He thought long and hard that night about what he was about to do but, in the end, he did it anyway. It was an act driven by his deep regret for Yuri’s death, the Iraq war duplicity and his disdain for those establishment figures who had pushed him over the edge.
He released around 600 files in links to five Twitter accounts connected to botnets that would push the tweets to two investigative journalists used by whistle-blowers. He used Alfie’s name in the tweets, and configured his botnets to wake up and send the information twenty-four hours from now to the direct mail of the journalists and then, twenty-four hours later, to send a reduced number to the public at large.
‘My turn to run the show – and Alfie will have his day,’ he muttered as he pressed send.
Sean had just released the entire case files of the Margaret Wilshaw murder and the tantalising evidence of Iran’s nuclear smuggling in Central Asia. It was enough to see many ministers implicated and probably put on trial for falsifying intelligence. He also added the damning police corruption files that Alfie had found, which would probably see many serving and former senior police officers in the dock.
He smiled as he imagined the nuclear fallout of such revelations in the public arena.
His last act was to prepare two time-delayed emails – his own act of reprisal – which would be sent four weeks after he pressed the send button, just in case he was killed. The emails contained damaging evidence against the former Ambassador, Jonathan Hirst, the list of names provided by WYNTHROP in the QUERY files and the information about the high-profile serving Cabinet minister, plus the full list of Russian moles within the British establishment. Sean felt a sense of retribution and finality about this act – one that he knew would help him to move on in his life.
The recipients of the leaks were the Global Investigative Journalist Network – a whistle-blowing receptacle for global intelligence exposés.
For finality, he added his own whistle-blowing nugget – the one that would see Dominic Atwood crushed.
Chapter 42
The ‘Bolt-Hole’, Languedoc-Roussillon, 27 April 2016
Sean sat down with Swartz and Phil to look at the many options for releasing Melissa. They sat in front of some poor-quality imagery and photographs taken from the endoscopes of the inside of the house, together with a series of room plans with the exact details of what had been seen inside.
‘I’m not sure I can fit with the timings that you’ve given me Sean – it could all go horribly wrong if we fuck up the first phase of the operation and then any timings from there go straight down the pan.’
‘I agree,’ Sean said. ‘That’s why we get the first phase bang on. The timings are crucial, and speed and surprise will give us the win.’
‘Well, let’s go through this in detail and get the timings worked out to the second,’ Swartz piped up.
Swartz looked at the plan in detail to try and get the optimum timings, and to work out how long each phase of the rescue would take. He mulled over each phase and kept coming back to the same concern. ‘If we missed anything on the recce the bloke on the end of the trigger could blow the lot up before we can get to her.’ He scrunched his face up at the prospect.
‘But we might get lucky too,’ Phil chipped in. ‘If he’s off the ball for just a few seconds we will win.’ Phil then pointed out all the known defences the Russians had put in place. ‘We’ve seen these fire incendiaries in each room. Simple initiation mechanisms using accelerant fuel and a small charge on the top of the containers. Some are well hidden, but others are obvious. They’re all connected to fuses with electric wire initiation and all the connections seem to go back into a small area, probably underneath the sofa in the lounge. We can see the fuse and wire trails but not the trigger and power unit to set them off. I’m guessing it’s initiated by mobile phone but can’t be sure. If he’s any good, he’s probably put two or three mobile phones there to ensure wrong numbers don’t set the cottage ablaze. Chances are he’s set up an automated dial-and-trigger system on his laptop that will zoom in over the 4G network. But he may also have a backup – we don’t know.’
Sean watched Swartz put his hands behind his head and stretch backwards, releasing a lengthy sigh. ‘You know what, Sean, there are too many fucking “known unknowns” here for my liking.’ Sean smirked at his Donald Rumsfeld moment.
Quiet pauses. Private thoughts. Each of them absorbed by the bizarre nature of it all. Sean realised that, in actual fact, their trump cards were speed, guile and instinct.
‘The best way is to act dynamically,’ Phil said chirpily. ‘We’ll look at taking the fastest way to release Melissa from the explosives. My gut feeling says he hasn’t put anything complicated like a collapsing circuit on the explosives around her neck – which will make it easier for us.’
‘OK, what about the hired hands inside, though,’ Sean asked.
‘It seems the guards simply come into the room by following a marked route and then slip her food and drink under the active beams, making sure not to break them. She has an area of about eight square metres to sit in and sleep, but effectively she’s a prisoner within an invisible fence.’ Phil then explained in detail the trigger mechanisms surrounding Melissa, referring to the active infrared beams and the power systems that made them operate. ‘I expect the neck explosives are on a remote-triggering system, possibly even a Bluetooth system from beneath the sofa. That’s the command centre of all his explosives and incendiaries. I expect she is paralysed with fear, pretty much expecting that her time is up… but not knowing at what minute of the day it will come.’
Sean pondered the sheer terror that she must be feeling with a bomb around her neck and asked Phil what would happen if the primary system failed to detonate or was tampered with.
‘Well, if I’d put this together, I’d have a time-delay device that would be triggered but I’d set it up as an anti-tamper switch too, with a fallback if the power failed.’
Phil drew a small diagram to explain to Sean how a timer device could be triggered if he cut a wire or removed a detonator, or indeed if the circuit’s power failed. ‘It would immediately transfer to the secondary initiation switch,’ he explained. ‘Which would be the timer, and could be set for one second upwards. This is high-end capability, mate, and it will be a hell of a task to keep Melissa alive in the short time we have to raid the house and then to extract her without the explosive traps blowing her up.’
*
Sean watched as Swartz and Phil led the rehearsals with the team to get the timings right, and to get the technological interceptions right. The soldiers were kitted out with their MP5 assault weapons, Glock pistols, ammunition and flash bang grenades. They were dressed in dark jeans, boots and lightweight black jackets.
They practised on the safe house they were occupying, setting up white tape in the garden and in the rooms to signify the exact routes they would need to take, and the exact distances. It wasn’t perfect, Sean thought, but they had scaled their own bolt-hole to suit the target-site layout, adapting and building makeshift walls and doors using a variety of carpentry skills and odd bits of junk hanging around.
Sean knew they would have to carry a lot of technical kit on the assault and he knew each phase was dependent on the equipment they had to guide and steer the assault team to success. Swartz was making sure they tested the kit and then tested it again, and that they had a contingency plan if the equipment failed. He instilled into each and every man that this was ultra-high risk and beyond the scope of any previous operation they had conducted. But it was doable.
Sean sensed that the feeling amongst the team was electric, and that it helped numb their fear. No allowance was being made for incompetence or failure to be precise on this job. There were explosives and electronic booby traps everywhere.
Chapter 43
Languedoc-Roussillon, 28 April 2016
Early morning rain. A day for a kill. Sean was deep in thought as he watched Jack walk soullessly across the dank moor, g
radually getting closer to the rendezvous. The black storm clouds were gathering and a few scudded overhead, providing an ominous setting, Sean thought, for such a vital meeting.
‘We all look like grave diggers,’ Sean said, looking at Jugsy, who was covered from head to toe in black peat on an horrifically wet day. Sean sniggered as Jugsy looked himself up and down and tried to clean himself up a bit. ‘It’s not a ministerial visit you know, Jugsy,’ Sean said, chuckling.
‘Piss off,’ Jugsy said, giving him the finger. ‘I’ll shove this shovel right up this bloke’s arse if he doesn’t play ball, mate.’
‘Fear not, Jugsy, it’s all in hand,’ Sean said, noticing Jack was right on top of them now. He took off his glove and shook Jack’s hand. ‘Welcome to hell on mud, Jack.’
The intensity of the rain matched that of the rendezvous. Sean pointed to a small tent where they could talk without the Russians watching them. At that moment the clouds broke – opening with a riotous volley of hail, followed by a torrent of rain that engulfed them.
They crouched together inside the sodden tent.
‘Well, have you found him yet then, Sean? Or is all this a smokescreen?’ Jack asked. Sean smiled and looked Jack in the eye as he handed him a mug of coffee and a chocolate bar.
‘I’ve found him alright, Jack. He’s lying in a grave about four metres away from us, still fully clothed, and not decayed. It wasn’t a small cache that I was looking for, it was his corpse I needed all along.’
Jack, unsurprised, took a sip of his coffee and looked up at Sean, waiting to hear the whole story. Jack knew the time had come to reveal all, or at least most of it, to Sean, and vice versa.
‘You see Jack, I knew I had to have some sort of insurance policy here. I still have no idea why you got me out of that godawful jail to do this job when you could just have easily got another agent with similar undercover experience to do it. I’ve been wondering why Dominic needed Alfie’s files and what the hell was so big that he had to put such a large cover-up in place.’ Jack nodded, and Sean offered him a small stool to sit on, just as the rain splattered the tent with what sounded like loud bullets.
‘It’s inconceivable to me that you don’t know the full picture,’ Sean said fiercely. ‘But I still haven’t got it all. I’ve been piecing it together and I’ve set up a few things to let me finish this off for good and move on. You can either run with my plan or not, Jack.’
Sean was careful to make Jack witness the steely nature of his own position – he was focused, sharp and ready for action. For Sean it was now fight or flight. This was his big moment. Their exchange felt honest and straightforward. The raindrops on the canvas got lighter. The tent poles creaked in the howling wind.
‘Well Sean, I think you should give me your plan and we’ll see what I think from there. I’m guessing that you have access to the files or know where they are. Am I right?’
‘Yes, I’ve got them all,’ Sean said. ‘I know exactly where they are. But I’ve taken the liberty of also placing the most sensitive secret files in other areas of the public domain, to ensure I’m not shafted. And I’ve put in place some instructions to enable others to expose them all, based upon what happens to me in the next twenty-four hours.’
Sean had saddled Jack with the conundrum of this highly sensitive information falling into the wrong hands.
‘So, you see, I think I’ve figured out who Dominic is protecting,’ Sean said, ‘and the information he doesn’t want exposed in the press and public arena. But it will find its way there unless I have my exit firmly mapped out with you, Jack, sanctioned by Dominic and whoever else has their fingers in this damned muddy pie.’
‘What have you seen in the files then?’ Jack chipped in.
‘Bad stuff – it’s gold dust if you want to see heads roll. Alfie might not be alive but by fuck this stuff can still be released in his name. And it would send some people into orbit after the furore that would result from his whistle-blowing. I think it’s time we came clean and sorted this out. Otherwise, Alfie will get the opportunity to release those files, because I’ll make sure he gets what he wanted. I’ll make sure his obituary is published and show how the government had him killed.’ He held back on which government, to see if the statement triggered Jack.
Sean looked at Jack’s thin face. His eyes said the stakes were high. His look had a fatalistic air. His manner, as always, was fastidiously calm. Doubtless he was aroused by the intellectual aspect of it all, yet he remained unprovoked. Sean had raised the tempo, had poked him, and was now ready to listen.
‘Let me have your plan and your wish list,’ Jack said. ‘Let’s get that dealt with now.’
Sean unzipped the inner pocket of his black Gore-Tex jacket and pulled out a plastic zipped wallet with some documents inside. Inside the first brown A4 envelope, which had mucky folds across its centre, was an operation order for the release of Melissa. It was meticulously typed and written with precise military orders outlining the mission, scheme of manoeuvre, phases of operation and timings.
‘We have less than four hours now to get the boys over the start line. I need you to authorise this.’ Sean didn’t try to bribe or coerce Jack any further – he just let Jack read it and left the tent to get some fresh air.
*
Jack spent fifteen minutes digesting the detail of what was proposed and looked at the last phase, which involved Natalie. He wasn’t too happy about what Sean had proposed as it was very high-risk. Jack felt a twinge of relief, though, that his thoughts about Sean were spot on. He knew Sean still had some loyalty – and his own mantra of doing the right thing. His plan was risky, but the fact that he had presented this as his first option encouraged Jack that Sean’s loyalty to the Crown had still not fully deserted him, angry though he may have been at having been disgraced and pushed out into the cold.
Jack checked his thoughts, put himself in Sean’s shoes and wondered if he had presented a similar plan to Natalie.
*
Sean sat on a rock, gazing over towards the small waterfall, mindful that he would present a similar plan to Natalie that evening – but the detail depended on Jack’s responses now. Sean was well aware that Natalie’s ruthless edge would involve having himself and Melissa slain – but he had a simple plan for that. And it involved a kill. Jack could have first bite at the cherry, though, to deliver Sean’s exit plan into a new world.
Sean was still trying to piece the puzzle together, and had continued late into the night mapping out who he felt was working for whom, who was connected to whom and who was covering whom. He took his ‘mind map’ out of his pocket. It was now covered with dotted lines linking individuals to other people, and contained an array of short sentences written in pencil, some of which had been rubbed out a few times, to try and piece together each individual’s motive and who was linked to the moles and the conspirators. It was Spycatcher stuff – the pieces of the puzzle were slotting together but a few gaping holes remained for Sean to decide which way he would jump when the time came. Sean knew the end was coming and he was confident he would make the moves that would make everyone else jump.
Sean returned and sat opposite Jack. ‘If you agree to this, Jack, you get the second envelope tonight.’
‘I presume that the second envelope will have the access description to the files?’
Sean nodded and then Jack explained himself further. ‘OK, I’ll give the order. It’s bloody high-risk and if people are killed I’ll have some serious explaining to do,’ he said. ‘But you have to agree to give me the codes and files whatever happens, or else I can’t sanction this. I need the files, not Melissa. I can let the Russians go, it doesn’t matter to us.’
‘In which case you can have the files now. Just give me what I need: the money and a cover story to leave the country. I’ve done my bit for you.’ Sean handed him the second brown envelope. Jack held it in his hand.
‘It’s already set up for you, Sean – just as we agreed when you set out on this jo
urney.’
The atmosphere was unruffled, both men focused on the night operation. A feeling of full trust had occurred for the first time.
‘It’s damned risky,’ Jack said. ‘You know she may not make it out alive?’
Sean didn’t answer but instead pulled out his i2 relationship mind map of his ideas on what this was all about. ‘This is what I think Dominic is up to,’ Sean said. ‘Alfie called the files QUERY. An agent I’ve called FITZROY was handed a list of Russian moles in Moscow in 2005 – that list had never surfaced in over forty-odd years. On that list is a current Cabinet minister – a Russian spy at the very centre of the British establishment for over four decades, who no doubt gave the very best of our secrets to the Russians all the way through. It was me who was actually tasked to find that hidden list and I handed it over to FITZROY in the rusty tin – but I didn’t know what the fuck it was all about at the time.’
Jack looked shocked at this revelation. Sean noticed his reaction and then continued. ‘I handed a cache of stuff to a British bloke on the banks of the river Moskva – never knowing quite what the hell it was. I was tasked by the FCO to take a team to find and retrieve a whole raft of stuff before handing this special list over to the guy I named FITZROY.’
‘But who do you think WYNTHROP was, Sean? Who was he?’ Jack asked, pointing to the name on the paper.
‘I’ve no idea but what I do know is that Dominic Atwood is providing cover for the mole – what kind of British loyalty is that? He’s nothing but a devious bastard hell-bent on his own egotistical aims, and a traitor to boot. Alfie managed to hack into his accounts to reveal how he had set up the rendition programmes for the CIA in Uzbekistan. That’s exactly when I met him for the first time all those years ago in Central Asia – and I knew he was a dangerous man the moment I met him. What is he to you Jack? Why are you so loyal to him?’
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