by Chris Ryan
But by then, Porter and Bald would be long gone. When they were a mile clear of the checkpoint Porter took out the ghost phone and opened the text message Moorcroft had sent him seven hours earlier. The message containing the number for Tannon’s burner.
The BlackBerry went through the same performance when Porter dialled through. First the long pause, followed by a series of faint clicks. Then the unusual tone, like making a call to a foreign country. Tannon picked up midway through the first beep. As if she’d been sitting by the phone in a hotel room somewhere, waiting for the call.
Tannon said, ‘Yes?’
‘It’s Porter. We’re through.’
‘Any problems?’
Her voice was stiff and formal, but Porter knew there was more to Tannon than that. He’d seen her soft side all those years ago in Sierra Leone, and a warm feeling spread through him at the thought of seeing her again. They hadn’t had a chance to talk privately at the briefing in London, but he wondered if things might be different now. Conflicting emotions swirled inside his chest. Seventeen years had passed since Freetown. They were different people now. Different lives.
Perhaps she doesn’t even remember that night, thought Porter.
‘Nothing we couldn’t handle,’ he said.
‘Have you still got the package?’
Porter glanced at Cooper. ‘Looking at it as we speak.’
‘Good. Where are you now?’
‘We just cleared the border a couple of miles ago.’
‘You’ll need to stay on the road for another hour or so. Do you have GPS?’
‘Not in this model, love.’
Stillman had deliberately asked for a rental that didn’t include GPS. The chances of anyone tracking the Cruze were slim. But they’d decided not to risk it.
‘Then listen carefully. Stay on Queen Elizabeth Way, following the signs to Toronto. Once you hit Mississauga, you’ll see a sign for Exit 124, onto Winston Churchill Boulevard. I’ll be five hundred metres up from the exit on the hard shoulder, in a blue Volkswagen Jetta with my hazard lights on. Pull in directly behind me. Have you got all that?’
‘Exit 124. Blue VW Jetta. Got it.’
‘Meet me there,’ said Tannon. ‘Then we’ll talk.’
THIRTY-FIVE
It took them seventy-four minutes to reach the RV. Traffic was heavy. Which was to be expected. Porter had read somewhere that Queen Elizabeth Way was one of the busiest stretches of road in Canada. The highway curved like a horseshoe around the western shore of Lake Ontario, past St Catherine’s, and the port at Hamilton. Then across the canal and north-east through Burlington and Oakville, weaving through the lanes as they closed in on the RV.
Three miles past Oakville, Porter spotted the sign for the exit onto Winston Churchill Boulevard. Bald passed the slip road, sticking to the lanes on the left-hand side of the highway. Five hundred metres beyond the slip road, Porter saw the Jetta parked on the hard shoulder, in the shadow of a concrete flyover, hazard lights blinking in the evening gloom. The bonnet was popped open, to make it look as if the car had broken down.
Standing alongside the Jetta was Dominique Tannon.
She was dressed in a buttoned-up grey trouser suit, white blouse and heels, with a brown-leather messenger bag slung across her shoulder. Her arms were folded as she stood next to the guard rail at the side of the road, staring into the middle distance, playing the part of a broken-down motorist to perfection. She looked just the right combination of bored and frustrated.
Bald whistled appreciatively. ‘She might be getting on, but I’d love to have a crack at that.’ He shook his head at Porter. ‘I still can’t believe you managed to shag her.’
‘It was a long time ago,’ Porter mumbled as he watched Tannon. That warm feeling spread through him again, like a hot breath on the back of his neck.
Bald slapped the hazards on, dropped his speed and nudged the Cruze into the space behind Tannon. To the drivers on the main road, they looked like a few mates arriving to help a friend who’d broken down. More importantly, arranging to meet on the highway meant no one could follow them. Anyone pursuing either vehicle would have to call off their surveillance as soon as they reached the RV. They couldn’t pull up on the hard shoulder without drawing attention to themselves.
Tannon’s got good instincts, Porter thought. She’s always thinking ahead.
No wonder she rose so quickly through the ranks at Six.
Bald tore the keys out of the ignition and climbed out of the Cruze. Porter popped his seat belt and half-turned to face Cooper. ‘Wait here. Try anything, and I’ll break every bone in your fucking body.’
‘You don’t have to threaten me. I’ve got as much interest in getting out of here as you two. Besides, look around you. Where would I go?’
Cooper looked supernaturally calm again, Porter noticed. The guy didn’t look like someone who was facing a long stretch in prison. Maybe he’s just relieved we didn’t slot him, back at the safe house.
He popped the side door and stepped out onto the hard shoulder. Traffic blasted past the operators in a windswept roar as they approached Tannon. She stepped forward from the Jetta and met them halfway.
‘Where’s Cooper?’ she asked.
Porter jerked a thumb at the Cruze. ‘Stewing in the back. Want us to get him, love?’
‘That won’t be necessary. I have to make this quick. We don’t have much time.’
Porter watched her for a beat, waiting for a smile that never came. He’d expected a personal touch of some kind. A few words, a private joke. Something that hinted at what they had once shared. But Tannon gave away nothing. She kept up the same businesslike façade he’d heard on the phone. As if that night in Sierra Leone had never happened.
At his side, Porter noticed Bald smiling wryly. Tannon didn’t appear to have noticed. Her eyes were still fixed on Porter. He swallowed his disappointment and moved the conversation on.
‘Did Moorcroft tell you what went down at the safe house?’
‘He filled me in shortly after I landed. It’s chaos back at Vauxhall right now, as you can probably imagine. A lot of uncomfortable questions are being asked. Everyone’s running around, trying to figure out how we missed something this big.’
‘None of your lot suspected Cooper of anything?’
‘Never. His record was spotless. If there had been the slightest doubt, we would never have involved him in the operation.’
‘He almost had us fooled too,’ Bald cut in. ‘He’s a slippery bastard. That’s for sure.’
Tannon nodded and said, ‘I understand that Cooper is willing to cooperate with us.’
‘He had a change of heart, aye. Right after we threatened to blow his brains out.’
Tannon turned to Porter. ‘Nigel outlined your plan to me. The Russia thing. Are you sure we can trust him?’
‘Cooper? Fuck knows. He sounded convincing enough. But there’s only one way to find out.’
‘I agree. Nigel has his reservations, but I don’t think we have any choice but to go along with the plan. Just as long as you’re aware of the risks. You’ll be entering an extremely hostile environment. If you run into trouble, we can’t help you.’
‘Why can’t you lot send in some local assets to rescue Street?’ Bald asked. ‘That’s got to be easier than sending us halfway round the fucking world.’
‘We don’t have anyone we can call on over there. Not at this short notice. Even if we could, the Chief wouldn’t sign off on it. Too much risk of something going wrong.’
‘So we’re having to get our hands dirty because your bosses are worried about getting caught?’
‘If you want to put it like that, yes.’
Bald shook his head. ‘If you’re so worried about the Kremlin having this sex tape, you should just tell the Yanks. Get them to take care of it. It’s their fucking problem, not ours.’
Tannon stared at him. ‘Are you having second thoughts?’
‘Just saying. It’s not our f
ault one of your own turned out to be a lying snake.’
‘We need to get Charles back,’ Tannon replied sternly. ‘That’s non-negotiable. Even if he didn’t have the dossier, rescuing him would still be our number one priority.’
Porter said, ‘We’ll do the job, love. But we might not get there in time. The Russians have got a ten-hour start over us. Street might give up what he knows before we can get to him.’
‘Charles won’t break easily. He’s trained in resistance-to-interrogation. Same as the rest of our field agents.’
‘That would have been a long time ago,’ Bald pointed out.
‘True. But a good agent doesn’t forget the techniques. And Charles was one of the best.’
‘Even so, he won’t stand a chance against Zhirkov’s henchmen. I’ve heard stories about his mob. They’re savages.’
Tannon sighed. ‘Regardless of what Charles does or doesn’t tell his abductors, we need him back alive. The Russians capturing one of our own is unprecedented. Not to mention hugely damaging to our reputation.’
‘Street isn’t with the service any more. How damaging could it be?’
‘Worse than you can imagine. Charles is a senior former spy with a lifetime of secrets inside his head. They could find out anything from him. Who knows? The FSB might even parade Charles on Russian state TV, try and make us look like fools.’
‘You don’t need a camera for that,’ Bald said.
Tannon stared at him. ‘It’s vital we get Charles back. If you manage to rescue him before he tells Zhirkov’s mob what he knows, then great. But either way, we can’t abandon him. That is not an option.’
Porter said, ‘Whatever we do, we’d better fucking hurry. Street won’t last long once those mobsters break out the thumbscrews.’
‘Agreed.’
‘We’ll need new documents as well. The Russians aren’t gonna let us stroll through security at their end.’
‘I’ve already taken care of that. This way.’
Tannon led them over to the Jetta. She flipped open the boot, revealing a black nylon gym bag stowed inside. Tannon worked the zip on the side compartment, pulling out a thick padded envelope.
‘Passports, bank cards and drivers’ licences,’ she said, handing the package over to Porter. ‘You’ll be flying to Moscow under assumed identities. I’ll hang on to your genuine documents until the mission is over.’
Porter took out one of the passports to examine it. The coat of arms on the front had been scuffed, to make it look older. Brand-new documents made border officials suspicious. A Russian tourist visa had been stickered to one of the inside pages. Porter’s photo stared out at him from the back page. The passport gave his name as Gary Hutton and his place of birth as Enfield. The date of birth was the same as his real one.
‘How did you get these at such short notice?’
‘We didn’t. We sourced four sets of identities, originally. As a precaution, in the event that you two, Cooper and Street, needed to make a rapid exit from the US.’
‘What happens once we’ve grabbed Street?’
‘You’ll head to the British embassy in Moscow and await further orders. I’ve already notified our station chief. He’ll be expecting you.’
‘Let’s hope your man in Moscow isn’t as bent as Cooper,’ said Bald.
‘He’s been vetted thoroughly. The guy is so straight you could use him to paint lines on a road.’
‘When do we leave?’ Porter asked.
‘Tonight. You’re booked in on the red-eye flight from Toronto to Moscow. You’ll arrive tomorrow evening, around seven o’clock.’
‘Itineraries?’
‘Also included in the packet. We’ve booked you in for one twin room and a single at the Marriott Grand Hotel.’
‘Swanky.’ Bald grinned. ‘My kind of place.’
‘You won’t be staying there, of course. But the reservations will help with your cover story as tourists. That reminds me.’
Tannon reached into the boot and unzipped the main compartment of the gym bag. Porter leaned in and peeked inside. Saw a bunch of glossy books nestled in the bag, along with a couple of Nikon SLR digital cameras.
‘Moscow guide books,’ she went on. ‘You know the drill. Read up on a few sights around the city. Museums and so on. In case you get pulled aside at the airport.’
‘Expanding my cultural knowledge,’ Bald said as he browsed through one of the guide books. ‘Just what I signed up to Six for, that.’
Porter said, ‘What’s the plan once we’ve landed?’
‘Someone from the embassy will RV with you when you land. One of our drivers. He knows what you look like, what flight you’re on. The basics. His photo is in the envelope, so you know who to look out for. ’
‘Where do we meet him?’
‘The terminal car park. Third floor. He’ll be waiting there for you.’
‘What about kit?’
‘Our guy will have everything you need for the mission. Car, weapons, money. Plus any other equipment you deem appropriate, within reason.’
‘We’ll need kit to break into the mansion,’ Porter said. ‘Bolt-cutters, snap gun, head torches. And a change of clothes. We can’t go sneaking around Zhirkov’s gaff dressed like this.’
‘I’ll send a list.’ Tannon nodded at the Cruze. ‘I presume Cooper will need a new change of clothes as well?’
‘He’s got to come with us, love. He’s the only one who knows the layout of Zhirkov’s mansion.’
‘What’ll happen to that wanker?’ Bald asked. ‘Once we’ve nabbed Street?’
‘You’ll escort him back to the embassy with Charles. A team will be waiting there to receive him. We’ll question him. Find out who his contacts are over at the Kremlin, who else they’ve turned.’
‘And if he cooperates?’
Tannon shrugged. ‘I imagine we’ll come to some sort of arrangement.’
‘What the fuck does that mean?’
‘The general feeling at Six is that we need to keep this thing as quiet as possible. The Chief would prefer to cut a deal with Cooper. Information, in exchange for avoiding prison.’
Bald’s face twisted with rage. ‘That’s a load of bollocks. Cooper set us up. He almost got us killed, for fuck’s sake.’
‘Believe me, if it was my call then Cooper would be spending the rest of his days rotting in a cell. But the Chief is determined to avoid any unnecessary exposure. There are issues of trust at stake. He’s worried about how this would look to our allies.’
‘Who gives a shit? The bloke’s a traitor.’
‘Cooper will still lose his job, and his pension. He’ll be discredited. He won’t be coming out of this smelling of roses.’
‘He shouldn’t be coming out of it at all.’
‘As I said, it’s not my decision.’ Tannon stole a glance at her watch, signalling the end of the briefing. ‘Now, you should get going. Your flight leaves in four hours.’
Bald hefted up the gym bag and marched over to the Cruze, dumping it in the back next to Cooper. Porter turned to leave. Tannon stepped across his path before he could walk away. He caught a whiff of her perfumed neck as she moved closer to him, searching his eyes with hers.
‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Sure,’ said Porter. ‘Anything.’
‘Do you really think you can rescue Charles?’
‘We’ll do our best, love. But I can’t make any promises. We’re talking about the Russian mob here.’
‘You know why I chose you for this mission?’
‘Because of our good looks and sense of humour?’
‘Because you always get the job done, no matter what. What you did for me in Freetown, for all of us, I won’t ever forget, John.’
There was a tenderness to her voice, a softness in her eyes. Porter felt that familiar warmth rise up through him once more. A vivid memory seared across his brain. Sierra Leone, seventeen years ago. The Ambassadors Hotel. Lying on the mattress next to Tannon, her h
ead resting on his chest, the sound of gunfire cracking and popping in the distance.
For the briefest moment, the distance between them melted away.
‘You saved us back then,’ Tannon continued. ‘I’m counting on you again now. We can’t lose on this one. We need you to bring Charles home. Whatever it takes.’
THIRTY-SIX
Toronto Pearson Airport was a twenty-minute drive from the meeting point. They left the Cruze in a parking garage a short hop from the terminal. Porter took out the ghost phone, snapped off the casing, flipped out the battery and crushed the SIM card under his boot. Like grinding a cigarette. He chucked the battery and SIM card fragments into one bin and tossed the handset into another. Did the same with the two burners they’d carried. Bald ushered Cooper out of the Cruze, left the keys under the front wheel, and the three of them made for the terminal entrance.
They checked in at one of the Lufthansa kiosks, using the same credit card the flights had been booked with. Porter swiped the card through and punched in the flight number on the screen. Then they took turns to place their new passports down on the machine reader. There was an anxious wait while the computer processed their documents. Then the kiosk whirred and printed out three business-class tickets, and they headed for security.
It took them twenty-five minutes to get airside. Most of which was spent waiting in line. They had no luggage to speak of. Nothing on them except for some loose change, their wallets and passports, plus the guide books and SLR cameras. Porter had worried that their lack of baggage might draw attention. But no one seemed to notice. Plenty of other businesspeople were travelling light.
They had a couple of hours to kill before their flight was announced, so they hit the duty-free shopping and paid cash for three embroidered baseball caps from a Ralph Lauren outlet, each one a different colour. The caps would conceal their faces from surveillance cameras when they entered Russia. Whether they liked it or not, they were going to be on camera. Nothing they could do about that. Concealing their faces was the next best option.