A Hostile State

by Adrian Magson

  This time I felt a sucking sensation beneath me and realized I’d moved too close to a stretch of boggy ground bordering a small pond. The dark mud was interspersed with the silvery-copper glint of stale surface water, its smell rising around me like an invisible mist.

  A whistle came from my left, and I backed away in the direction of the bridge. So far these men hadn’t shown much evidence of working as a team, but as three individuals. Maybe they were finally getting it together. If I allowed them to coordinate their moves I’d be sunk. In their thinking the centre of the mission was located at the bridge itself, so I was counting on them assuming I’d be moving in the opposite direction, away from their guns.

  I wasn’t going to do that.

  I saw a glint of light reflecting off the SUV’s bodywork and ducked. The bridge itself was a no-go area; it was too open, an obvious focal point which they would be sure to be watching, even if one man stayed close by while the others scouted the woods. But there was nothing to stop me fording the river further along. I slipped across the track and into the denser undergrowth, the back of my neck itching from the imagined dangers I could not see.

  I counted to twenty to see if anything moved, then crept over to the river and waited again.

  Nothing moving, nobody waiting. Holding the rifle and the Sig in the air I eased down the bank, watching the trees on the opposite side. Sliding my feet into the water and feeling its cool grip on my skin, I pushed down and adjusted by balance until I was able to stand up.

  As I’d seen during my recce earlier, the water was only a few feet deep here, with an accumulation of silt, rotten vegetation and weeds forming a high point on the river bed.

  I didn’t dare splash because it was a sound that would carry a long way in this silence. The current, steady and insistent, drew the hair-like strands of weed around my legs in a caress, and I kept moving, wary of getting tangled in their grip. My shoes were sinking into the soft mud with every step, but I’d done this kind of thing before and kept going, taking step after step before the mud could increase its grip on me.

  On the other side I dragged myself up the bank and eased over the top into a tangle of low-lying bushes, then held my position while I scanned the area around me. Getting my bearings I saw a familiar fallen tree trunk and moved towards it. In a hollow beneath the trunk was the crossbow wrapped in a blanket I’d found in the back of the van and placed there earlier.

  I set one of the six bolts Fabien had provided in the bed of the bow and placed it to one side on a bed of leaves. Each bolt was about a foot long. I also made sure the Famas was good and ready and checked the Sig.

  A voice close by made me freeze.

  A man was walking along the track from the north. He was carrying an assault rifle and using a cellphone held across his mouth. I couldn’t hear or understand what he was saying but he had the sound of a man in charge who was fast losing patience. That was good for me; if they were on a clock that was running down fast it would make them all the more careless and rushed to get things done. A crackly voice came back in reply and he barked an order and clicked off. He sounded testy.

  He was also careless. The one thing you don’t do in a close combat situation like this is give away your position by leaving your comms open. It’s the kind of thing that can get you killed.

  I felt around for a large stone and turned to face the river, which was about twenty yards away. Lying on my side I did an overhand grenade lob, and saw the stone curve through the air before dropping to the water. My instructor from years ago would have been proud of me.

  As it hit the water with a healthy splash, I was rolling to give myself room to manoeuvre. I picked up the crossbow and waited.

  A shout came immediately after the splash and three shots echoed close together, followed by footsteps pounding along the track from the direction of the bridge. I guessed it was whoever had been on the other end of the short conversation moments ago. He’d opened fire without having a sighted target, and was now coming to investigate. And that brought him across a clearing right in front of me.

  I couldn’t see where the boss man had got to but I couldn’t wait; I had to take advantage of the situation while it presented itself.

  It was time to mess with their heads.

  As the second man stared down into the water and saw no sign of me, he must have realized he’d been set up. He spun round, his mouth open and dragging the assault rifle up to open fire again. I breathed out and pressed the trigger.

  There was very little recoil and hardly a sound from the elastic firing mechanism, and the bolt snapped across the yards separating us. I only saw it again when it hit him, spinning him around. He dropped the rifle and screamed, clutching at the shaft protruding from high in his shoulder.

  A shout came from nearby and more footsteps crashed through the undergrowth between the trees. The voice had sounded like the boss man. I couldn’t count on being lucky twice in one go, and if the man I’d shot was able to communicate with his colleague, they’d have a reasonably good idea where I was hiding if I stayed here.

  I slid back out of my makeshift hide, leaving the crossbow which was too awkward to drag through the vegetation if I had to go to ground in a hurry.

  For now, though, I’d sown a seed of doubt in their minds and taken out one of their team. Nobody with a crossbow bolt in their shoulder is going to be able to do much in the way of fighting. And when the others saw it they’d be inhuman if they didn’t freak out just a little.

  Two to go.

  I followed the line of the river, moving away from the men and the bridge towards the edge of the marsh. I intended circling around and coming up behind them from the direction I’d used coming into the area. I was also keeping my eyes open for traces of the third man, who’d shown no signs of appearing yet. As I kept the water to my right I was also checking the ground in front of me in case the ammo dump was more extensive than I’d thought, and thought how odd it was that I hadn’t considered the boat on my earlier recce.

  A boat? I stopped dead.

  The only boat I’d seen then had been upside down and lying in a pond, rotten beyond use. Yet here was a dinghy in good condition, sitting by the bank of the river, a mooring rope hanging in the water and two paddles on the bottom. And two backpacks.

  Next thing I heard was the click of a gun being cocked.

  FORTY-FOUR

  David Andrews appeared in the outer office and Callahan beckoned him straight in. He was due at another meeting upstairs but if he had any really hot news he might be able to call it off on the grounds of a greater priority.

  He pointed to a chair. ‘You’ve got three minutes. Make it worthwhile.’

  Andrews sat and said, ‘We might need more time than that. Ledhoffen did what you expected: she walked into Lindsay’s room, lifted the bait and left. I couldn’t track her phone but I’m guessing you’ll know pretty soon if it worked or not.’

  Callahan nodded just as his phone buzzed. He said, ‘Wait one,’ and snatched it up.

  It was Portman.

  He listened for a moment, then swore before putting the phone down. Portman had sounded almost relieved at the prospect of dealing with this latest threat. And there was nothing Callahan could do to help him.

  ‘Bad news?’ said Andrews.

  ‘Bad for someone.’ Callahan scowled and brought himself back on track. ‘How do you know Ledhoffen lifted the bait? The CCTV footage doesn’t show the inside of the office. Couldn’t someone else have gone in there?’

  ‘I covered that.’

  Callahan had a sudden sense of alarm. ‘How?’

  ‘I figured we’d need some close-up action inside the room. That way we’d know for sure.’

  ‘Close-up? How close?’

  ‘I placed a small camera in a bookcase. It only covers the last twenty-four hours but it was enough—’

  Callahan nearly choked. ‘You did what?’ Christ, there would be a riot if anyone upstairs learned of this. They’d have hi
s and Andrews’ heads on a spike … or whatever the current indignity was likely to be. ‘And how did you get in there?’

  Andrews looked mildly alarmed. ‘I remember the keypad code from a while back. I know that was pushing it but I think you’ll be pleased I did.’ He placed his tablet on the desk before Callahan could say anything and pressed a button.

  The screen showed Carly Ledhoffen entering Lindsay’s room and moving towards the camera. She glanced at the desk before bending to pull the slip of paper Callahan had placed there towards her. Then she scribbled something on one of the bulletins and dumped the rest.

  There it was, thought Callahan, ignoring for a moment that he and Andrews had stepped way over the line of what was permissible or acceptable in this building unless officially authorized. All the proof he needed. But could he tie it together?

  He watched the screen as Ledhoffen left the room. Then something caught his attention.

  ‘Show me the footage of her outside the room,’ he said, ‘before going in.’

  Andrews did. Re-running the film when Callahan asked him and slowing it down.

  ‘She used the access code,’ he said softly. ‘Jesus. She used the fucking code!’

  Andrews looked at him. ‘Doesn’t her section have access to all doors?’

  ‘No. Not all of them. And not that one.’ He stood away from the desk and growled, ‘And nor do you. Remember that if they ever strap you to a polygraph.’

  ‘Absolutely. Already forgotten.’ He crossed himself. ‘Scout’s honour.’

  ‘Balls. You were never in the Scouts. I checked. And you’d better never tell a living soul about that camera. Understand me?’

  ‘Got it. It’s already gone – I promise.’

  ‘Good. What else have you got?’

  ‘A couple of things. I’ve been looking into Dalkin’s background, hoping to find a link to his recent acquisition of money, like a family bequest or an old insurance policy we didn’t know about.’

  ‘Good thinking. And?’

  ‘There’s nothing like that. I got as far as a transfer account but it was blocked. Some kind of offshore fund thing which I thought might be a family trust fund arrangement. I trawled his family records but it wasn’t heavy on numbers; a sister he rarely sees who’s been in intensive care with cancer; no brothers, uncles or aunts still alive … and no associated funds. But I did come across a cousin with an interesting name.’ He smirked. ‘You’d never guess—’

  ‘Surprise me.’ Callahan stole a glance at his watch and got ready to stand.

  ‘Carly Ledhoffen.’

  Callahan froze, his jaw dropping. ‘Say what?’

  ‘She and Dalkin are first cousins. I took a squint at both their records and neither mentions having a cousin anywhere, least of all here in DC.’

  ‘I guess if they didn’t know the other was here they wouldn’t have to mention it. I have cousins I’ve never met nor would I want to. Do they have any contact?’

  ‘They exchanged a couple of calls recently. Prior to that almost never. They’re not Facebook or social media buddies either.’

  ‘Yeah, well they wouldn’t be, would they? If what people say is correct, Ledhoffen’s a social climber and I doubt Dalkin inhabits any kind of rung on her ladder, especially now he’s out of a regular job.’ He chewed his lip. ‘What about their phones?’

  ‘I had a quick look, but the recent calls lasted less than a minute, max. It was like they were saying hi and goodbye. They both have WhatsApp accounts, but we can’t access those.’

  ‘Hi and goodbye after a long period of no-contact?’ Callahan looked sour at the idea of encountering a dead end. ‘That doesn’t sound likely. What does your wannabe cop instinct tell you?’

  Andrews shrugged. ‘It set me thinking: cousins or not, would she help him for free?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Right, please bear with me here; this is cafeteria scuttlebutt so has to be taken with a bucket of salt, as my mom always says. Ledhoffen name-drops a lot, about who she knows, the people she parties with and so forth. Most are high on the DC totem pole, a lot in politics and a fair few celebrities. She’s got a nice apartment in Mount Vernon and she hobnobs with people upstairs more than she does general staff, which has earned her a nickname—’

  Callahan scowled. ‘I know what they call her. It’s unpleasant. But hobnob? Do you have any more of these quaint words, only I’m growing older and greyer by the minute?’

  ‘It’s Shakespeare,’ Andrews replied. ‘Allegedly.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Callahan’s face was deadpan. ‘It was a rhetorical question.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry. Well, she’s dropped hints in the past that she has family money, but there’s no evidence of it.’

  ‘So maybe they’re good at hiding their cash. That’s not a crime; my wife does it all the time. What about a secondary bank account?’

  ‘I was going to ask if I should try that … or let Warner and Cahill take the lead. Only I’m not sure how much more we can do.’

  Callahan considered it. ‘Good point. We’re already beyond our remit on this thing. If this business involves some kind of money transactions that contravenes a host of regulations, it’ll be something the FBI can get their teeth into.’ He gave a thin smile. ‘It’ll probably make their day.’

  ‘There’s another point I found – well, two, in fact; one about Ledhoffen’s skill-set, the other I’m not so sure about. It could be a coincidence.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘She’s smart. And I mean very smart. She’s got degrees like some people pick up groceries at the supermarket. Mathematics and economics are the main ones. But I got chatting to one of the gals in IT. They had a clash just recently and she was happy to dish the dirt. She told me Ledhoffen let slip once that she took a combined course in information technology and software engineering, although she dropped it after a couple of years because she didn’t want to spend her life below-stairs with a bunch of geeks.’

  Callahan was impressed, although not surprised. Langley had more geeks than most places had windows. ‘They fell out over a minor slur?’

  ‘Ledhoffen made a remark about geeks not having any fashion sense.’

  ‘Jesus. That probably hurt. OK, so how much could a smart person learn in a couple of years?’

  ‘A lot. Ledhoffen’s obviously got a talent for learning. I’ve known people like her who absorb stuff without even trying. I wish I’d got it but I had to put in the hard work.’

  ‘But why would she go to the Support Directorate? It’s kind of limiting, isn’t it, with those skills? She could have gone anywhere inside the building or out.’

  Andrews shrugged. ‘She gets to mix with some powerful names. And it’s the world’s best known intelligence agency. For some people that’s enough. Anyway, if she transfers across departments, who knows where she could end up in a year or two?’

  That was a thought Callahan didn’t want to entertain; if she was involved in supplying information from the comms section to her cousin and, by association a Moscow sleeper agent, how much more damage could she do if she was allowed to continue?

  ‘You said there were two things. What else, only I’m out of time.’

  Andrews referred to his tablet again. The screen showed a series of media photos taken at functions and events, some black tie and gowns, others less formal. In each one a familiar face showed centre-page.

  ‘Desayeva,’ said Callahan. ‘So what? She’s like a honeybee on steroids – she gets around a lot.’

  ‘But look who else is there.’ Andrews pointed at several specific photos in turn. In each one another familiar figure appeared, each time in close conversation with the Russian woman and clearly on very familiar terms with her, judging by the way she was hanging on her arm.

  It was Carly Ledhoffen.

  Callahan frowned. ‘I’m going to play devil’s advocate here: Ledhoffen’s a fashion and social freak, we all know that. She’s also keen to let people know she’s from
a wealthy background. Desayeva collects rich people like I collect parking tickets. Why wouldn’t they meet?’

  He shrugged. ‘I thought that, too. But it gave me an idea.’

  Callahan scowled. ‘Don’t tell you got creative with another camera. I don’t think my heart will take much more.’

  ‘No. I promise. What if there was more to these photos? What if Desayeva and Ledhoffen weren’t merely fashion show buddies? What if Dalkin’s no more than a convenient point of contact for Desayeva, and the real connection is Desayeva … and Ledhoffen?’

  Callahan blinked. ‘What – Ledhoffen supplying the information directly?’ He stared at his desk, trying to see a negative. He couldn’t. Or maybe he didn’t want to. ‘That’s a jump. A fucking big one if you don’t mind my French.’

  ‘True. But we know there’s a line of connections, right? Ledhoffen to Dalkin and Dalkin to Desayeva. Links in the chain. We might have jumped to the wrong conclusion about which way the links ran, that’s all.’

  Callahan wanted to believe it but was still unsure. Andrews had a useful way of talking things out; the young man had none of the interference of long-held field experience or cherished ideas blinding him to finding conclusions even if they were unacceptable. Even so, it was tenuous. A court of law would rip the chain apart like tissue paper.

  ‘I met Muhammed Ali once,’ he said. ‘It was at an airport and our flights had been grounded due to snow. That doesn’t make me a fight fan. See where I’m going?’ He glanced at his watch and made a decision. ‘I have a meeting to go to. In the meantime, get me a meeting with Bill Warner and his team. I’d like to get inside his mind.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Get him to run a deep check on Ledhoffen’s phone calls and accounts. There has to be a hook we can use. We need to bring this thing to an end.’

  FORTY-FIVE

  It wasn’t the time for heroics. Whoever it was had the drop on me and was lying somewhere in the reeds on the river bank, way off-centre of where I was pointing my rifle. By the time I dragged it into position he’d have blown me off my feet.