by Mark Leggatt
“Yes, for as long as we need. Which is not very long. I’ve just left the trucks, they require another ten minutes, then they can begin to leave. But what I want to know is how they found our location?”
“I believe,” said the Director, smiling at Mikhailov, “we have a spy in our midst. A call was made from the guard’s desk in the cellars, next to the elevator.” He walked over to the technician. “And we have pinpointed their location using their cell phone.”
“I’m on the way. I’ll be there in a few minutes, send me the details. Whoever it is, they nearly succeeded. The CIA were in no mood to believe the news from MI6 that they were making a mistake. Only a high-level intervention stopped the attack.”
“Interesting. One moment.” He covered the mouthpiece. “Grigor, it will soon be time to leave. Join me in the truck park, our helicopter will be here soon.”
Mikhailov walked towards the door, then turned. “This is a great day. The chaos in Moscow will be written in history. Of course, they’ll send out a jamming code to help stop the missile attacks, but it will be too late. Our provisional government will make sure of that, and make sure who gets the blame.” He pulled open the door and marched away.
The Director sighed and lifted the phone. “I swear if he hadn’t left, I’d have shot him myself.”
“Written in history, is that what he said?”
The Director laughed. “There’s always a willing fool. He thinks he’s the customer. Besides, there are only two seats on the helicopter. Do what you have to do. The helicopter will be here soon. I’ll see you in the truck park in ten minutes.”
Chapter 24
The elevator pinged. Montrose and Kirsty stood just inside the door of the missile room, their weapons raised. They heard a trolley being pushed into the elevator and the doors closing.
Kirsty made to look around the door, but the Thompson swung around her shoulders and clattered off the wall. She grabbed it and pulled it over her head, holding it out to Montrose. “Take this.” She peered out. “All clear. Let’s get the hell out of here.” She moved quickly past the elevator and turned into the corridor towards the computer room. “Clear.”
He had just followed her around the corner when a voice from behind stopped them dead.
“Stand still! Hands in the air! I swear I’ll shoot you in the back.”
Montrose looked at Kirsty. The Thompson was heavy in his hands. He glanced down, and saw the breech was pulled back, ready to fire. He looked up. It was six feet to the end of the corridor and the turn to the mannequin room.
“One of you might make it, but the other will die. So, make a choice. Who gets to live?”
The voice moved closer.
“And who gets to die?” Closer now. “Get your hands high in the air. Or I’ll choose.”
They lifted their arms. Montrose held the Thompson by the butt and held it high.
“Turn around.”
They both turned slowly.
“Linden,” said Montrose. “You fucking traitor. You worthless piece of …”
“Oh, please, spare me the B-movie dialogue. My presence here is testament to the MI6 pension scheme, nothing else. The Director of this operation has been very generous. I have always thought that it’s never treason if someone bids a higher price. It’s one of the founding principles of the USA, I believe, and very much in evidence these days.” Linden shrugged. “Every man has his price. And every man has his worth. Yours is exactly one million dollars.” He pointed his gun at Kirsty. “Yours is not.”
“Oh aye,” she said, “is that right?”
“Ah, my Scottish friend. It’s nice to meet you before your untimely demise.”
“Welsh, actually, but listen, arsehole, if we stand here gossiping, you’ll be joining us.”
“Ah, of course, your little chat on the phone. And just soon after, would you believe, I received a message from London. They said they were going to bomb a site in Germany. Well, you can imagine how shocked I was. But not to worry, I soon put them right, and told them it was ‘fake news’ from that terrorist Connor Montrose. I must say, your reputation precedes you. The CIA were very grateful. I’m sorry to say that the fireworks party has been cancelled.”
Montrose looked down at the green det cord along the edge of the corridor. “You do know that…”
“Of course I know, you fucking idiot. I’m going to watch it happen from a helicopter. Should be an excellent view. There are warehouses full of nitrate fertilizer and diesel fuel above us, so it will be quite a show. And I don’t want to miss it.” He levelled his gun at Montrose. “I just know you’re going to play the hero, so you first. Drop your weapon.”
“That’s the first big mistake you’ve made,” said Kirsty.
His eyes flicked towards Montrose’s hand holding the butt of the Thompson. “Drop your weapon, or I shoot her. Right now.”
“Relax,” said Montrose. He took the pistol from his pocket and let it drop to the ground.
“Now, kick it to me.”
Montrose didn’t move.
Linden tightened his grip on his gun and jabbed it at Kirsty. “Don’t fuck around. Kick it.”
“Okay.” Montrose jabbed a foot forward and the gun slid down the corridor.
“Now you,” said Linden and nodded to Kirsty. “I know what you’ve tucked in your jeans, and it’s not just your pert little bottom. Turn around and pull it out. Slowly.”
She turned, dropped a hand to the back of her jeans, then wiggled her bottom.
“Just fucking do it, bitch.”
“Well, there’s no need for that kind of language, you slimey inbred cockweasel.”
“Drop it!”
Kirsty pulled the Welrod from her waistband and holding it gently, placed it on the ground.
“Kick it to me.”
She pushed it a few feet in front of her.
“Nice try,” said Linden, “but I’ll blow your pretty face off before you can reach it.” He turned to Montrose. “Now you. Drop it.”
“Really?” Montrose held the Thompson vertically, the muzzle pointing towards the roof. “This is an old open-bolt automatic weapon. It’s cocked and locked with a full mag. If I drop it on its butt, what do you think is going to happen?”
Linden’s eyes widened. “You…”
“Do you feel lucky?” said Montrose. His fingers slackened on the butt.
Napier dialed the only number on the screen. It rang several times and he wondered if it would be answered.
“Speak,” said Saitsev.
“You know, I’m sure that the powers that be are wide awake and have computers listening to every channel they can, just waiting for someone to say a special combination of buzzwords that sets off alarm bells. Knowing that, if I were to impart information over an unsecured line, using those words, then that would be a terrible thing.”
“I’m sure it would.”
“But if I was to express my concern for some holidaymakers, whom I couldn’t track down, you know, a list of friends of a man who recently passed away in a Mediterranean resort, that would work, yeah?”
“I’m sure it would. Do you think I know of this man’s friends?”
“I don’t know. Let’s call him Boris. But you see, there’s a lot I don’t know, because I have their names from dead Boris’ phone list, and my systems won’t let me find out anything about them. Totally locked down, and I think to myself, why would that be?”
There was a pause on the line. “That is very strange. I think I know the men you mean. These friends of… Boris. It’s a bit unsettling that you can’t find out about their welfare. I’m sure you are worried.”
“Yes, I am. And I’m thinking to myself, perhaps you should be more worried. Seems to me that they are being looked after by some of my friends in New York. Which is kind of them, but I wonder why?”
“It is indeed a mystery. Do you think their American friends are concerned for their welfare? These friends of Boris?”
“I don’t know. But I get the feeling that someone loves them, and I can think of only one reason why. Because there’s a lot of lost luggage out there. You don’t know where it is. I don’t know where it is. But I think Boris’ friends know where it is. Otherwise, why would their friends in New York be so concerned for their welfare?”
“That is a very interesting opinion. And I know that one of Boris’ friends left for Germany. That puzzled me, but now it makes sense, if he was looking for his luggage. Do you suspect that they are not playing for the home team?”
“Well, if they were, you would know. And you would know where the lost luggage is.”
“That is true. So, if they are not on my team, that leaves only one other option.”
“I think it does.” Napier glanced up as Faber shoved open the door. “Happy hunting.” He cut the call.
Faber stood before the desk. “Sir, an airstrike was called. A place in Germany, near Dresden.”
“An airstrike?” Napier slipped the cell phone into his pocket.
“Yes. Then they cancelled it minutes later. It’s crazy. The order came from the top.”
“Why didn’t I know…?”
Two men loomed in the doorway. “Director Napier, we are here to relieve you of your duties, on the orders of Director Campbell. You will remain in this room until further notice. A military guard will be placed outside. You may not communicate with anyone unless permitted to do so.” The man strode forward, lifted the desk phone and disconnected it. “You will also hand over any cell phones, sir.”
“There’s only one.” He pulled out a phone. “My official CIA device.” He placed it on the table.
The man picked it up and headed for the door. “Director Campbell said to inform you he will call you very shortly and that you are to be immediately available.”
“Well, how’s he going to do that? Telepathy?”
“I will return with the phone, sir.” He turned to Faber. “Director Napier is to be left alone.”
Napier shrugged.
Faber followed the two men out and closed the door.
Chapter 25
Montrose lifted the Thompson until the muzzle almost touched the stone roof of the corridor.
“Don’t be stupid,” said Linden.
A low rumbling suddenly increased in intensity and they felt the air vibrate around them as a bomber roared overhead.
Linden stood with his mouth open as the sound receded, then cracked a smile. “Really, the Americans are the most gullible people on the planet.” He pointed his gun at Montrose. “Put it down. Slowly.”
“Make your mind up, dickhead. I thought you wanted me to drop it?”
Montrose flicked his eyes towards Kirsty and he turned the Thompson slightly to conceal his thumb moving towards the safety catch.
Kirsty lifted the magazines looped around her neck and held them out in front of her, letting them swing in the air.
Linden flinched and stepped back. “I won’t tell you again, Montrose. Lay it down, with the muzzle pointing towards you. Or I will shoot her in the guts and hand her over to the guards. And you, bitch, lay the magazines down.”
“Oh, well,” said Kirsty, turning to Montrose, “when you put it like that,” she flicked her eyes towards the mannequin room, “how can a girl refuse? Why don’t you talk to me like that, Connor? I find it so…” She swung the magazines in a tight loop around her hand as Montrose threw the butt of the Thompson to the ground. It slammed into the stone and a burst of fire spewed from the barrel of the Thompson, spraying into the roof, scattering shards of stone and hot metal around them.
Montrose lunged for the Welrod, pushing Kirsty down the corridor. “Cover!”
Linden threw himself to the ground and fired blind, but the bullet smacked into the spare magazines, wrenching them from Kirsty’s grip as she rounded the corner.
Montrose grabbed the Welrod and saw Linden swing his gun towards him. He squeezed the trigger as Linden rolled to the side. The bullet spattered off the wall as Montrose turned and ran.
Just around the corner, he almost tripped over Kirsty as she lay on the ground, trying to untangle the det cord around her ankle. He grabbed her and the det cord and hauled her into the mannequin room.
Kirsty pulled the cord free from her legs. “Get me a gun!”
“Take this,” he said, and handed her the Welrod. “Make sure he doesn’t come through that door.”
“Connor, we have to…”
He jerked a thumb to where the room stretched away before them, lined with empty cabinets and discarded mannequins. “Too far. And we’re outgunned. We’ll never make it.” He grabbed the det cord and looped it in his hands. “Just make sure he doesn’t come through that door.”
Kirsty jammed herself against the wall and brought up the Welrod. “He’s got a fucking machine gun.” She watched Montrose run for the door to the firing range. “Connor, that’s a dead end!”
“I know, just keep him busy.” He switched off the light and the doorway fell into darkness.
She stared at the door to the corridor and brought up the Welrod, then saw the muzzle of the Thompson appear. A cabinet exploded in a cloud of glass and the muzzle disappeared. She heard Linden’s voice.
“Pointless, Montrose. Brave, but absolutely pointless. You know how this is going to end.”
“Yeah?” said Kirsty. “You telling fortunes now? Reading fucking tea leaves? You tell me, you piece of shit traitor, how’s it going to end?”
“Sweetheart, I’ve got several of your magazines here. You’ve got a World War Two peashooter. Very handy for slotting a Nazi on the Paris Metro in a dark tunnel, but not what you’d call the best weapon for a firefight.”
“You reckon? It only takes one round in your head and the game’s over. And you stick your head in here and I’ll slot you before you ever see my face. Remind me, does the Queen still hang traitors? You know, the Tower of London? A trip through Traitor’s Gate?”
“Don’t give me…” The muzzle of the Thompson appeared again at the edge of the door and gouts of fire spewed out just feet from her head. Cabinets shattered and mannequins jumped lifeless into the air as bullets sprayed across the room.
“Kirsty!”
She glanced behind her.
Montrose stuck his head around the door in the firing range. “In here. Now.”
She edged back towards the doorway, the Welrod extended. A hand pulled her into darkness.
“Keep your head down. Follow the torch beam.” He stuck his head out the door and groaned loudly. “Kirsty! Help me!” Then he turned and shone his phone down the range and pushed her forward.
They scrambled across the gritty cement floor and dropped behind a line of sandbags set under the 50 metre sign. “Give me your phone,” he said. “Open the camera and set it to infra-red.”
She pulled it out and set the camera and he lifted her hand to the edge of the sandbags, then pointed it towards the door. The screen was blank. Darkness settled around them.
A burst of fire came through the door and the screen lit up with tiny white dots. They could hear Linden.
“Bad choice. You’re in a firing range. And a dead end. It looks like I’ll get to practice on some live targets. What fun!” The screen lit up again with another burst, and the muzzle showed white as he entered the doorway and switched on the light.
The det cord jammed into the light socket above the door detonated in a blinding flash. The remaining lightbulb blinked weakly into life.
Montrose ran over to the body. The det cord had blown just above Linden’s head and sheered his face from his skull. “Don’t look. It’s not a pretty sight.”
Kirsty stepped past him. “Looks pretty good to me.” S
he pushed aside smoldering scraps of flesh and cloth and tugged open Linden’s jacket, checking the pockets. She pulled out a cell phone, but the screen was shattered and the casing cracked. “Shit. We’re going to have to get out of the cellars before we call Pilgrim.” She pulled the bloodied strap of the Thompson over what was left of Linden’s head and loaded another magazine. “Time to go. I don’t want to be here when the bombers get back.”
The door opened. Napier watched the man enter the room, carrying a speakerphone. He connected it and left without saying a word. It began to ring and he watched it for a few moments, then hit a button. The screen on the wall flickered into life. He saw Campbell looking down at notes on his desk.
He started talking without looking up. “Napier, I’m going to give you one last chance.”
Napier leaned back in the chair. “Shove it up your ass.”
Campbell glared at the screen. “You don’t seem to appreciate the gravity of your situation.”
“Sure I do. I’ve had a gun pointed at me many times, and by better men than a desk jockey shitstain like you. Anyone ever point a gun at you? I don’t think so. Though I bet you’ve had a few nasty paper cuts, eh?” Napier began to laugh.
“Director Napier, this operation…”
“Your operation, Campbell.” He sat up and pointed a finger at the screen. “Your operation. I’ve been playing catch up from the start. You already knew all the contacts in Blokhin’s phone. Big surprise to me, but not to you. Because you didn’t get it from us. We tried to access the files before we gave you the names and you had already blocked them. Now, why would you do that? How could you possibly know?”
“Napier, there could be many…”
“Oh, fuck off. You must have crapped yourself when we found those names. Because the next thing I know is I’m off the operation and I’ve got goons in here taking away my phone and locking me in an office.”
Campbell sighed. “I have no interest in your amateurish conspiracy theories. If I were in your precarious position, I would be…”
“You gonna kill me?”