The Silk Road

by Mark Leggatt

  Kirsty began to move forward, but Blokhin spoke without looking at her. “She can wait at the bar. I’ll not discuss business with pretty little things.”

  Montrose nodded towards Kirsty, and she smiled and turned away. He watched her step gracefully between the furniture and heard her voice whisper through his earpiece as she walked.

  “I’m going to rip his fucking lungs out and make him eat them.”

  She sat on a bar stool next to the two men, and faced Montrose, smiling sweetly.

  “Can I offer you a drink?” said Blokhin.

  “Perhaps later. I have a very tight schedule and I’d like to get straight to business.”

  Blokhin gestured towards a chair.

  “Let me come straight to the point.” Montrose sat down. “I understand that certain hardware has come on the market. Both I, and the people I represent, would like very much to have access to this hardware. I also understand that the first time it came up for sale only two buyers were permitted.”

  Blokhin said nothing and tapped the end of his cigar on his chin.

  “On our side of the Atlantic, the opportunity to access similar hardware is considerable, but we are not convinced, shall we say, that the normal market is sufficiently secure. Too many people would be involved. Too many tongues wagging. Now, some of my friends have access to the heart of US government agencies, and have recommended that I take a more direct approach.”

  “The hardware?” said Blokhin. “Normal market?”

  “The Silk Road.”

  Blokhin didn’t react. “And you think I can help?”

  “Yes, I think you can. So, let’s not flirt like a couple of teenagers at their first dance. Because I don’t have time for that shit.”

  Blokhin grinned. “And where did you get my name?”

  “From two of my friends. Each separately confirmed your, shall we say, abilities.”

  “And they are?”

  “Jonny Grieg in Washington. He sends his regards.”

  “Ah, you know Jonny?”

  “We share some interests. He’s just got out of prison and I’m flying back to the US today to arrange a little private party. I always make sure he has a good time when he’s in New York. You know what he likes.” Montrose flicked his eyes behind him towards the bar. “Pretty young secretaries are fun, but there’s nothing like a younger vintage.”

  Blokhin laughed. “Fruit is always freshest when it has just fallen from the tree.”

  “Call him, if you need to be reassured.”

  “No,” Blokhin shrugged, “that won’t be necessary.” He lowered his chin, which disappeared into the folds of fat around his neck, and regarded Montrose closely. “You know, you should join our club. I’m sure you could find something to keep you entertained.”

  “That would be very interesting, Mr. Blokhin. Very interesting indeed. Perhaps when we have concluded business.” His phone buzzed in his pocket. He brought it out and read the message. “Ruslan Shevchenko also sends his regards.”

  Blokhin sat very still.

  Montrose held out the phone, showing the Crimean phone number.

  “Turn it off,” said Blokhin.

  “Of course, I understand.” He held the phone out so that Blokhin could watch and thumbed the power button.

  Blokhin sat back. “Now, let us talk freely, Mr. Nohmark. Let us pretend your assumption is correct. And let’s also assume that I, a simple businessman, am someone who can help you. But I will not assume that you know of the exclusivity and value of this market. Or perhaps you do know the current price of this hardware?”

  Montrose closed his eyes and nodded. “I know that the last successful bid was two billion US dollars, so let me assure you, I know the market and I have access to the funds required, not only from my own resources. We have sympathetic members of our organization within the security services of the United States, and they keep us informed. So, let me be clear. Thanks to the seniority of people in my organization, I have gained security clearance to fly through US and NATO military airspace all the way to my private airfield in upstate New York, and if we can seal the deal today, I can make a very generous offer.”

  Blokhin held up a hand. “Let us step back for a moment.”

  Montrose shifted in his chair.

  “Humor me, Mr. Nohmark. This is a seller’s market. You and I are businessmen.”

  “I am under no illusion that this is a buyer’s market. We want to get in before the rush. And there will be a rush. But do you really want that hardware to end up in the hands of Russia’s enemies?”

  “Our enemies?” Blokhin grinned. “And you are a friend?” His eyes closed to slits and his whole body jiggled as he began to laugh.

  Montrose smiled and sat back in the chair. “More than you know, tovarishch.”

  Blokhin took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “What do you want to do? Start another war on terror?” His chest began to heave and he leaned forward. “The last time you did that, you set fire to the entire fucking Middle East.” The tears were streaming from his eyes. “You know, my friends in the Kremlin, they couldn’t believe it. They have spent so many years dedicated to undermining your democracy, your foreign relations, your military alliances, and government structures, but then you go and bomb every fucking village with an idiot and you do all the work for us!” He wiped his face and took a deep breath, then stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket. “I mean, what was the one in Mosul? You dropped a bomb from a jet to kill a sniper. One man. You used a million dollar smart bomb and you collapsed an entire building and killed hundreds of people. You feed the war. Your country feeds the war on terror. You are a martyr machine.”

  “Not me, my friend. Not me.”

  Blokhin leaned back on the couch and stared up at the roof. “Your country is being more productive in its own destruction than all the spies in Moscow could ever hope to be. Every time you kill someone, or create more orphans and widows, or kill another sniper, you create another hundred enemies and terrorists longing for the destruction of the USA. We are more than happy to leave your country to eat itself alive and suffocate in its own shit. All Moscow needs to do now is sit back with their arms folded, order some vodka and tune into CNN and Fox to see you winning hearts and minds across the globe. Your love of democracy in Libya and Iraq created the charnel house that bred ISIS. They are the bastard child of your foreign policy.” He pushed himself forward. “You have lit fires across the world that will not be extinguished for generations.”

  Montrose shrugged. “When did Russia start handing out lessons in politics? You barrel-bombed half of Syria and destroyed Chechnya.”

  “Yes, but we control Syria and Chechnya. We have an endgame. A purpose. Syria gives us the Mediterranean port we have always desired. So, tell me, what are you planning to create with your world tour of democracy?”

  Montrose shook his head. “What can I say?” He looked up. “You’re right. There has been no gain. We should have stripped Iraq and Afghanistan of their resources. Not to do so would be a waste of all those American lives. What we need is our own East India Company. Then both Russia and America can work together. But, that is for another day. My people, my organization, are not immediately concerned with war in Kabul or the mountains of Pakistan. No, as far as myself and my friends are concerned the whole Middle East can burn itself to the ground.”

  “Really? Then tell me, this hardware you speak of, what new war is coming to our screens next? Who is about to get a dose of democracy?”

  Montrose looked him directly in the eye. “War is coming, and sooner than you or Moscow think. But not on foreign shores. This time it is an American war.”

  Blokhin said nothing.

  “War on America, Mr. Blokhin. And my organization wants to know whose side Moscow will be on. My blessed land is being strangled by its own constitution. America has never
been more divided. It has never been more on the point of civil war. The left wing, the secularists, the socialists, the godless sinners that weaken our country and our resolve and make us targets across the globe. Well, no more. War is coming to America. And at a time of our own choosing. Our civilian army is already armed, many with assault rifles. Then we will cleanse America of the degenerates, the weak, vile scum, sucking at the teat of welfare handouts, thanks to the deluded electorate voting for compassionate government. Well, they’ll find out about compassion when we have them in camps.” He closed his eyes and pushed his chin into the air. Kirsty’s voice whispered in his earpiece.

  “For fuck’s sake get to the point before you go the full Adolf. You should never go the full Adolf.”

  Montrose relaxed his shoulders and smiled at Blokhin. “It’s time to throw the crates of tea into the water and set fire to the ships.” He saw the quizzical look on Blokhin’s face. “My friends need that hardware to bring down the most important airplane in America. If that hardware can go through the defenses of a combat plane, then we can blow any moronic President and his plane out of the sky. There will always be a useful idiot to take his place. And when the troops are on the street we will make sure that the Democrat and Antifa scum are blamed. Then the armed revolution will begin. They’ll be begging our troops to protect them. And once they are under our control, emergency powers will ensure that’s where they stay.” He leaned forward. “That is why my friends need this hardware. And we will not forget the help that Russia gives us.”

  Blokhin paused, looking up to the thin sunlight diffused through the windows. He shook his head. “Russia cannot help you with this.” For a few moments he covered his face with his hand, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “But perhaps I can.” He let out a deep breath and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Do you realize how popular and how expensive this hardware is about to become?”

  “Yes, I do. I don’t doubt it for a moment. I have immediate access to a military budget. We have friends in very high places. I can outbid any country on the planet. But I have no intention of doing so. Getting into a bidding war will generate an intelligence SIGNINT feeding frenzy. We don’t need the CIA or NATO and the Five Eyes interfering.”

  “I’m sure you don’t. The intelligence service of the British Empire is still a force to be reckoned with. But I hear you, my friend. Let me be clear too, the Russian government has no say in this matter. Business is business.” He took a cell phone from his pocket and typed in a message.

  “As to your current activities,” said Montrose. “I wish you well in your operation against the fabric of NATO. I assume that is your goal?”

  Blokhin waved a hand, concentrating on his phone. “That is none of my concern. That is for Moscow to deal with. These attacks mean a war on Russia or the destruction of NATO. And Russia cannot afford a war. For all their bluster and firepower, they could not win a war in Europe and they know it. They would be wiped off the face of the earth.” He faced Montrose. “The government in Moscow is a cabal of ex-spies longing for the Cold War, when their sad little lives had some meaning. Now they are just administrators. They fill their lives with gold and compensate for their impotency by undermining the governments of their ex-vassals and taking some of the Ukraine that was already full of Russians. It’s like watching children fighting in a playground.”

  “I was always surprised they stopped at the Crimea. It showed a weakness in their resolve. You could have taken Ukraine in a week and NATO would have done nothing about it.”

  Blokhin shrugged. “The reaction of Moscow is a disgrace. They chase around playing their spy games in Washington and the Balkans, but they keep an eye on their Swiss bank accounts. What we have seen in the past four years is the death rattle of democratic Russia.” He looked Montrose in the eye. “You are not alone in your ambition and vision for the USA. We will also bring Russia back to its former glory. And when it is done, NATO and the Moscow government cabal will be history. Some of them are here now, in Monaco. They fill the restaurants, barely able to use a knife and fork.” He smiled and sat back. “But I talk too much. You have touched a raw nerve. You are a clever man. Perhaps our countries will work together in the future before the Chinese ruin everything. Our hands will stretch in friendship across the Bering Strait.”

  “I hope so. We have strong men who are prepared to do what is right to make our country great again. The new America will not forget this. You will always be welcome on our shores.”

  The phone buzzed in Blokhin’s hand. He looked down and smiled.

  “Good news, I hope?” said Montrose.

  “We will know very soon. In the meantime, let’s have a drink.” He nodded towards the bar.

  Montrose sat back in his chair and glanced up at the ancient tapestry on the wall. The sound of Pilgrim’s voice in his ear made his eye twitch. He rubbed his face to cover his reaction.

  “Listen to me. Your cover may be blown. Robert Nohmark has been arrested in New York. Source says a tip-off came from Europe. It may have been Blokhin. Get out of there. Now.”

  Kirsty stared at the back of Montrose’s head as Pilgrim’s words echoed through her brain. She got up from her bar stool.

  The barman came out from behind the bar, unwrapping a bottle of champagne.

  She walked casually to the center of the room then lifted a compact from her bag and pretended to check her lips as she spoke. “That’s not going to be easy. There are four armed guys in here. We’re in the big salon, ground floor. Priti, do you have a map of this place? A route to the car park next door?”

  “Yes,” said Priti, “I’ll send it to your phone. There is a corridor at the end of the room, same side as the bar. Go to the end, there are stairs down to the kitchens. At the south-east corner of the kitchens is a door to a corridor that leads to the car park.”

  “I have more news,” said Pilgrim. “It’s not good.”

  “We have to lose the goons,” said Kirsty. “We are outnumbered and unarmed.” She thought of the knife in her bag and wished it was a Glock. She kept her gaze glued to the back of Montrose’s head. His neck was tight. She knew he could hear every word.

  “Message from my source in Langley,” said Pilgrim. “There are an estimated fifty missiles for sale. We are monitoring Monaco police channels, and the CIA are on their way to your location. I don’t care how you do it, but get out. The operation is aborted.”

  Kirsty glanced around at the bar and saw the barman pop the champagne and began to wipe the froth from the neck, ready to place it on a silver tray. She whispered into her hands. “Connor, listen to me. Tell him you’d like to celebrate. Invite me over. Offer me as a gift. Tell him you’d like to watch.” She wiped her lips and covered her mouth again. “I know what this place is. Just go with me. Do it. Right now. Tell him I’m the best fuck you’ve ever had.”

  She dropped the compact in her bag, strode over to the bar, then lifted the tray with the champagne and glasses. “I’ll take that. They’re expecting me.”

  The Director read the text one more time to be certain. “Good news, gentlemen.” He looked up and saw the empty chair at the end of the table, then nodded to a technician who pushed it from the room. They didn’t need an empty chair to be reminded how transient life could be. The space at the table would serve that purpose. He gazed around the table at all the eager faces and smiled. “Some of you were concerned about the whereabouts of Mr. Connor Montrose. I have decided that he will not be leaving at the point of a gun after all. Instead, his corpse will be leaving the club in the trunk of a taxi. We will deal with that issue later. The Monaco police will do as they are told. His secretary can share his fate. They are being entertained while our disposal team arrive. They were delayed by a security alert. Probably some leather-skinned American émigré has lost her purse. In the meantime, Montrose has four armed men guarding him. So, you may no longer concern yourself on his acc
ount. I’m told he is something of a confidence trickster and that his impersonation of an American businessman was quite convincing. It is a shame. We may have had use for a man of such talent, but he has, to a very great degree, outlived his usefulness.” The phone buzzed on the table. “Ah, it is our friend in the Monaco police.” He picked up the phone and read the message. His hand trembled and he dropped the phone onto the table.

  One of the men leaned forward and peered at the screen. Three letters stood out. “The CIA? In Monaco?”

  The Director lunged forward and grabbed the phone. “Yes, that is an unusual development. I assume Mr. Montrose may have inadvertently led them there. No matter.” He glanced at the screen. “According to the police, they are landing in Monaco and will be at the club in ten minutes. They have asked the police to secure the area.” He began to type into the phone.

  The fat man stood up. “Director, we must…”

  “Shut up!” He resumed typing. “There is time. The taxi with Montrose will leave as planned. Our police contact will be waiting to ensure that it leaves the area. Montrose’s corpse will be in the trunk.” He pressed send, then placed the phone in the table. “You know, when I am on my deathbed, I will regret only one thing. That I was not the man who put the gun against Montrose’s head and pulled the trigger.”

  Chapter 18

  “Champagne, gentlemen?”

  Montrose twisted his head and saw Kirsty approach with a bottle in an ice bucket and two glasses wobbling around on a silver tray.

  The barman hurried behind her, but Blokhin waved him away.

  She stood beside Montrose. “I just popped over to remind you, sir, that your helicopter is waiting. Now, I’ll leave you alone.”

  “Kir…. Scarlett,” said Montrose, “why don’t you join us? The helicopter can wait.”

  “And your jet, sir?”

  “They can find another slot. I have more important business to attend to.” He turned to Blokhin. “As I said, certain friends in the Defense Department have given me a NATO access and clearance with French air traffic control. It’s very useful.” He placed a hand on Kirsty’s waist. “While we’re waiting, my dear, why don’t you be nice to Mr. Blokhin? You know, very nice.”