Deadly Game

by Matt Johnson

  Chapter 20

  I decided to use the final morning in the hotel for a decent rest and to make a real attempt to finish my book. It was another warm Egyptian day. In the sheltered area near to the pool, I stripped off down to my shorts.

  Despite some of the personal and self-promotional stuff, which I skimmed through, the bulk of the Collins’ book was fascinating. It was an eyewitness account of the author’s experiences during the Afghan-Russian war of the 1980s. As I had been in Pakistan at the time, training Mujahideen fighters to use anti-aircraft missiles, it was especially interesting. The author was certainly well informed. It seemed likely I had served with him, although, from the blurred photographs and descriptions, I wasn’t able to work out who he was.

  I was still reading when Anca distracted me. I hadn’t heard her approach and was only aware of her presence when a shadow appeared on the pages.

  ‘What are you reading that keeps you so preoccupied, Robert?’ she asked.

  I lifted the book to show her the cover. She threw her head back and laughed. I figured she didn’t share my taste.

  ‘You like this book, Cyclone?’

  ‘So far, so good.’

  Anca laughed again. ‘My father-in-law will be very pleased to hear this. Look inside the cover at the name of the publishers.’

  I did as she asked. ‘Cristea Publishing Company, London,’ I read out loud.

  ‘If you remember, my name is Anca Cristea. My husband’s father started the company. He has many businesses; this is one of them.’

  I smiled. It was a fascinating coincidence.

  ‘Marica has invited you to her wedding?’ she continued.

  ‘Yes, I hope to be able to make it, if I can get time off from work.’

  ‘What do you do Robert? Are you still a soldier?’

  It was my turn to laugh. ‘No, my soldiering days are long behind me. These days I work for myself. Nothing glamorous: I work for small businesses – doing the books, paperwork, that sort of thing.’ As I spoke, I realised my answer had started to stray from the one I had given the dive staff. Fortunately, I remembered in time. ‘And I teach people to drive cars,’ I added.

  ‘Yes, as you say, not glamorous. Anyway, I think you will have a nice surprise at the wedding.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Yes, Chas Collins, the author of your book, will be there. Maybe he will autograph it for you?’ Anca laughed again, a cheeky laugh I would have attributed more to a teenager than to someone who looked so elegant.

  I smiled back. ‘Perhaps he will.’

  ‘Will you be flying home today?’ Anca asked.

  ‘Yes, I leave for the airport at lunch time.’

  She extended her hand. I stood, placed the book on the lounger and we shook hands. Again, I noticed her grip was surprisingly strong. Her hands were also harder and the skin less smooth than I had expected. The strength extended to her forearms; under her thin, blue dress, the muscular development was clear and defined.

  ‘I look forward to seeing you again, Robert. Please enjoy your flight.’

  As quietly and quickly as Anca had appeared, she was gone.

  I watched her descend the steps from the pool area into the hotel foyer. She moved elegantly, the material of the dress accentuating her figure. A nice lady, I thought. No doubt from a good family. I had noticed a large wedding ring shining on her finger. The Cristea son who had married her had secured himself a very good catch.

  It was time to settle the bills that MI5 weren’t covering. The hotel bar service was reasonable and cheap. The dive-school account was likely to be a different matter, however. With the cost of the course, equipment hire and Catherine as guide, I knew I was going to be stung for quite a bit. It had been worth it, though. I felt so much more relaxed than the tense man who had arrived at the resort a week earlier.

  Armed with my credit card, I made my way to settle up. But an embarrassing surprise awaited me: at both the hotel and the dive school, I found my bills had been paid in full. Neither would tell me by whom, but it wasn’t too hard to work out.

  In the dive-school equipment area, I found Catherine cleaning and filling air cylinders. She winked at me when I asked who had paid. ‘It’s not every day we have a hero here, Robert.’

  There was no point in arguing. But I was left with mixed feelings: relief at not heading home with a large credit card bill and slight guilt I didn’t feel worthy of the gesture.

  I returned to my room, squeezed the last few items into my suitcase and then boarded the small bus that would drop me at the airport. Two hours later, with the Collins book nearly finished, I was on the plane home.

  Chapter 21

  London Embankment

  Toni Fellowes was in a hurry.

  Although it wasn’t a long walk to the MI6 building, the weather had taken a turn for the worse. With no waterproof coat or umbrella, she now found herself dodging from shop canopies to bus shelters, and from trees to doorways in an attempt to avoid the rain.

  MI6 HQ, the Secret Intelligence Service building at Vauxhall Cross, was a place people like Toni didn’t get to visit very often. Even with her level of security clearance, Toni was only allowed access under escort. Shaking herself dry, she was compelled to wait in reception until a junior MI6 clerk arrived to see her through the metal detectors, security doors, CCTV and fingerprint access points. The clerk took her security pass, disappeared into a nearby office for a few minutes and then, after returning the pass, led the way.

  Howard Green, her contact and host, was waiting in his office. It helped they were on friendly terms. Several times, outside work, they had enjoyed lunch or dinner together. At one point, Toni had hoped the relationship might develop beyond work, but then Howard had mentioned he was married. For her, that had ended the possibility of anything more than friendship between them, although Howard had persisted in his attempt to persuade her otherwise. Eventually, though, he took the hint, and now when they met he was always cordial, even if she occasionally caught him staring at her legs.

  No longer a field agent, Howard now managed, supervised and organised the people that did the spying. He was a conduit between information provider and information recipient, running a network of agents who might contribute nothing, but who just might secure intelligence that would reveal activities the UK Government needed to know about. As such, his level of security clearance was high.

  Howard had requested the get-together, supposedly to discuss a mutual interest. Toni thought it perfect timing as she needed to secure authority to view the high-clearance personal files relevant to the Hastings report. She hoped that some bargaining might see them both leave the meeting happy.

  As the clerk closed the door, Toni was a little surprised when Howard kissed her cheek in welcome. If the act had been intended to lower her guard it wouldn’t work, she thought. But her curiosity was aroused. Her host continued more formally, explaining his current role. He was now responsible for operations in Eastern Europe – specifically Romania and Moldova. He was investigating links between criminal gangs, gun running and the terror groups that purchased weapons through these sources. Toni kept a straight face but, as soon as she heard the word ‘Romania’, she had a feeling she knew where the conversation was leading.

  She feigned surprise, however, when he said, ‘Tell me about Robert Finlay.’

  ‘That’s why you asked me here?’ she said, stalling as she considered how best to answer the questions that would inevitably follow.

  ‘Yes, his name has come up on my radar. What do you know of him?’

  ‘Do you mind if I ask why MI6 have an interest in him?’

  ‘You first, Toni,’ Howard smiled. ‘I can see the question surprised you. I am prepared to explain, but tell me about him first. I’ve read the digital copy of his PF; and I know the hard copy is booked out to you. I’m hoping you can tell me more than my version shows.’

  Again, Toni hesitated. Most of the essential background on Finlay was in his PF – h
is personal file. There wasn’t much more she could, or wanted, to add. And considering Finlay was what she wanted to ask Howard Green about, it was possibly a fortuitous coincidence, possibly not. She decided to maintain an air of cooperation.

  Summarising what she could recall of Finlay’s family history, schooling, education and army and police careers, Toni went through as much as she was prepared to say, including a run-down on the recent attacks on Finlay and his former colleagues, and ending with SO13’s conclusions about the motives behind the attacks.

  Howard listened intently, occasionally jotting a note on a small pad that sat on his desk. Toni noticed how he nodded as he listened. If he had read the file, he would know most of what she was saying.

  Just as she was finishing, Howard waved his hand, as if a little bored. ‘So you are babysitting him because of the attacks?’ he asked.

  ‘We are. And Dirt has asked me to confirm the SO13 conclusions before we declare the enquiry complete.’

  ‘What are your personal thoughts on Finlay, Toni?’

  ‘He’s a nice man. Loyal. But he has a lack of emotion about him. It’s like things just don’t get to him. You get the feeling he has seen too much in his life and some of it is bottled up inside somewhere.’

  ‘You like him?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  Howard smiled. ‘All in good time, Toni. Do you like him?’

  ‘Yes, I do, very much.’ Toni was surprised by her own frankness and how quickly she answered the question.

  ‘Have you recruited him?’

  ‘No … I haven’t.’

  ‘Tell me what he was doing in Egypt this past week…’

  ‘Is that why you’re asking?’

  ‘Yes. His presence there is my reason for meeting you now. I’m willing to think it is just a coincidence, but Finlay has met up with some very interesting people.’ Howard pulled a small, buff file from a drawer in his desk as he spoke.

  He’s lying, Toni thought. Nobody in this profession truly believes in coincidence. ‘His reason for going there is the fulfilment of a dream from his childhood,’ she explained. ‘That much I can tell you. I think Egypt might even have been my idea. He needed a holiday and I suggested it to him.’

  Howard flicked open the file. ‘Ever heard of the Cristea family?’

  He handed Toni a photograph of a young woman standing next to a swimming pool. To one side of her there was a tough-looking man with short hair and behind them stood Finlay, dressed rather shabbily in an old T-shirt and shorts. There was no mistaking him.

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ she lied.

  Howard snorted, just gently. ‘The woman is Marica Cristea. The man is her bodyguard. Marica is a member of an interesting Romanian family … I find it very difficult to believe you are not aware of them.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘Cristea Publishing. You have read the security briefing on the Cyclone book, I presume?’

  Toni recognised the hint of sarcasm in Howard’s tone. ‘Ah … yes, of course … that Cristea family.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Howard flicked at the file, impatiently. ‘Look, Toni. I’m going to be up front with you here, and, trust me, it would be best for you if we are straight with each other.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘By being honest about why you chose that particular resort for your man to take his break in. So … a straight question to which I expect a straight answer: Were you trying to get your man close to the Cyclone author so you could learn the sources of his information?’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow?’ Toni answered, doing her best to sound innocent.

  Howard huffed. ‘Does Finlay work for you?’

  ‘Definitely not. I’m just tasked with investigating the attacks on him and his old friends and getting his family resettled.’

  ‘So why, when I google Robert Finlay, does a search reveal him to be a driving instructor? Is that normal for a cop on an innocent holiday?’

  Toni stayed silent. She was rumbled. Silently, she handed back the photograph; she could see her hand was trembling.

  Howard saw it too. A smug grin crossed his face. ‘I thought so,’ he said. ‘OK, here’s the play: you’ve stumbled into something way outside of your job description, Toni, and now it’s time for you to back off, do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  ‘So, you will recall your man and forget about Cristea Publishing?’

  ‘Of course … I didn’t realise they were the sole remit of MI6.’

  ‘Don’t get clever with me, Toni. There are forces at work here of which you have no knowledge.’

  ‘Secrets in a secret world, you might say?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I understand … and I’m sorry if I’ve stepped on any toes.’

  ‘I’d consider it a personal favour were you to forget about this meeting as well.’

  ‘OK … might I ask a courtesy in return?’

  ‘Ask away.’

  ‘The Finlay PF details the recent attempts on his life and those of his friends. I’m tying up some loose ends. The Anti-Terrorist Squad have Nial Monaghan as being behind it – a vendetta against soldiers his wife supposedly slept with.’

  ‘Embarrassing for Five to have one of their own go off the rails like that.’

  Toni drew breath. ‘Indeed … Monaghan used contacts and the intel system to work his plan. But I can’t access his file or the file of Richard Webb, the Al Q’aeda man he used. Access to both PFs is blocked by Six. I can’t even access his DNA profile to confirm it was Monaghan killed in the car bomb.’

  ‘Have you tried a match from his home – a hairbrush, that kind of thing?’

  ‘Not yet, I was going to put a forensic team in but when I went to look over the place I found it had been cleaned. That won’t be easy, you wouldn’t think anyone had actually lived there. I don’t hold with conspiracies, but I would like to know who did the clean-up. It was us, I’m sure, but what department, and who authorised it?’

  ‘Cock-up rather than conspiracy, you think? I’m sure forensics will turn up something you can use.’ Howard turned to a small computer terminal on his desk and tapped in the names.

  From where Toni sat, she couldn’t see the screen but she guessed it was likely to generate information similar to her own. Access denied, with an MI6 reference number.

  She was wrong. Howard’s higher security clearance did the job.

  ‘Webb was an asset. That much I can tell you,’ Howard said, looking at the screen. ‘I will speak to his handler to see if we can authorise your access to his PF. Monaghan will be harder. The block on that is at a much higher level.’ He turned off the screen and stood up. ‘Leave it with me,’ Howard continued. ‘I’ll get back to you in a day or two.’

  Meeting over, Howard walked Toni back to the security reception. They shook hands.

  ‘Just out of interest,’ he said. ‘Have you actually read the Cyclone book?’

  ‘Not really, no. I had a scan though a copy and, of course, I read the analyst briefing on it.’

  ‘Well, if I were you, I wouldn’t bother. The author has upset some major players by revealing some very embarrassing facts – as per the analyst report – but much of it is fantasy, hardly worth the paper it’s written on.’

  ‘Thanks … I’ll bear that in mind.’

  ‘One other thing, Toni,’ Howard leaned closer to her.

  ‘Something else?’

  ‘Just a reminder. Security on foreign soil is the job of Six, not Five. Leave Cristea to us. We’ll find the author and we will find who spilled the beans on the Cyclone operation.’

  Before she could respond, Howard had turned away and disappeared back into the building.

  Chapter 22

  Outside, the rain had eased off but it was still cold.

  On the return walk, Toni found herself thinking deeply about what Howard had said and, the more she thought about it, the more she concluded it didn’t really matter.

  What she h
ad learned was invaluable. MI6 were also interested in Cristea. If Howard saw access to Chas Collins as important enough to warn her off, then, clearly, there was mileage in establishing such a contact. If she could persuade Finlay to take up the offer to travel to Romania, he could provide the very boost her career needed.

  It was a competition, and Howard, it seemed, was prepared to play dirty. But she had the edge, she was in front. She had Robert Finlay.

  For some time, she had been wondering what to do next. MI5 was a hard act to follow; no office job or commercial career would bring the level of excitement and sense of personal worth Security Service membership provided. But if there was kudos about being an officer in MI5, the mystique surrounding MI6 was all the greater. The fictional life of James Bond may have been just that, but breaking and entering in foreign lands, undermining and spying on both friendly and unfriendly governments, and operating behind enemy lines really were all part of the job. The 1994 Security Services Act had given MI6 immunity from prosecution for illegal acts committed abroad, provided prior authority was given by the Foreign Secretary. So MI6 agents could, and did, break laws and, of course, ran the risks that discovery involved.

  Howard Green had hinted he was involved in exactly this type of work – work that appealed to her. If she secured the intelligence MI6 were seeking, she could engineer things to ensure they both shared the limelight; she and Howard. Surely, he would then forgive her for not obeying his orders.

  In the coming months, she knew the overwhelming demand upon the Security Services was going to be the threat from Moslem extremists. MI5 would try and deal with the home-grown problems but it would be MI6 that would be facing the greatest challenge. They would need people like her and she was ready to make the move. She could speak Spanish and French, had a working knowledge of Russian and her Arabic was improving by the week.

  By the time she turned into Broadway and walked across the front of St James’s Park tube station, her mind was made up. As she approached the rotating doors of Scotland Yard and smiled to the two MP5-carrying policemen on duty outside, she was already making plans.