by Tim Stevens
Vodovos: I don’t think so. Why would they release a man like Rossiter, who’s caused them such embarrassment in the past, and will likely do so again? But it’s not beyond the realms of possibility, which is why I’m communicating with you like this.
After a moment’s pause, Purkiss wrote: Do you know a woman named Yulia Saburova?
Vodovos: An FSB asset here in London, based in the Embassy.
Purkiss: She’s working with me. She claims to be impatient with the FSB’s methods of catching Rossiter and to be willing to defy them in assisting me to bring him down. Do you think it likely she’s telling the truth?
It was Vodovos’s turn to hesitate.
He wrote: I can’t be sure. Her story sounds implausible. But anything’s possible now.
Purkiss considered for a moment. Then: And a man named Paul Asher? He says he’s CIA. Also working with me.
Vodovos: I don’t know the name.
Vodovos’s eyes darted over Purkiss’s shoulder at that point, and it took Purkiss a second to realise the door had opened behind him.
He turned, and saw Rupesh Gar.
‘You need to hear this,’ Gar said.
*
Gar waited until they’d reached the lift and were ascending before he said: ‘The cargo ship has docked in Liverpool. We have eight of our people there, four in place already and another four we sent up after you requested them.’
Purkiss looked at his watch. Twelve after midday. He’d lost track of the time.
‘Plus a contingent from Security, and Special Branch. We involved them because this is no longer solely our baby.’
Security was MI5, the internal counter-intelligence service. Special Branch was a division of the police, tasked with carrying out arrests on MI5’s behalf, among other things.
‘Have they boarded yet?’ said Purkiss.
‘As of five minutes ago, they were hanging back. Waiting for the ship to start unloading.’
Purkiss shook his head. ‘Get them on board immediately. If it’s Rossiter, he’ll seize any opportunity he has to slip away. Hit the ship hard and fast. You can always apologise later if we’re wrong about this.’
Yet again, Gar managed to convey his emotional state without the slightest change in his expression or bearing. This time it was one of intense annoyance.
‘We need to assess risk,’ he said. ‘And I don’t mean that in some sort of bureaucratic, health-and-safety way. That ship could be laden with booby traps. It could be wired to the gills.’
The lift slowed, then stopped. The doors opened.
Purkiss stepped into the corridor and took out his phone and dialled.
Asher said: ‘Yeah.’
‘Where are you?’
‘At the docks, looking at the ship. It’s berthed. The guy in charge here has told us to hold back.’
‘Are the others with you? Saburova and Kendrick?’
‘Yes.’
Purkiss felt frustration claw at him.
He said: ‘The moment the ship starts unloading, you run ahead and start opening whatever you see. Boxes, crates, whatever. Get the others to help you. Make a lot of noise and fuss.’
‘Got you.’ Then: ‘Here it comes. The doors are opening and stuff’s coming through.’
Purkiss felt Gar at his side, leaning in.
‘What are you doing?’
Purkiss stepped away. ‘Forcing Rossiter’s hand.’
He listened, but Asher had ended the call.
Gar strode ahead of Purkiss down the corridor. He reached a door and opened it and gestured for Purkiss to go in.
They were alone in the office. Gar moved in close.
‘Back off,’ he said. ‘This is no longer under your control.’
‘Your boss called me in because he trusted me,’ said Purkiss. ‘I know Rossiter, better than you do. If he’s importing something, he’ll slip it through any crack in our defences he can find. The vessel needs to be sealed off and contained as a matter of urgency. Once you allow even one man to get through, you’ll have blown your chance.’
‘Don’t you think I’m aware of -’
‘Listen to me.’ Purkiss took several steps back, his hands raised. ‘The ship won’t be booby-trapped. Why would Rossiter want to blow up Liverpool’s docks? If that ship is his, he’ll be transporting something for internal use. You need to isolate it and scour every inch of it, as well as the personnel on board.’
For a moment Purkiss thought it was his phone ringing, until Gar took out his own and held it to his ear.
He listened for ten seconds.
Then, to Purkiss: ‘A group of men have been identified trying to leave the vessel, unobserved.’
*
The next few minutes passed in a succession of disjointed snatches of sound.
Purkiss heard an eruption of noise from Gar’s phone, which sounded like shouting voices.
He raised his own phone to his ear.
He rang Kendrick first. There was no answer.
Then Saburova. She said immediately: ‘Men are running. We are closing in.’ And she was gone.
He tried Asher. At first, it rang until Purkiss expected voicemail to kick in. Then: ‘Some guys were slipping out carrying a box. Special Branch have pinned them down.’
A blast of static drowned out his words. But Purkiss recognised the intermittent staccato clatter in the background.
‘Shots,’ said Asher.
He ended the call.
*
Purkiss prowled the floor of the office, a caged animal, ignoring Gar who stood motionless, making calls on his own phone.
His feelings were a stew of triumph and guilt. There was vindication in the revelation that clearly something untoward was going on. But he wasn’t there, and he’d ordered his colleagues into a situation which sounded hazardous in the extreme.
Asher was the first to call back. ‘Purkiss. The field is secured.’
‘Tell me.’
The man sounded out of breath. ‘Four hostiles dead. Nobody hurt this end. They were armed, they defied an order to stop. Good kills.’
Purkiss wondered briefly why Asher felt the need to justify.
Asher continued: ‘They were carrying a box. Looks approximately four feet by two. Heavy. The tech people are moving in. Bomb guys, too.’
‘The rest of the ship?’
‘They’re aboard. No further resistance.’
Asher disappeared abruptly, and Purkiss recoiled as Kendrick’s voice exploded into his ear.
‘I got them, Purkiss. I fucking got them.’ He gave a high, manic cackle. ‘Took two of them down with the Hockler. Bang, bang. In the head. Like sniping at pumpkins.’
Asher’s voice came back, as though he’d retrieved his phone forcibly. ‘Your guy here shot two of them. Like I say, they were good kills.’
His voice became distant again. Purkiss heard shouting in the background.
When Asher returned, he said, ‘They’re telling us to move back. They’ve found something.’
Purkiss glanced at Gar. He thumbed the speakerphone key, moved closer to the other man.
Asher said: ‘It’s the box the guys were carrying. The Geiger counters are sparking like crazy.’
Twenty-two
The details emerged erratically over the next two hours.
Purkiss had met Vale in a large, open-plan office area crowded with computer stations manned by quietly intense personnel. Gar was co-ordinating, striding from one station to the next, but Waring-Jones appeared after a few minutes, his aged face set in grimness.
The docks had been completely evacuated and a wide area cordoned off by armed police officers. Specialist technicians were flooding in from various cities.
The media were being kept at bay to some extent, and the strict enforcement of a no-fly zone excluded helicopters from reporting events from above. But the scene was appearing in breaking news features on every television station.
Purkiss procured a side office and called Asher. He sto
od with Vale around the phone on the table.
‘The ship’s crew are being questioned,’ said Asher. ‘So far, it looks like they’re totally confused about all of this. The captain claims his instructions were to take a detour from Dublin up to a location off the west coast of Scotland, and to meet another vessel there. The four men who’re now dead boarded with a couple of crates. The captain was told it was more booze.’
‘Who gave him those instructions?’ said Purkiss.
‘He says they were in a faxed directive sent to him last night, a few hours before the ship left Dublin. The fax came from the Arrowhead office, and he didn’t think to question it.’
‘Osip?’
‘Is already being interrogated about this. He still claims he knows nothing about it. He believes his communications were hacked, and false orders were sent to the captain apparently issuing from Arrowhead’s office.’
Purkiss said, ‘What about the box?’
‘Nothing to report yet,’ Asher said. ‘The techs are still on it. It hasn’t been moved, yet. But there’s radiation, no doubt about that.’
Purkiss glanced at Vale. The man appeared to have aged just in the last few minutes, a graveness dragging his features down.
To Asher he said, ‘Everything okay with Kendrick?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘You kept saying, those were good kills.’
Asher hesitated. ‘Two of the hostiles were shot by Special Branch officers when they drew weapons themselves.’
‘And the other two?’
‘Kendrick shot them.’
‘But they were armed?’
‘Armed, yes. But they were running.’
‘Running away?’
‘Yes.’
Purkiss understood.
The problem wasn’t that two innocent men had been killed, because they weren’t innocent. The problem was that two men who could have provided critical information had been gunned down, when there’d been the possibility of merely wounding them.
‘Where’s Kendrick now?’
‘The police have him. He’s not been arrested, but they’ve isolated him.’
‘I’ll smooth things over.’ Purkiss wasn’t sure if that would be possible. ‘What about Saburova?’
‘She took off.’
‘What?’
Asher sounded puzzled. ‘She told me you’d called her and told her you needed her back in London. Didn’t explain why.’
Purkiss became very still.
‘You there?’
‘Yes. Okay. Speak to you later.’
Purkiss ended the call.
He found Vale’s eyes searching his.
‘You didn’t call her.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘No.’ Purkiss picked up the phone.
He’d expected it to ring a long time before the voicemail prompt was triggered. Instead, she picked up immediately.
‘Yes.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I am returning to London.’
‘Asher just told me. Why?’
‘I saw two men in the crowd near the docks. I recognised them. FSB.’
Purkiss thought about this.
‘You think they’re on to you?’
‘No. They did not see me. I believe they are there to find out what is going on. Perhaps Osip still has contacts and tipped them off. But I cannot risk them identifying me.’ The connection wavered for a few seconds. ‘I told Asher you had called me back to London because it was the quickest way to separate from him.’
‘Where are you heading?’
‘I’ll be in London,’ she said. ‘I cannot say where. But I will remain in contact.’ Again, the line broke up a little. ‘Are you going back to Liverpool?’
‘There’s not much I can do up there that’s not already being done.’
For a moment he thought the connection had been severed entirely. Then she said: ‘The FSB man in custody. Vodovos.’
‘Yes.’
‘What did he want to tell you?’
Purkiss looked straight at Vale as he said, ‘I can’t tell you over the phone. But as you’re on your way down here, I think we should speak to him together.’
Saburova said: ‘I cannot come to SIS headquarters.’
‘No. So I’ll make arrangements for him to be transported elsewhere. I’ll be in touch.’
After he killed the call, Purkiss stood in silence.
Vale said, ‘John. What was that about?’
Before Purkiss could reply, the door opened.
Gar said: ‘The device in Liverpool has been identified. A plastic explosive charge wrapped around a caesium source. A dirty bomb.’
Twenty-three
‘No,’ said Gar. ‘Under no circumstances.’
‘Then you’re throwing away possibly our last chance to find Rossiter.’
They were still in the side office, Purkiss and Vale and Gar. Vale stood off to one side as the other two men squared up.
Gar said, ‘If Vodovos has information that’s as critical as you say, we’ll get it out of him. Whatever it takes.’
‘You won’t,’ Purkiss said. ‘Not quickly enough, anyway. He’s a high-echelon operative. He’ll hold out. If you do crack him, it’ll all be academic by then.’
Gar’s hands were clasped before him almost prissily, his feet braced apart. ‘Explain it again, Purkiss. Explain why you can’t continue talking to Vodovos here.’
‘Because there’s another party involved. An outsider, who can’t come near the building.’
‘Who, exactly?’
‘I can’t tell you.’ Purkiss looked pointedly at the clock on the wall. ‘Time’s ticking, Gar. If you won’t help me, I’ll go straight to Waring-Jones.’
‘Sir Peter will say the same thing.’
‘We’ll see, won’t we?’ Purkiss took a step towards the door.
‘This other party,’ Gar said. ‘Is it a Russian?’
‘I can’t tell you. It’s somebody who’s on our side. Somebody in whose interests it is to find Rossiter, just like us. And somebody whom Vodovos is willing to speak to.’
Purkiss reached the door, put his fingers on the handle.
‘Don’t go to Sir Peter,’ Gar said, without looking at him.
Purkiss paused.
‘There’ll be a car ready for you in five minutes.’
Purkiss said: ‘No driver. No escort of any kind.’
‘Agreed.’
‘And I mean no escort, Gar. No surveillance, human or electronic. If Vodovos, or the person we’re meeting, has the slightest suspicion that they’re being tagged – and they’re both skilled professionals, they’ll have a nose for such things – then the whole thing’s scuppered. And our chance is blown.’
‘You have my word.’
‘And you have mine, that I’ll provide full disclosure afterwards.’
‘Afterwards. Yes.’ The bitterness was in Gar’s emphasis rather than his tone.
*
Vale walked with Purkiss down the corridor towards the lifts. Gar had said the car would be waiting outside a hidden exit from the infirmary.
‘I appreciate the need for secrecy,’ Vale said. ‘But is there anything you can tell me?’
‘Strictest confidence?’
‘Yes, of course.’ With Vale, strictest confidence was an absolute. Vale wouldn’t divulge anything to the Prime Minister himself if asked.
‘The bomb on Merseyside was a decoy,’ said Purkiss. ‘We were meant to intercept and neutralise it.’
Vale’s expression didn’t change. ‘A decoy for what?’
‘Something bigger.’ The picture was taking focus in Purkiss’s mind. Much of it was still hazy, but the overall image was there. ‘I’m speculating, but London’s likely to be the flashpoint.’
‘And your meeting now? With Vodovos, and this other person? Assuming they exist.’
‘They exist.’ Purkiss considered telling Vale. He decided it was unnecessary. ‘If things go accordin
g to plan, the meeting might give me a way in.’
*
Purkiss watched Vodovos hobble down the corridor, flanked by two escorts. He’d been given a greatcoat to throw over his pyjamas, and a pair of steel crutches.
He stared at Purkiss, his eyes intense and questioning.
Gar pressed his hand against a sensor in the wall and a door slid open. Beyond, a tunnel lit with harsh fluorescent light curved into shadow.
The door closed behind Purkiss and Vodovos and they were alone.
Neither man said anything as they made their way along the tunnel. At the far end, it terminated in a door. Purkiss used a swipe card he’d been given to open it.
He saw Vodovos blink at the sudden glare of afternoon sunlight, saw him recoil slightly at the breeze.
The car, a nondescript Volvo saloon, was parked on the kerb directly opposite the exit. Purkiss helped Vodovos into the back seat and climbed behind the wheel. He found the keys in the ignition. Normally he’d have done a sweep for tracking devices beneath the bonnet or attached to the chassis. But he knew there was no point. The vehicle had been provided for him by the Deputy Director of SIS. If there was a bug on board, he’d never find it.
He would just have to take Gar at his word.
Purkiss pulled out. Vodovos turned his head to look at him. The question was implicit in his gaze.
‘We’re going to meet someone,’ said Purkiss, in Russian. ‘She can’t come here.’
‘She. You mean the FSB operative you mentioned? Saburova?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
Purkiss ignored the question. ‘You said back there you knew of her. Do you know her personally?’
‘No. I’ve never met her. But I know the names of all our London assets. It’s part of my job.’
Purkiss took out his phone. In his jacket, he felt the heft of the SIG pistol. He’d asked for it to be returned before he left the headquarters.
Saburova picked up on the second ring. Purkiss said, ‘Where are you?’
‘King’s Cross.’
‘On foot?’
‘Yes. But my car is outside. I have been waiting here for your call.’
It made sense. Late on a Saturday afternoon, the quickest way to get to an impromptu rendezvous in London was often via public transport, rather than struggling through the chaotic and congested streets.