by Ian Miller
"I meant for –"
"I know, and the answer is no."
Lawton shook his head a little, then added with a wry laugh, "I can't make up my mind whether that is good or bad. From the point of view of having to report to my political masters, it is bad, but from the point of view of the agents that might have to do something about it, it is no doubt good."
"I don't think there's much doubt that since we tried to break into that building near Ufa the Russians will have become far more security conscious, and they were fairly conscious of it before."
"So you think this is real?"
"Honestly, I don't know," Burrowes said with a sigh. "My thinking goes either way."
"You don't think that the authorities suddenly changing their mind and stopping your going into the factory isn't evidence?"
"It's evidence, but not very persuasive," Burrowes said. "The strongest piece of evidence in my opinion was when those Russian goons tried to warn us off. The way the police looked worried and the rather clumsy way they threatened, in my opinion, indicates they were not Russian government agents. There's also the fact that Kapralov seems to want to veto any change of ownership."
"But you don't think that's convincing?"
"I just feel everything's too intangible. I also find it hard to believe the Russians could keep a secret like that for so long, unless they don't actually use the stuff, but if they don't do that, why not?"
"To keep it secret?" Lawton suggested.
"Yeah, there's that, I suppose. Sorry, but I don't know."
"Join the club," Lawton said with a smile. "Keep looking."
The fact was, keeping looking was boring, with so many paint orders. Svetlana was going through them all at such a rate Burrowes suspected she was not really reading them, but when he challenged her on this, she responded by telling him there was no point in worrying about orders from places where there was no military, or where it was obvious the order was for domestic purposes.
"I suppose we have got the right company," Burrowes said.
"You can try another one if you like," she countered, "but if you want to monitor the output of such searches, you're going to have to provide more staff. I'm only just keeping up, and as you pointed out, I'm quickly eliminating a lot of possible suspects."
Burrowes restrained himself from asking if she were really that busy; he suspected she was making work, but he held his tongue.
"To change the subject, have you heard any more about the torpedo?" she asked, while deleting another dozen orders for paint. What was interesting about this comment was she was not looking at him when she made it.
Burrowes flowed her glance and noticed that Dennis had pricked his ears up at that comment.
"No, sorry," he said. "I'm not sure I will either. I was just a baby sitter escorting them to Boston."
"And here was me thinking you thought you were Dick Tracey," she laughed.
"Yeah, there was that too." He paused, then added, "Still, it's not all bad. Someone's paying us to sit around and not do very much."
"Speak for yourself," she muttered, as she deleted more paint orders.
"Well, I guess they want us to wait for something to happen, and I suppose something will happen sooner or later."
"Yes. Next Christmas is only about seven months away now. And while we sit around here, we could be planning summer holidays." She paused, then looked suspiciously at Burrowes, and continued, "You do have holidays in America?"
"After you've been here for five years," he teased.
"Yes, well, Dennis has been here that long. Why aren't you going somewhere?"
Dennis looked up and replied in a tired tone, "Too busy."
"What on?" Svetlana asked in a silky voice.
"What the boss wants," Dennis said. He was not going to say any more.
"Of course," Svetlana continued. "The reason I asked was you haven't touched your keyboard in the last hour and you're not even using a pencil, and –"
"I'm thinking," Dennis scowled.
"If it's a thinking problem, you could generalise it and we might be able to help," Burrowes suggested.
"Well, you can't, so shuddup and let me think." His face started to go slightly red.
With that damp squib, nobody said anything further.
Chapter 33
Burrowes was sitting at his desk, doing nothing. Something was not right, but he could not for the life of him think what it was. Svetlana appeared to be concerned and had asked him what was wrong.
"I don't know," he had snapped back. He paused and realised he had been too abrupt and irritable. "There's something wrong, I feel it in my bones, but I can't for the life of me work out what it is."
"It's just that nothing much is happening," Svetlana assured him. "Stop worrying. It'll all work out."
She might be right, he admitted to himself, and he was certainly not getting anywhere. He should do something, but try as he would, he could not work out what. Sitting there doing nothing was boring. He would get himself and Svetlana a coffee. Maybe that would help.
It did not, and he was almost pleased when the phone rang. His complacency was not to last, and when he put the phone down, his expression must have shown that all was not well.
"Something wrong?" Svetlana asked. Her voice was cautious, almost apprehensive.
"You could say that," he said, as calmly as he could. He knew he had been too abrupt before. He took out his mobile and scanned through for numbers. He dialled, and waited. No answer. Burrowes swore.
"What is it?" Svetlana asked. Her face showed concern, and she seemed somewhat tense.
"It's the torpedo," Burrowes said. He noticed, in the corner of his eye, Dennis give something of a start. "The call was from Jason. Goldfinch is in a panic. Seemingly, the plans Hooper gave to us aren't adequate, and as it stands Super Dynamics considers the torpedo won't work. It shows how to build the thing, including propulsion and steering, but that's not much different from any torpedo. The critical bits, namely the detection and command sections don't seem to do what they have to, at least when Super Dynamics put it together. In that context Super Dynamics admits they did a bit of interpreting, whatever that means. They tried to get hold of McKenzie but got no response. They then called Hooper, but he knew nothing about it, and did not know where McKenzie was."
"That's not good," Svetlana said, her voice somewhat cautious and reserved, "but why did Jason call you?"
"Goldfinch is ropable, and he knows I had the plans, at least for a while. Jason suspects Goldfinch thinks I lost critical bits."
"And I assume you didn't?"
"Of course I didn't." Burrowes was quite irritated that she could even think that.
"And you got the plans from Hooper?"
"Correct."
"Then it's fairly clear to me what happened," Svetlana said. Now she seemed to be assertive. "McKenzie suspected Hooper of selling him out, so he gave him plans that were too opaque to be useful to a third party."
"So why didn't he rectify the matter?"
"He probably forgot he had done that," Svetlana said with a shrug. "If he gave Hooper that lot long enough ago, when Hooper was so keen to hand them over, he may have just been glad to see the job done."
"I suppose that's possible," Burrowes said, without any particular conviction.
"He probably has more complete plans, so all you have to do is find McKenzie."
"That's too easy. I tried ringing his mobile," Burrowes said, "but his phone was turned off."
"Then try again later," Dennis offered. He knew they knew he had been listening, so he had to say something. "He could be driving. If he's gone on holiday, he could have been swimming. Not everyone is on the end of their mobile all the time."
"Text him," Svetlana suggested. "Unless he's discarded his phone, he'll turn it on sooner or later."
Burrowes thought that was a fair comment, so he sent a text.
* * *
Three days later, McKenzie sent a text back. He wou
ld be home at the end of the week. "Pity it's Monday," Svetlana noted. "Does McKenzie actually want this to succeed?"
"He may not care," Burrowes said, after a moment's thought. "Goldfinch has a contract wherein those two have to come up with quite a lot of money. That would be Hooper's job, but according to Jason, nobody's going to lend to Hooper, especially if Super Dynamics put out the word they want to be rid of his pestering."
"So," Svetlana said with a smile, "you think McKenzie's prepared to sink the whole project simply because he doesn't benefit?"
"I think he doesn't care one way or the other, and he probably thinks this delay will be causing Hooper to sweat."
"So what are you going to do?"
"I'll send him a text back suggesting he tries to be a bit faster. Apart from that, I guess it's back to the boring waiting. I must say, I'm tempted to even doze off a bit."
"I'll wake you if anything looks like happening," Svetlana said.
* * *
On the following day, Jason rang again. As Jason explained, Burrowes listened, and as the call progressed, his face became more despondent. Finally, he said, "Jason, don't call the police, and text McKenzie and tell him not to, at least not yet. I shall pass this on to people who are more directly involved." He then listened a little longer, then he put the phone down and swore.
"From which I gather that was not good news," Svetlana commented.
"No. After a lot of pestering, McKenzie told Hooper where there was a key to his apartment, so Hooper went around there. Apparently the apartment has been burgled, and according to Jason, Hooper says the papers on the torpedo have been stolen, and the apartment looked as if it had been turned over."
"What?" Svetlana said. Her face was that of complete surprise. She paused, frowned a little, then said, "Surely not? Why would anyone take them?"
"Well, a Russian agent might," Burrowes said.
"Well, maybe, but I really doubt it," she said. "Is this Hooper sure he looked in the right place?"
"He's sure," Burrowes said, "although I suppose, knowing Hooper, he may have been grossly overconfident about his own abilities to find the documents. However, according to Hooper, the inside had obviously been turned over. So, right now I've got a phone call to make." With that he got up and walked out, clearly indicating this call was to be private. Out in the parking area, he phoned Lawton. Lawton indicated he would pass this on, and Burrowes was to keep his cell phone on at all times. As he turned to go back inside, he saw Dennis come out. Dennis took one look at him, and then turned and made for his car. Dennis was not going to get much more done that day.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully for Burrowes. Svetlana seemed to be thoughtful, or busy, peering over her computer screens. Since she was the only one who could read Russian fluently, she had the job of monitoring quite a number of email addresses as well as the website of the paint company. He felt a little sorry for her, as she was the only one carrying a stressful load, so at the end of the day he suggested they go for a drink. Svetlana thought for an instant, then she declined. She had her weekly grocery shopping to do, she said.
Burrowes began to think that grocery buying was the fallback excuse for saying no. Perhaps, after more than once trying to become more emotionally involved with him, she had decided that she should give up on him. Whatever, he was not staying at work any longer so he headed for his car.
When he drove out, he thought that it might be interesting to see what, if anything, was going on about McKenzie's apartment. As he was about to drive into that street he was stopped by a police officer, who informed him that unless he lived in that block, he should find some other way to go wherever he was going. He looked down the street to see a lot of activity, including a number of vehicles clearly marked FBI. Most of the agents had FBI written prominently on their vests. Burrowes acknowledged the advice. He thought about flashing his identity badge, but decided against it. Just as he was leaving, he saw two FBI agents walk up to a woman and seemingly report to her. The woman turned slightly so he could see her face better, and he gave a start. It was Rhonda. She was an FBI agent. This was getting more confusing by the minute.
Chapter 34
Boredom had set in again. Burrowes knew there was something he should be doing, but he still could not think what it was. Something from his subconscious was trying to send a message, but the conscious steadfastly refused to recognise what it was. He had tried all sorts of things: relaxation, going for a run, but nothing seemed to work. All that he knew was that something was wrong, he was sure he was going to get blamed for not seeing it, but the harder he tried, the more resistant it seemed to be for whatever it was to identify itself.
"Wakey wakey!"
"What?" Burrowes said with a start.
"You looked like you fell asleep again," Svetlana said. She gave a superior look, as if to say that she would never go to sleep at work.
"I was not asleep," Burrowes protested. "I was thinking."
"That's a great excuse," Svetlana snorted. "I don't suppose you'll share these great thoughts?"
"Not really," Burrowes said, then he softened a little as he said, "There was nothing worth telling. There's something wrong, and . . ."
"With what?" She said this, almost with concern in her voice.
"Oh, the theft of the torpedo plans," Burrowes said. This was a lie. This was not what he was worried about, or at least not the main focus.
"That's true," she said, "but I don't think it's a huge mystery. My guess is that it might be something like the Chinese stealing them."
"How would they know about them?"
"I don't know," Svetlana protested. "Look, I was only trying to . . . OK, it doesn't matter. That's not why you need to wake up."
"Oh. What's happened? Surely it's not lunch time?"
"Actually, it very nearly is, and the boss will be out in a few minutes on his way to wherever he goes to lunch. But that's not why I woke you." She paused, then added, "At least not the most important reason."
"Saving me from getting fired again isn't important?"
"Maybe, but this is of greater interest. Your paint company has gone active."
"What do you mean? It was always making paint."
"There's been an order from Sukhoi for the "ultra-special" paint, and this was followed immediately by a request to somebody in Ufa to send so many kilos of the special product as soon as possible."
"Oh. Is that all?" Burrowes asked in a droll voice."
"I thought you wanted that," Svetlana said in a fake hurt voice. "I'm sorry I woke you. Oh, if you want more news, Dennis has left his desk. In fact he left in a hurry."
"Oh, well then, that's terribly important," Burrowes said, as he jumped to his feet.
"Aren't you going to do something about the Russian news?" Svetlana asked, her voice now showing some signs of concern. "You don't want to get fired again, do you?"
"Most certainly not," he said. "I'll go make a phone call and let them know." He paused, then asked, "Do we know when?"
"According to this," Svetlana said, "the pigment, and that's the word used in the email, will be shipped out first thing tomorrow from Ufa. The paint will be despatched the Friday of the following week, all going well."
"Well," Burrowes said grimly, "that will stir things up. And I bet there will be decreasing enthusiasm as it gets closer to the poor guys who have to do something about it."
Burrowes immediately passed the information on to Lawton, who was less than enthused, but he immediately passed it on to Ruth Telfar, who was distinctly unenthusiastic. However, she had no choice: the agents had to be informed, and they had to come up with a plan themselves. The options were simple. They could try to intercept the vehicle as it left the forest, or they could follow it and try to steal the van or its contents whenever the driver took a rest or meal break
* * *
Colonel Maslov shook his head slightly at the latest instructions from Moscow. The following morning a van would leave that building i
n the forest that seemed to be of particular interest to the Americans and head for Moscow. Maslov was to provide an escort for the vehicle and to arrest anyone who tried to intercept it. He nodded and filed the instructions. This should be fairly straightforward. Something for some of those men downstairs to show whether they were any good. They could ride in the van carrying the load. Then, just in case something might go wrong, he would have some special forces following at a discrete distance in another vehicle that would look like a local delivery vehicle. If some spy wanted to have a go at stealing whatever the load was, good luck to them. They would need more than luck. They would need a miracle.
* * *
Burrowes returned to his desk. Svetlana had gone to lunch, and when he offered her the rest of the day off, she eagerly accepted. She deserved it, he thought. She had worked very long hours looking at how many emails and other messages, and now it had paid off. There was no real need to monitor those sites. He understood that Lawton had arranged for the NSA to monitor FSB sites, but nothing unusual had happened. He sat back, then suddenly something struck him.
His worry. Svetlana. What exactly was her history?
He did some further internet investigating, and eventually came up with some photographs of a younger Svetlana with her family. An ordinary looking family, clearly in a happier time. She did look quite a bit like her father, at least in terms of bone structure. Then it struck him. Her father. When he had gone sightseeing after that abortive factory visit, as he was returning from having been in St Basil's cathedral he had seen an older version of that man walk into the Lubyanka. At the time he had thought the man looked vaguely familiar, but of course he quickly realised that it was impossible that he had seen him before. He had put him out of his mind; it must have been one of those coincidences. He had seen a natural double of someone he had once met, but unless he met the person again, he would never remember who it was and it was hardly important. Just one of those tricks of fate. Obviously, it was the somewhat striking resemblance to Svetlana that had been worrying his subconscious ever since he had returned.