the country, at the hotel?’
Sykes shook his head. ‘The only thing I can think of is that he was coming after me.’
‘But how did he even know about you?’
‘Somehow Sumner got wind that she was a target and avoided Reed. She then teamed up with Tesseract to come after me and Ferguson. I guess she worked out who we were. I don’t know how.’
Procter was silent for a moment then started asking questions. Lots of questions. Sykes answered. All the gory details. He left out the fact that he’d seen Reed in Tanga, since it wouldn’t do any good if Procter knew that the reason why Sykes was confessing was that Ferguson wanted him dead. If that information came out later, so be it, but for now, Sykes wanted to feel like he wasn’t quite as low as Ferguson on the traitorous-scum ladder.
‘You have filled in a great many blanks to this sordid and despicable affair,’ Procter said, ‘and for that I am greatly appreciative. However, you have knowingly engaged in criminal activities that constitute the highest penalties allowed by law.’
‘I understand that, sir. And I accept the consequences.’
It felt good to be honourable, if only for a few minutes.
‘But,’ Procter continued, ‘it could be seen that you are guilty of nothing more than obeying orders. Ferguson was the instigator in this ridiculous mess, and you the victim of his lunacy.’ Sykes wasn’t sure how to respond, so he didn’t. ‘I can see that you had no wish to conduct this operation, but you were put in an impossible situation. Ferguson was your superior, a hero of this organization. You had no choice but to do as you were told, and I can appreciate that.
‘From day one we teach you to obey your superiors, to follow orders that you may not understand because you are not always in possession of the full facts. And you have to obey them, to the letter, even if you don’t agree with them. Because if you do not, you could destroy something of vast importance.’
If Sykes wasn’t mistaken a flicker of light appeared at the end of the very dark tunnel.
Procter continued: ‘The loyalty you have demonstrated to your superior is to be commended. But now you must choose where your true loyalty lies. To the agency or to your mentor?’
There wasn’t even a second’s deliberation, but Sykes mentally counted to ten to make it seem as if the choice had not been an easy one. He felt the pause perfectly demonstrated the internal conflict that was supposedly within him.
‘My loyalty is to this agency, sir.’
Procter nodded solemnly. ‘I’m very glad you said that. Very glad indeed. Because I need your help.’
‘I’m not sure I follow.’
‘Most of what you have told me cannot be substantiated, can it?’
Sykes thought carefully for a moment. ‘No, sir.’
‘And therein lies the rub.’
‘I’m still not sure I understand.’
‘It’s your word against Ferguson’s.’
Sykes nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘And his word is worth more than your own.’
The thought of Ferguson’s getting away clean made his blood boil, but his words came out pathetic instead of angry. ‘That’s not fair—’
‘Fair or not, that is the situation. So we must be smart, mustn’t we?’
Sykes was confused. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Ferguson won’t be aware of what’s happening, and neither will he find out what you’ve told me. So what I want you to do is this. I want you to carry on as normal, and do what Ferguson tells you to do. Just record it.’ Procter stood and placed the flats of his palms on the desk. ‘I need proof, enough proof to string Ferguson up by the throat so tightly even he cannot wriggle free. We need the case against Ferguson to be so overwhelming and the charges so severe that it’s impossible to keep it quiet. People need to know what’s happened.’
Sykes was starting to understand. Procter was desperate to make sure this wasn’t swept under the carpet.
‘And bringing Ferguson to justice will mean I can forget about any indiscretions you have performed up until this point,’ Procter continued. ‘I won’t forget those people who helped in its course. But I don’t want to put you under any pressure to do anything that you don’t want to do.’
Sykes straightened his back, knowing that he had could gather more than enough proof already to hammer the nails in Ferguson’s cof
fin. It would be a pleasure to do so. Sykes smiled inwardly. He knew what Procter was up to, the sly fucker. Procter would be the crusader who cleaned – no purged – the CIA of corruption, who showed that one of the organization’s greatest heroes was rotten to the core. That kind of achievement would accelerate him straight into the director’s chair in just a few years. After that, who knew? Procter was going places, that much was certain. And if Sykes continued to be as smart as he knew himself to be, he would be going there too. Sykes had a plan.
‘I want to make things right,’ he said, and he meant it.
Procter smiled. ‘Good for you.’
CHAPTER 81
13:13 EAT
‘How are you feeling, Antonio?’
Alvarez blew out some air and, in answer, raised his slinged right arm as much as the pain would allow. He had some pills in his system, and they took much of the edge off.
‘I’m told it should heal good,’ Procter said.
‘Won’t be pitching anytime soon though.’
Procter stepped into the hotel room, and Alvarez closed the door behind him. The room wasn’t particularly big to begin with, but with Procter now taking up a good amount of the available space it was positively cramped.
‘You know how much blood you lost?’
Alvarez shook his head. ‘No, but I’m betting I’m half African now.’
With one arm Alvarez moved his bag to one side and sat down on the room’s single bed. The bag was small and only contained some dirty laundry and Alvarez’s few personal effects. The clothes he was wearing had been bought for him while he spent most of the night on a hospital bed. He’d been flown to Tanzania’s capital by an embassy chopper and given a hotel room to rest in.
‘But you’re lucky you didn’t come away with worse,’ Procter said, tone noticeably more serious. ‘Going off on your own like that. What were you thinking?’
‘I didn’t have a whole lot of time to think.’
Procter frowned. ‘As an officer of the CIA you should probably have answered differently there.’
‘I’m high on painkillers.’
Procter showed some teeth. ‘Then I’ll let it pass.’
Alvarez didn’t say anything. He reached across to the bedside table and grabbed a bottle of mineral water. He switched it to his right hand to twist the top off with his left, but the bottled water was damp with condensation and too slippery in his weakened grip.
‘Let me get that for you,’ Procter offered, stepping closer.
Alvarez kept the bottle away from Procter. ‘I got it.’
He pushed the bottle against his chest and, with the extra support, managed to get the top off. He took a small sip and placed it back down.
‘Not as thirsty as you thought?’ Procter asked.
‘Guess not.’
‘You know,’ Procter said, ‘a part of me wants to shout my big mouth off at you for disobeying my commands.’
‘So why don’t you?’
‘Because I’m not sure if it would be just ego talking. After all, you did a good, if unconventional, job.’
‘We didn’t get the missiles.’
Procter shrugged. ‘The second Ozols got killed and the drive went missing we were never going to get those missiles. It was a lost cause from the get-go, no matter what spiel came out of Chambers’s mouth.’
Alvarez rubbed his shoulder.
Procter continued, ‘You stopped anyone else from getting them. That’s the most important thing.’
‘Status quo maintained?’
‘That’s the business we’re in.’
‘What happens to Ferguson and Sykes?’
‘Sykes turned himself in. He’ll cut a deal, help the case against Ferguson.’
‘When’s Ferguson going to get the good news?’
Procter chewed on his answer for a moment. ‘That’s going to take some more legwork. But don’t worry, he’ll get what’s coming to him.’ He reached a hand for the water. ‘Mind?’ Alvarez shook his head, and Procter took a long drink. ‘And don’t think about going solo again,’ he said after screwing the top back on. ‘I won’t be such a nice guy next time you pull this kind of shit.’
Alvarez half raised his arm again. ‘Couldn’t if I wanted to.’
Procter looked at him closely. ‘But do you want to?’
Alvarez thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘Once was enough.’
‘Good. Because you’re going to be behind a desk for a while. Partly because you need time to heal and partly because I’ve got to be seen giving you a telling off. The agency doesn’t have time for mavericks.’
Alvarez nodded.
‘What time’s your flight out?’ Procter asked.
Alvarez turned his wrist over to look at his watch. ‘Soon.’
‘Make sure you’re on it.’
‘I will.’
‘What are you going to do when you get back?’
‘Normal stuff. Have a barbecue, go to a ball game. See my kid.’
‘Sounds nice,’ Procter said.
CHAPTER 82
Moscow, Russia
Wednesday
14:11 MSK
Colonel Gennady Aniskovach passed through the corridors of the SVR headquarters and, with a controlled amount of anger, accepted that his face now drew more glances damaged than it had when beautiful. Prudnikov’s secretary, who had previously always gazed at him with brazen longing and desire, averted her eyes when he arrived at her desk. Aniskovach waited while she announced his presence by an intercom and, despite the pain it caused, gave her his best smile when she finally glanced his way before he entered Prudnikov’s office.
The director was reading a report of some variety and did not look up. There was no small talk. Aniskovach knew he had exhausted that particular pleasure. Eventually Prudnikov placed the report to one side. He adjusted it so it was square to his desk.
He poured himself a glass of water and took a drink. ‘My throat is hoarse from the amount of explaining I have been forced to do on your behalf. As you may expect, the GRU in particular are not exactly happy that four decorated members of our special forces have lost their lives and that another three were injured during an operation we told them nothing about – an operation that should have been theirs to conduct in the first place.’
He rubbed his brow before looking up, grey eyes narrow. ‘I do not appreciate that you have put me in this position yet again. I did as you requested, and I gave you the task of recovering those missiles, at the same time allowing you the chance to repair your tarnished reputation. And what do you do? You are responsible for yet more deaths; you create yet more problems for me. And you didn’t even come back with so much as a handful of bolts.’
‘I’d like to remind you of the unforeseen circumstances that interfered with the mission,’ Aniskovach responded calmly. ‘Yet I still managed to successfully destroy the missiles and therefore deny America acquiring our technology.’ Aniskovach stood straight-backed. ‘And I offer my sincerest regret for the loss of life, sir.’
The head of the SVR smirked. ‘Even you cannot make that sound sincere, Gennady. Though others may not see past your charm, I am not so easily misled. I’ve spoken to the soldiers at the hospital, and I know what really happened. You had nothing to do with the destruction of the missiles. That was but a fortunate coincidence, so don’t try and claim credit. I always knew that you were ruthless, but now I know that you have no conscience, not even when good men die to serve your ambition. If it were purely up to me, I would have you thrown out of the organization or, at the least, I would confine you to a desk for the rest of your career where you could do no more damage.’
‘Sir, I—’
‘Silence.’ Prudnikov waved his hand. ‘Do not spill your veneered words on me. There is no need for it. I say this honestly: Your ability to capitalize on your own mistakes is extremely impressive. Even at my best I don’t believe I could have wriggled from the fisherman’s net as well as you have.’
; ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I’m sure you don’t. But it seems the GRU were not the lone recipient of information relating to the Tanzania operation. That we very nearly lost our missile technology to the Americans has created ripples in the pools of power above my head. It was an especially clever move of yours to leak what happened to those who know no better so that the illusion of success can shield you from your failure. If nothing else, I must respect your guile.’
Aniskovach had originally planned to appear shocked at news of the leak but now chose to stand emotionless. There seemed little point in acting ignorant.
‘There are many who care only for headlines who are extremely pleased with your actions. Press releases are already being prepared to boast of our victory.’ Prudnikov sighed. ‘Quite the hero, aren’t you?’
‘I do my duty as well as I can.’
Prudnikov laughed bitterly and leaned back in his chair. ‘It appears that your stock has risen sharply and that you have some new friends in the Kremlin, friends who inform me that you’ve done Russia proud, friends who inform me that it would weaken our very nation if I were to downgrade your responsibilities. Apparently the lives of four distinguished soldiers, four real heroes, is but a small price to pay for keeping our missile superiority. I have been instructed that I should congratulate you, reward you, even.’
The SVR colonel tried not to look too pleased with himself. This was going even better than he had expected.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘There is no need to thank me, Gennady, when this has been entirely of your own doing. Any thanks you receive should therefore be directed purely toward yourself.’
‘Then I thank myself.’
Prudnikov’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Your arrogance will be your downfall.’
‘Perhaps,’ Aniskovach began, ‘but so far any arrogance has been more than justified. There is no reason to suggest that justification shall not continue. In which case confidence would have been a more accurate choice of word. Sir.’