Global Strike

by Chris Ryan

  ‘All I wanted to hear.’

  They all stood up. Porter and Bald, then Tannon and Moorcroft. Moorcroft paced over to the window to field a private call. Tannon relaxed her features and smiled at Porter.

  ‘It’s good to see you again, John.’

  ‘Likewise, love.’

  ‘I read your file. All the drinking, living on the streets, the divorce. I’m sorry you had to go through all that.’

  ‘Wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘No. But I wish there was something I could have done. If I’d known, I might have been able to help you.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. I’m clean now.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. You did well back in Sierra Leone. I’ll never forget that. But I’m going to need you both to do even better now.’

  ‘It’s a routine extraction job,’ Bald remarked. ‘You said so yourself. How hard can it be?’

  ‘Charles is a wanted man. What he’s uncovered has made him a target. A big one, with a circle painted on his back.’

  ‘We’ll get him out of there,’ Porter replied confidently.

  ‘Make sure you do. Because if our enemies capture Street, they’ll have their hands on an ex-spy who knows all the secrets. It’ll be a national security disaster. And we’ll be in a world of shit.’

  THIRTEEN

  ‘Are you serious, Jock?’ Porter asked.

  They were back at the serviced apartment owned by Kliner Security. After leaving the briefing at the Lancaster, Porter had returned to his pad in Wood Green to grab his things. Bald had spent the afternoon beasting himself in the basement gym. Most guys in their late forties were beginning to take it easy, but Bald only pushed himself harder with age. He considered himself fitter now than he’d been in his twenties. His muscles were like concrete. He had a six-pack most blokes would die for.

  Bald towelled the sweat from his face. ‘What about, mate?’

  ‘Quitting Six.’

  ‘Course I am. I’ve had enough of working with those wankers. Working for Vauxhall should come with a health warning.’

  ‘What’ll you do instead?’

  ‘Settle down with my Doris on one of them Thai islands. Koh Samui, maybe. Build my own place, see out my days drinking, shagging and relaxing on the beach.’

  ‘Sounds nice,’ Porter said, feeling a twinge of envy.

  ‘Better than doing Six’s dirty work. Give me a beach and a pair of tits any day of the week. Might even open up my own bar.’

  ‘How can you afford all that?’

  ‘I’ve got some funds stashed away. My retirement pot.’

  Porter stared at his mucker. He’d heard the stories that had been doing the rounds at Hereford a few years back. Stories about how Bald had gone over to the dark side. He’d got involved in everything from cocaine smuggling to diamond theft, and along the way he’d lined his own pockets.

  No wonder Jock can afford an early retirement, thought Porter. He’s probably rolling in dodgy cash.

  ‘Soon as this op is over,’ Bald said, ‘This life is over for me. No more dealing with Vauxhall twats. I’ll be getting pissed, getting my end tugged by a smashing Thai bird. Can’t fucking wait.’

  ‘You’ll get bored.’

  ‘Not as bored as you, you sad cunt. Look at you. Living in your crap digs, no cash, not even a decent bird on the go. The only action you’re gonna get is a pity shag.’

  Porter pulsed with anger. He looked down at the can of Diet Coke in his hand. Two years ago, that would have been a beer. I’d be on my ninth or tenth drink of the day by now.

  ‘It’s easy for you. You’ve got no ties. It’s different for me. I can’t just leave Six.’

  ‘Why the fuck not? You’ve got no expenses. Ain’t as if you’re blowing your wad on the booze these days, is it?’

  ‘It’s Sandy. She needs my help.’

  ‘That boyfriend of hers still taking the piss?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Bald grunted. Porter had told him before about the problems Sandy was having.

  Sandy had been at Porter’s gaff when he’d returned earlier that afternoon to pack his bags. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it at first, but had then admitted that Corey had kicked her out after their latest bust-up. With her mum, Porter’s ex, and her stepdad now living abroad, Sandy had no one else to turn to. Porter had offered to let her stay with him until she sorted herself out. He’d spent the last few nights kipping on the sofa while his pregnant daughter took the bed.

  ‘He says he doesn’t want anything to do with the kid,’ Porter said quietly.

  ‘You should go round there, mate. Teach that streak of piss a lesson. If that was me, they’d be scraping his remains off the carpet after I’d finished with him.’

  ‘Sandy doesn’t want me to. She reckons I’d only make things worse.’

  Bald shook his head. ‘That’s the problem with you southern pooftas. Too soft. Always better to go in hard, I say.’

  ‘Is that what you tell Kamlai?’

  ‘Piss off.’

  They were interrupted by a knock at the front door. Two short, sharp raps. Not threatening. But not informal, either. Friendly, but businesslike. Porter set down his Coke, stood up from the breakfast table and approached the door while Bald grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. Porter looked through the spyhole, saw Moorcroft and Hairline standing outside. Both of them wore stern looks on their faces. Like they were in training for the world frowning championship.

  Moorcroft swept inside as soon as Porter cracked the door open, clutching his document bag and making his way over to the kitchen table. Hairline hung back by the door, hands behind his back, his gaze fixed at a spot on the far wall, as if he had a personal beef with it.

  Porter, Bald and Moorcroft consolidated around the kitchen table in a loose semi-circle. The intelligence officer unzipped the document bag, took out two bulky white envelopes and set them down on the table.

  ‘Your itineraries, gents,’ Moorcroft said. ‘Fifteen hundred dollars in walking-around money, plus two tickets for direct flights to DC from Heathrow, in economy plus. You’ll note that the return portions are open-ended.’

  ‘What about Street?’ Porter asked.

  ‘There’s an open single ticket for him included in your pack, booked with the same airline. There’s a replacement passport in there for him too. His current one was left in his hotel room.’

  Bald noted all this and said, ‘Where’s the RV with Cooper?’

  ‘That’ll be up to him. Contact him as soon as you’ve hit the ground and checked in. He’ll be expecting your call. The meeting time will be whatever he says, minus four hours. His number’s stored in both your phones.’

  Moorcroft rooted around in his bag again and pulled out a couple of slim, glossy paperbacks. Bald picked one up and glanced at the cover. He looked like someone had just handed him a turd.

  ‘Guide books,’ said Moorcroft.

  ‘The fuck are we meant to do with these?’

  ‘This might sound incredible to you, Jock, but try reading them.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘You’re going to Washington posing as tourists. You should at least know about the major sights, in case anyone with a Homeland Security badge starts asking questions. There are some maps of the surrounding area in there, too.’

  Moorcroft took two more items out of his bag.

  A couple of shiny black mobile phones.

  And a slip of paper.

  He gestured to the phones first. Porter picked one up to inspect it. It had a touchscreen, but that was about all that was modern about it. The phone felt brick-heavy compared to the swish new handsets he’d seen all the kids using. It had probably been cutting-edge, right around the time the Titanic sank.

  Moorcroft pointed to them. ‘Burner phones. You’ll use these instead of your regular devices. They’re unlocked so you can use them abroad, and both have been pre-loaded with a hundred dollars’ worth of credit.’

  Moorcroft pointed
to the sheet of paper. It listed several long and seemingly random names.

  ‘What the fuck are these?’ Bald said.

  ‘Twitter accounts. Someone will be monitoring them around the clock. If you need to get in urgent contact with us, follow the first account and we’ll know you need to talk. The next time, use the second account. Then the third, and so on.’

  Porter said, ‘I’m not on Twitter.’

  Bald said, ‘Me neither.’

  ‘You are now,’ Moorcroft said. ‘Check your phones. The boys over at GCHQ have created and populated accounts for both of you. They’ve also posted public messages on your Facebook accounts from your new fake friends, wishing you a great trip.’

  Porter stared at the list and felt old. He looked up and noticed Moorcroft staring at him. ‘What’s the deal with you and Tannon, old bean?’

  ‘We used to know each other. A long time ago now.’

  ‘There’s nothing else to it?’

  Moorcroft was still staring at him. He didn’t appear to notice Bald at his side, grinning slyly.

  ‘We were in the shit together once,’ Porter replied flatly. ‘That’s all there is to know. Why?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Moorcroft shrugged. ‘It’s just highly unusual to have someone in her position specifically request assets for a job like this.’

  ‘Her position?’ Porter repeated.

  Bald stopped grinning. Moorcroft said, ‘Didn’t you hear? Tannon is Director of Operations now.’

  Porter raised an eyebrow at that. D/O, he thought. That put her at one level below the current Chief of SIS. Tannon had done well for herself. She wasn’t just Moorcroft’s boss. She was even more senior than that. A resignation letter or a heart attack away from becoming the next head of Britain’s secret service.

  She’s done a hell of a lot better than me.

  Along with just about everyone else I know.

  And then another thought hit Porter.

  If someone as important as Tannon is involved, this op must be a big deal.

  Bald shot Moorcroft a quizzical look. ‘Hang about. Tannon is your boss? I thought she reported to you.’

  Moorcroft snorted. ‘Not for a long time now. She’ll be even higher up the ladder before long. It’s the worst-kept secret that Tannon is in the running to become the next chief.’

  ‘Is she likely to get it?’ Porter asked.

  ‘It’s a very short list, from what I hear.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be in the running for that job? You’ve been around for long enough.’

  The agent’s voice turned bitter. ‘They’re not looking for someone like me to run the agency. They want someone young. Dynamic. Someone who’s trained to deal with the emerging threats, cyber-hacking and non-linear warfare. Which means Tannon. Fellows like me, the ones who can speak Farsi and quote the Qur’an, are out of fashion.’

  ‘Must be tough,’ Porter said, pretending to give a toss.

  Moorcroft waved off his concerns. ‘I never wanted the job anyway,’ he said, with the air of a man trying to maintain his dignity in the face of crushing disappointment. ‘A year from now I’ll collect my pension, retire to my cottage and catch up on a spot of reading. Others won’t be so lucky. But you two are in a fortunate position.’

  ‘The fuck are you talking about?’

  ‘Don’t you see? Tannon’s relying on you to make sure this job goes smoothly. Pull this one off, and you’ll have the future Chief of MI6 in your debt. Who knows? You might even get a pay rise at the end of this.’

  Porter detected a hint of jealousy in the MI6 man’s voice. Bald laughed and said, ‘I don’t want a pay rise. I already told you lot. Once this is over, I’m done.’

  ‘You might change your mind.’

  ‘I fucking doubt it.’

  Moorcroft shrugged. ‘Maybe not. But if you come out of this with a new job offer, you’ll be doing a damn sight better than the rest of us.’

  He straightened his back and nodded at the two operators in turn.

  ‘Right, I’m off. I suggest you both get an early night. A car will arrive at half-three tomorrow morning to take you to the airport. After that, you’re on your own.’

  FOURTEEN

  Their car arrived at 3.30am, just like Moorcroft had said. Porter was already showered and dressed when the text came through on his burner. Your taxi is outside.

  The taxi turned out to be a grey Mercedes Benz C-class, several years old, with fifty thousand miles on the clock. Typical MI6 wheels, in Porter’s experience. Nothing too flash or new. Nothing that would draw attention to the occupants.

  Which also described the driver. He was heavily built, dressed in a flannel shirt and dark jeans, his cheeks threaded with veins either side of his ruddy nose. Early fifties, or thereabouts. Porter guessed he was Special Branch, maybe one of the blokes who ran the advanced driving course. He didn’t talk. Which was understandable. He wouldn’t have been briefed on who Bald or Porter were, or what their mission was.

  The journey took them forty minutes. Traffic was non-existent. Even Londoners had to sleep occasionally, it seemed. They rocked up outside Heathrow Terminal Five in the faint light of pre-dawn, hauled their overnight bags and made a beeline for the check-in desk. Half an hour later, Bald and Porter were airside, giving their orders to a waitress at one of the chain restaurants while they killed time before their flight.

  Bald went for a full English while Porter settled for a pot of black coffee. At the bar, a group of lads decked out in matching stag weekend t-shirts were getting well oiled before their flight, necking pints of Stella. Bald caught Porter staring wistfully at them.

  ‘Feeling thirsty, mate?’

  Porter shook his head. ‘I told you already. I’m off the drink now.’

  ‘Aye. And it had best stay that way.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I know how you get. When you can’t handle shit, you automatically reach for the bottle. You were a cunt hair away from falling off the wagon back in Syria.’

  ‘That was different.’ Porter felt his left hand instinctively clench into a tight fist underneath the table. ‘It won’t happen this time.’

  ‘It had better not. Because if you get back on the drink, I’ll fucking know about it. Then me and you’ll have a problem.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. Seriously. Besides, this is a simple exfil job.’

  ‘That depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘Whether you believe what those wankers at Six told us.’

  ‘You think they’re lying to us?’

  ‘I think they’re being selective with the truth.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Experience. I’ve had my fingers burned in the past, listening to that mob. These days I don’t believe a word that comes out of their fucking mouths.’

  ‘Even Tannon?’

  ‘Especially her. The higher up the ladder you go at Vauxhall, the better you get at lying through your teeth.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Porter. ‘She seems solid enough.’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it,’ said Bald, grinning and making a lewd gesture with his hand.

  Porter swung round to face his mucker. ‘What d’you mean by that?’

  ‘You think I don’t know about what went on between you and Tannon, back in Sierra Leone? Come on, pal. I wasn’t born yesterday.’

  ‘It was a one-off,’ Porter said, trying to downplay it. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘I don’t care what it was. Tannon was a real looker back then, and I would’ve done the same if I was in your boots. But you’d better not let your previous with her cloud your judgement.’

  ‘That won’t happen. You know me better than that, Jock.’

  ‘Probably the last decent shag you had anyway,’ Bald said. ‘Fucking tragic, that.’

  Porter looked away from his mucker, bristling with rage. Bald had always put himself first, looking out for Number One. But his spell in Thailand had seemingly ma
de him dirtier and more cynical than ever. That’s the last thing I need right now, he thought. Jock tearing strips off me, pushing my buttons.

  His gaze drifted towards the TV in the far corner of the restaurant. Sky News was repeating the morning’s headlines. There had been another suicide bombing in Russia. Pulkovo Airport at St Petersburg was the target this time. It was the latest in a spate of attacks carried out by suspected Chechen terrorists, according to the blonde newsreader.

  Shoddy camera-phone footage showed civvies hurrying out of the airport, some of them covered in blood and dust. In Moscow, hardliners with swastika tattoos and shaved heads had taken to the streets to protest against the Chechens.

  There was nothing further about the shooting in DC. Nothing about Street.

  Porter looked back to Bald. ‘What do you think’s in the dossier?’

  ‘Fuck knows,’ Bald replied between mouthfuls of egg and bacon. ‘Street’s an old Russia hand, right?’

  ‘That’s what Tannon reckoned.’

  ‘So he was probably selling int on agents who’ve been working for Russia on the sly. That’s probably it.’

  ‘Yeah, could be.’

  Porter clenched his teeth in frustration. It was typical of Six to leave them out of the loop like this. They tell you everything you need to know, and nothing you don’t. And we’re left fumbling around in the dark.

  ‘That still doesn’t explain how the snatch squad found out about the dossier,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe Street got careless and bragged about it to someone over a G and T. Who gives a crap?’

  ‘But this was a big deal, for Street. It could have made him for life. If I was in his boots, I would’ve been extra careful. I would’ve kept my bloody trap shut.’

  ‘Listen, mate, I couldn’t give a shit.’ Bald shovelled more egg into his mouth. ‘Our orders are to find Street and ferry him out of the country. That’s it. Then I can tell Six where to shove it and head back to Thailand.’

  ‘You’ll miss it.’

  ‘Nah. Trust me, I really fucking won’t.’

  Porter gave a weak smile. ‘Maybe I’ll pay you a visit. You could introduce me to your bird’s sister.’