The Kompromat Kill

by Michael Jenkins

  Sean copied all the files and the entire hard drive of the Pakistani’s laptop onto Samantha’s. He returned to the original Word document and began to insert some code into its macro feature. A code that put a time lapse on the entire document before it would scramble itself into a bunch of unintelligible characters. It would slowly destroy itself by acting like a cancer to the words.

  ‘Here’s what we do Mr Saaid. You will carry out your task at 6.30pm, making sure you do not give anything away about the discussions we’ve had here. My colleague here will wire you up, and we’ll be watching every movement you make. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir. But what about my family?’

  ‘If you go through with this your masters will be none the wiser about what we’ve done. I want you to give my colleague here your address and contact details. When you return to Pakistan you’ll have a visit from an officer from the British Embassy. You’ll help them with their inquiries into who tasked you for this work and you’ll be well looked after by them. You’ll be operating for the British now - they’ll protect you and your family. What you have done today is a highly important act that could avert a major terrorist incident. You’ll be looked after, but do not under any circumstances tell anyone else about this except the British officers who will visit you in Pakistan.’

  Sean watched the man break down, holding his head in his hands as if it was a massive relief to his soul.

  ‘Right, get yourself together, and get your head right for this. There’s no time for emotion. We get this done, OK?’ The man nodded, trying to control his shaking.

  Sean now had a head start on Nadège. At last. A lure, and an inside track. He had uncovered their command and control facility at the port in Istanbul, found the hidden caches of bomb-making equipment in the woods and verified that she planned to deploy an improvised nuclear device, with all the carnage that came with it. He had found the next big piece in the jigsaw. He also knew that the most difficult element of planning such a nuclear attack using a gun device was to acquire enough uranium to make it happen.

  And Sean was the man who had been sent to Nadège to provide the quantities of uranium that she needed.

  Chapter 29

  The Black Sea

  The evening entertainment aboard the RMS Crystal consisted of a five-course Michelin-star dinner accompanied by a 1920s-style Dixieland jazz band led by a bandmaster and a banjo player. A full crew of waiting staff, dressed immaculately in black, darted amongst the three levels of the ballroom, whilst sequin-dressed women guided diners expertly to their tables.

  Sean was dressed for the occasion in a beige suit, white shirt and cobalt blue tie with matching pocket handkerchief. His appearance had returned to his clean-cut short-back-and-sides image, complete with a well-trimmed but greying beard. He hovered in the large cocktail lounge above the main restaurant, where wealthy conference goers were jostling for position around the centrepiece bar. A small cadre of cocktail waiters and mixologists were in full swing, flinging and tumbling containers between themselves, launching bottles behind their backs and generally providing an exquisite show for all.

  Sean meandered amongst the crowd, listening carefully to Samantha’s commentary on his tiny earphone. Samantha had followed Saaid and was sat in the quiet lounge a deck above.

  ‘It’s quite cosy up here you know,’ Samantha began. ‘Dim lights, piano player, classy sofas and some wonderful aperitifs. I think we can have a quiet romantic moment here later when they’re all tucked up in bed.’

  Sean smirked. His eyes connected with the deep green eyes of a waitress holding a tray of champagne in front of him. He felt a tinge of attraction, coupled with a fleeting thought about having a night of debauchery again, but quickly reigned them back in. He lifted a glass, leaving a lingering smile for the waitress, before pressing the radio switch twice to signify he had received Samantha’s message.

  ‘They’re shaking hands. Now he’s kissing her hand. Proper gentleman. He’s sat down next to her. She looks stunning by the way. Strapless green gown, full length with a split, and hair up in a bun. Stunningly petite, but deadly I’d say.’

  ‘Is there a seat nearby that I can use?’

  ‘Yes. Now listen into their conversation. I’m sat at the bar next to some very loud Americans. Saaid is playing it well so far.’

  Sean pressed the switch twice, found a quiet corner and used a second earpiece to listen to the conversation Saaid was now having with Nadège. The microphone had been neatly sewn into his jacket collar but so far it was only picking up small talk about the conference, with no reference to the matter at hand. Once the covert pass of the pen drive had taken place, Sean would make his move.

  Sean listened intently to Nadège talking. ‘I’ll need you to answer some questions for my friend over the next two weeks by email. You’ll answer these questions in the drafts folder of this Hotmail account.’

  Sean imagined her passing a card across the table to Saaid with a Hotmail address on it. She was using a tactic that had often been used by terrorists to ensure no actual transmissions ever took place, and one which allowed operators to exchange messages in the same draft folder.

  ‘My colleague knows what he’s doing,’ she continued, ‘but he’s asked me to question you in detail about the documents and techniques you’re providing.’ A long pause and the sound of fizzy drinks being poured and ice clattering against glass. ‘We can do that over the course of the next day or so but after that he will contact you using the Hotmail address. You’ll have to monitor it every day at 2pm.’

  Sean listened to Saaid agreeing with Nadège. Saaid then explained how he would guide Nadège through the technical elements of the documents he was providing and that he would be happy to help her protégé from afar. Sean knew this to be the British Army bombmaker given the codename FALLOWFIELD by Jack for this operation. Sean had read that this man was perfectly capable of building an improvised nuclear device but that such a feat could never be completed by a single operator. He’d need scientific support on hand to guide him with the technical intricacies. Any small imperfection in the design and the explosive energy calculation would render the device useless.

  This new turn of events now provided Sean with the ability to communicate directly with the bomber. A massive bonus.

  ‘Saaid has passed the glasses case. All delivered,’ Samantha said over the radio. Sean’s sense of adventure was now peaking as he slowly made his way up the long winding staircase to the quiet lounge. He took a few breathes, adjusted his tie and sprayed a small amount of Terre d’Hermès on his neck from a sample bottle.

  Sean walked calmly into the lounge and thrust a hand out to Saaid.

  ‘Good evening, my name’s Calum,’ Sean said, gripping Saaid’s hand firmly. ‘Don’t stand up… please.’

  He turned to Nadège. ‘Good evening, do you mind if I take a seat?’

  Sean watched Saaid helpfully pull a chair closer. Before Nadège had a chance to say a word, Sean was sat in it, smiling broadly at both of them. Nadège’s eyes threw piercing daggers - she was fuming, no doubt about it.

  ‘It’s been really nice to meet so many new faces here. Here’s my card by the way, I’m from London you know. What about you?’

  Nadège couldn’t exactly make a public show of her rage and Sean had made sure that he came across as loud and gregarious, enough to capture the attention of other people on adjacent tables. The risk was that she would simply stand up and leave. She didn’t.

  ‘We’ve only just met too,’ Nadège said finally with a forced smile. ‘I’m from New York and I believe this gentleman is from India. What exactly do you do then Calum?’ She enunciated every syllable of the last sentence, making it very clear she was pissed off.

  ‘Oh, well. I do a lot of things. I mainly sell. Everything from Sunseeker yachts to providing personal coaching sessions. Perhaps you’re in need of a coach?’ Sean made a grand gesture with both arms, raised his voice a tone or two higher and provided a few
inspirational quotes. Enough to make out that he was an eccentric type, but not a bumbling one.

  ‘Never let fear get in the way of your dreams is my motto,’ he said, gently tapping Nadège on the arm.

  Nadège retracted her arm swiftly and sat forward. Her eyes were burning with rage. ‘But why are you here Calum? This conference isn’t about selling boats or coaching is it?’

  ‘Of course madam, or is it mademoiselle? I do sell other things too you know,’ Sean said sarcastically, knowing that Nadège liked it when a man flirted with her. He sat back in his chair, smiled at Nadège and threw her a look as if to say ‘your turn next.’ He placed his hand on his chin, watching as Nadège tried not to laugh. She had been soothed.

  Saaid, dressed smartly in a three-piece checked suit and red bow tie, and sporting an expensive Rolex watch, stood to leave. ‘Please forgive me for a few moments, I need to make a call to my wife. Mr Calum, a real pleasure to meet you.’

  Sean turned to Nadège, smiling. ‘I knew I’d get a reaction out of you there. You know it makes sense to have a night with me.’

  Nadège regained her composure but wore a scornful face that wanted to take control of the situation. Sean launched in first. ‘I have something you need Nadège. Just hear me out quickly. You need what I have, and I need your money. This is a massive sale for me and I’ve done a hell of a lot to get this set up for you. Did you check me out?’

  ‘I did. Seems you’re telling the truth for once but it’s a story that could still easily have been concocted too. I’m simply not interested in using you. I’ve started to look elsewhere.’

  ‘Listen. I need the money, and I’ll be upfront with you. I’ve got a price on my head at the moment. Fucking Albanians have got a contract out on me and I need an out. I think they might be on the ship. Look at this.’

  Sean showed Nadège the picture of the man he’d smashed in the toilets, knowing it was probably her man, but that it provided a good twist to his own story.

  ‘He’s my man, you bastard.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, and you nearly killed him.’

  ‘Well he was following me. I didn’t know he was yours. How did he find me?’

  Nadège leant forward and touched Sean on the arm. She smelt divine. ‘I know everyone in this city. Everyone, you understand? Police, ministers, army officers, security managers. I pay them a lot and they provide me with information. You were seen at Raffles and then again at that shithole of a place you bunked down in for the night.’

  ‘OK. Your city then. Good skills. I was slack and, to be honest, not in a good place.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’d just heard some bad news about my mother and gone off the rails. Needed a night out I guess.’

  ‘Well listen to me now. You hurt my man bad. I’ll have you killed if you keep pestering me. You’re being a real pain in the backside. Just forget it. I’m not using you.’

  Sean grabbed his champagne and slumped back in his chair, letting the moment ride to take the heat out of the situation. Nadège seemed in no rush to leave though. He waved for a waitress.

  ‘Let’s have another drink at least. Like old times? I could do with another good night out.’

  ‘I most certainly do not want that,’ Nadège replied haughtily.

  ‘Come on Nadège, you know it makes sense. You have absolutely nothing to lose at all here really. Here, let me show you something.’ Sean waited until the waitress had finished topping up their glasses and then took two photographs from his jacket pocket.

  ‘That’s me in the Kabul prison last year. Grim eh?’ He watched Nadège take the photo showing the dingy cell in which he had been incarcerated. The picture showed a couple of rusty bunk beds bolted to the wall with the cell splattered in globules of phlegm and excrement. Sean was sat shaven headed on the bottom of the bunk.

  ‘Taken by the British Consulate rep before I was released. Now look at this one. It’s in Uzbekistan.’ He passed the second photo showing him stood above five wooden cases of automatic weapons and grenades with a second man, a Westerner. ‘This was the man I killed because he framed me before the Afghan police banged me up. It was all over the British press that he was murdered.’

  ‘OK, but why show me this now? I’ve completed my checks. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m not taking the risk of working with an ex-British agent.’

  ‘Well you’ve been taking a risk with the British Army bomb-disposal officer you’re using, haven’t you?’

  Nadège sat bolt upright. Her face dropped, and she lurched forward. ‘How the fuck do you know about him?’ she demanded.

  ‘I did my own checks. He’s been recruited the same way I was – via some young Syrian bloke, probably linked to the Russian mobs in London I’d have thought. It wasn’t that difficult to find out once I got hold of him and threatened him with a knife against his throat. Pretty easy actually.’

  ‘What exactly do you know about him?’

  ‘I did a few checks with a few ex-bomb disposal men he worked with. It was all hushed up but he went mental and started a bombing campaign against his own army units. Proper nutter. I’d keep an eye on him if I was you.’

  Sean was grateful for the intelligence Colonel Sergei had provided on the entire operation. He’d explained how they used Syrian and Greek gangsters as the link to the Russian mobs and then through to the GRU. It allowed money to be laundered and operations to be mounted without them being attributable to Moscow. Sean had just skewed the story a little further to suit Nadège’s inquisition. She was cornered now. She could either have Sean killed, as he knew too much about the operation, or use him for a while. That would be enough time for Sean to probe further in a risky landscape of deep deception. She could have him killed at any time from this point forward.

  Nadège sat back and went quiet. Stunned. Sean passed her his phone with an enlarged photo on it. ‘This is what you’re after and I have it Nadège. It’s weapons-grade uranium, just what your bomber friend needs. I’ve been paid to get it for you. What have you got to lose?’

  Nadège looked at the picture. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘It’s a helicopter flight and a jeep journey away. You can have it in your hands within two days of leaving here. Your bomb man can have it within three, but you’ll need to arrange your own transport to wherever he is. I have a flight ready to go for 8am on Saturday and, after the deal is done, I’ll be gone again. It’s as easy as that. Meet me back here after dinner at ten o’clock and I’ll give you the details.’

  Nadège stood up to leave for dinner and held her hand out to shake Sean’s. ‘I’ll think on it,’ she said, smiling a little. ‘I’ll make a call or two and we’ll see. Maybe you are right. Perhaps I don’t have anything to lose. I’ll find out.’

  Sean felt confident the lure had worked. Two and a half hours later, sat at the end of the bar with a whisky, Sean watched Nadège glide into the room. Their eyes locked.

  ‘Just one quick drink Sean,’ she began, ‘then you can come to my room for a while. We have a lot to discuss.’

  Chapter 30

  London

  Jack thought long and hard about what he was about to do. But he knew the time was right. The time was right to put some explosive evidence into the right hands. Some Kompromat.

  Kompromat material that would change the American’s foreign policy for many years and in a way that HM Government would approve but could simply not do themselves.

  His cause was true. His planning impeccable. But despite his confidence in the plan, he wanted to think it through in a bit more detail as he left his office, destined for a rendezvous with one of America’s most powerful women in Europe.

  He opted for a long stroll from his regular MI5 office on Millbank, deciding to walk along the Thames embankment before traversing Trafalgar Square to arrive at St Martins Lane. It was a wonderful day, nothing more than a slight breeze with the clouds parting occasionally to reveal bursts of a hot summer sun. He felt a little anxious but no
more so than with any of the other ingenious plots he had previously handled for his old boss, D. The fresh air would cement his thoughts and rekindle his vigour.

  Jack had been temporarily promoted to Deputy Director and was instructed to report progress to Sir Justin Darbyshire, for all Court operations. But for this piece of work he chose not to. He knew it was the right thing to do to change the course of political events over the coming weeks and months, so he chose to do it alone, knowing full well that his deceased boss would have approved.

  Jack carried a black under-arm briefcase that contained a number of highly secret documents he had rescued from D’s old safe in The Court’s offices. He thought about its contents. He even thought about his family as he walked. These were high-risk stakes for the country and for Jack’s career and he was about to put his life on the line. He knew there was one man in the world who could change political events in the blink of an eye. The President of the USA. His ultimate but indirect target of the Kompromat.

  He walked through Whitehall Gardens and stopped to look briefly at the imposing statue of Sir Henry Bartle Frere, a high commissioner of South Africa who was recalled to London to face charges of misconduct and was officially censured for acting recklessly in 1880. Jack pondered the same fate if he got this wrong.

  Shaking off any self-doubt, he made his way to the Strand and finally into St Martin’s Lane before entering his favourite restaurant, Asia de Cuba.

  He nodded to the maître d’ and was shown to his regular leather bench seat nestling discreetly in the far corner of the restaurant. Jack sat, checked his phone and then propped his briefcase on its end against the seat’s wooden balustrade. Inside was a dossier. A dossier he had compiled from many hours of investigation following the disappearance of the FCO diplomat, Edmund Duff. The dossier had sat in D’s safe next to the file on Sean’s mother. The only legacies of D’s world destined for final actions by Jack. Actions to square the circle.