Spycatcher s-1

by Matthew Dunn

  Will looked around. From this vantage a proficient sniper would have been able to strike the northeast tip of Sarajevo. He would also have a very clear sight of the city’s road leading to this place. Will didn’t have a sniper rifle, but he did have a small set of 10?25 bird-watching binoculars. He examined the road and could see no vehicles or persons. He walked back along the hill road and to within two hundred meters of the track leading to Harry’s house. He stepped off the road and into the woods, where he walked parallel to the track. When he came to within one hundred meters of the house, he sat down. He stayed in this position for twenty minutes before moving to study the house from a different angle, where he again waited for the same duration. He repeated this process twice more, so that by the end of his eighty-minute watch he had observed the full perimeter of the property.

  The S-Class Mercedes and Jeep Grand Cherokee were parked in an open garage toward the front of Harry’s house. The house’s windows had external wooden shutters, and all were open. Will could see no movement inside. He listened but could hear no human sounds.

  He walked out of the wooded area and onto Harry’s driveway. Then he put his gloves on and walked directly up to the front door to ring the bell. There was no answer, so he rang again. Again nothing. He pulled out his phone and tried to call Harry. The phone rang eight times before being directed to Harry’s voice mail. Will replaced his phone and slowly walked around the house. He peered into ground-floor windows and knocked on a rear door. He continued to be met by silence.

  He tried to open the rear door, but it was locked. He looked around the back garden and spotted a small hut. The door to the tiny building was unlocked, and within it he found what he was looking for. He returned to the rear door of the house and swung the mallet at the area around the door handle. The door crashed open instantly, and he stepped into the house. He walked through the spacious kitchen before him and into a hallway. To his left was a big, open living and dining area. There were three separate sofa-and-chair groupings, plus a heavy wooden dining table surrounded by eight seats. A sixty-inch flat-screen television was wall-mounted near one of the sofa areas, and a Bang amp; Olufsen stereo system was positioned adjacent to another. Gilt-and-marble coffee tables were scattered throughout, on top of huge woven silk rugs in red and gold. There were large paintings that looked to be originals and old. It was early-morning daylight outside, but had the room’s lights been turned on, the room would have been illuminated by the glow from crystal chandeliers. Harry clearly liked luxury.

  Will moved quickly through the rest of the house. The place had six bedrooms, eight bathrooms, two other lounge areas, and three studies. It was very big for one person, but Will imagined that Harry was the type of man who would like to throw parties for glamorous women. Will paid particular attention to the upstairs study and found lots of documentation and paperwork. But he decided it would take him hours to go through the stuff. He looked in the more obvious areas but could find nothing of immediate interest.

  He returned downstairs. Everywhere seemed immaculate, and he could smell alcohol-based polish.

  He walked back into the main living area and looked at the bodies he had earlier stepped over. Harry’s four bodyguards had all been shot in the head and torso. They must have been dispatched with extreme swiftness, for none of them showed signs of having had time to arm themselves.

  Will placed his hand on his throat pressel switch to speak to Roger. “Four bodies, but no sign of Harry.”

  “Understood.” Roger spoke quietly, and Will knew that he would be hidden somewhere halfway along the three-kilometer hill route.

  Will checked the pockets of the dead men but found nothing of interest. He heard Roger’s voice again in his earpiece.

  “I can see a four-seater sedan driving up Pasino Brdo. Three Iranians are inside. One of them is Nozari, and the other two are from the team. They’re driving slowly and they’re two point eight kilometers from your position. They’ll be passing me in two minutes and you in five. Let me know if you want me to stop them.”

  Will frowned. He had no doubt that the men who had killed Harry’s bodyguards were the same people who had killed Kljujic, and he knew that Nozari had been directly or indirectly involved in both acts. But it made no sense to him that they were driving back to Harry’s house at such a casual pace. If they’d been stupid and left something in the house to compromise themselves, they would be driving with haste. Likewise, if Will had been spotted by them going to the house-and he thought that impossible-they would be after him with speed and in greater numbers. But they were driving as if they were unafraid of time or consequences.

  Suddenly the realization of what was happening hit him. He cursed silently and pulled out his SIG Sauer handgun at the same time as his free hand flew to his throat pressel switch. “They’re coming to collect the assassin. He’s still here.”

  “There could be more than one.”

  “There’s only one empty seat in that car.” Will swung his gun around. He could feel his heart race, and he kept moving. “But whoever’s here is good enough to take out four men in the blink of an eye.”

  “Then I’d better be on my way.”

  Will held his gun in two hands and walked quickly but lightly across the room and into the downstairs hallway. Opposite him was one of the two smaller studies, and he reentered the room, walked around its perimeter, and then returned to the hallway. He stopped to listen but could hear nothing. The upper floor of the house contained the most rooms, closets, and other areas where a man could hide, and Will decided that unless the assassin had left the house already, he must be in one of those places. He ascended the stairs until he was back on that upper floor. Beams of white daylight traversed the expansive corridor area before him and came from open doorways and the external windows beyond them. He narrowed his eyes to try to focus through the strobelike effect they created, and he started moving through the floor, checking each room to his left and right. The smell of the polish was even stronger here, and he didn’t remember noticing its pungency when he’d been up here a few minutes earlier. He exited the final room on the right side of the corridor and moved to the master bedroom at the end of the floor. It was the last room to be checked. He crouched low and to one side of the double-door entrance. He slowly turned the handle and pushed the door inward while remaining in position and out of sight of anyone inside the room. Within a split second, he poked his head into the room and out again. In that time he had seen no one in there, although he knew from his earlier search that there were at least nine places inside it large enough to conceal a man. He counted ten seconds while listening before moving steadily into the room with his gun held in front of him. He examined all nine places and then kicked at the bed in frustration. He was now sure that the killer must have left before he’d entered the house. He looked around the room one more time and sighed.

  A loud thud came from behind him, and he instantly spun around to face the direction of the noise. It had come from the end of the long corridor, and through the fragmenting splinters of daylight he saw an open attic hatch and a man standing beneath it with his back to Will. The man turned toward him. Even though he was approximately thirty meters away from Will and partially disguised by the distorting effect of inconsistent light and darkness, he could see that the man was tall and middle-aged. He could also see that the man’s arm was outstretched. Will raised his gun to shoot, but a tiny flash of another kind of light descended quickly from the man’s hand toward the floor. Too late Will realized that the tiny glow belonged to a cigarette lighter and too late he understood that the pungent alcohol smell belonged not to polish but to a fire accelerant. The lighter hit the floor, and blue flames instantly engulfed the corridor and sped along it toward the master bedroom. Will flinched slightly as the fire dazzled his vision. When he looked up again, he was surprised to see that the man was still standing in the same position. It then registered that the man was pointing a handgun in his direction. Will saw the gun
’s muzzle flash, sensed the tiniest moment of absolute pain in his head, and then felt and knew nothing.

  Thirty-Seven

  “I need you to live.”

  Will saw his body move away from the floor. He saw black swirls, he saw yellow and red, and he smelled roasting flesh. Something sharp repeatedly banged against his chest and produced pain. But the pain on the side of his head was much worse. He felt things were moving, and he felt out of control. He closed and opened his eyes, and each time he did, he saw different images. He heard breathing and felt something wrapped tight and unforgiving around his back. Movement increased and became as rapid as the breathing he heard. He saw things and then no longer saw or heard anything.

  “You’re not safe yet.” The voice sounded different.

  Will’s head whipped back, and he saw white light. It slumped forward, and he saw snow and feet and legs quite close to him. Again something angular banged against his chest, and the images before him jarred in time with each small impact. He felt that he was moving fast. He felt helpless. His eyes closed even though he did not wish them to do so. His brain began to fall into some kind of strange sleep.

  Will opened his eyes and saw sky. Underneath him everything felt cold. He focused on his hands and pushed with them without knowing what the action would do to his body. It forced him up into a seated position and into a place that at first he did not understand. He was seated in thick snow and on a steep hillside. He shook his head quickly to try to focus his mind.

  “Don’t do that.”

  Will stopped. He looked toward the voice, which seemed real. He saw Roger, but the man was not looking at him and was instead crouched on one knee while looking back up the hill. He held a rifle and was peering through its scope. Will shook his head again.

  “You’ll lose consciousness if you do that. And I’m not going to haul you back onto my shoulder for another thousand-meter run if you ignore me.” Roger pulled away from the scope and looked toward Will. “We must go.”

  Will touched a hand to his head and felt a long groove along the right-hand side of his hairline. He knew that the injury must have come from the assassin’s bullet. He coughed and recalled the thick smoke within the house. His vision blurred, and he blinked several times to try to regain control of his sight. He breathed in deeply and felt pain in his lungs. He slowed his breathing and tried to calm his body and mind. He spoke. “How the hell did you get me out of that house?”

  Roger came toward him. “I didn’t. But the man who torched the place and then shot you most certainly did.”

  Thirty-Eight

  “He should not travel that distance. He’s been shot in the head.”

  Will heard the words from behind closed eyes. He opened them and saw Julian and Ben. The two men were standing over him. He looked around and recognized his surroundings as the superior suite he had stayed in before, in Sarajevo’s Radon Plaza Hotel.

  Ben looked at Will and said, “I bet it feels like someone’s struck your head full force with an iron bar.”

  Will raised his hand to the side of his head and felt padding. “Shit. What time is it, and where’s Roger?”

  Ben spoke as he applied a damp swab to Will’s face. “We got you here two hours ago. Roger and Laith are now on a plane, seated a few seats behind Lana. They’ll be landing in Boston in eight hours.”

  Will pushed himself away from Ben and sat upright on the bed. He swung his legs off the bed and stood. He instantly felt giddy, and in his peripheral vision he saw the two CIA men come to his side to hold him. He closed his eyes, breathed, then opened them again. “Let go of me.”

  The two men held their grip for a while and then did as he asked.

  “What time is the next flight to Boston?”

  Ben frowned. “There’s a Lufthansa flight via Munich at twelve-fifty-five P.M., but that’s in three hours’ time and there’s no way you can be fit for that flight.”

  “I’ve got to be. Lana’s meeting is at lunchtime tomorrow. I have to be on that flight.”

  Ben took a step closer to Will. “There’s no way. .”

  Will held a hand up. “Remove my bandages. Disguise the wound as much as you can. Make sure that I’m clean and that this stench of smoke and blood is off me. Get me into decent clothes, and get me on that plane.”

  Will was returning to the United States of America. Four weeks ago he had left the country in a severely wounded state, and he was now going back there in a similar condition. He reclined his first-class seat back a little and looked across the aisle toward his traveling companions. Ben looked to be sleeping, but Julian was awake, and he immediately got out of his seat and came to Will’s side.

  “Do you want some more painkillers?”

  Will shook his head. “No. They’ll stop me from thinking straight.”

  “You need to rest.”

  “I need to work through this.”

  Julian returned to his seat, and Will closed his eyes. He saw the assassin standing perfectly still amid the beams of light, saw him set the house ablaze, saw the man shoot him with a precision that ensured that the bullet glanced along one side of his head rather than penetrated his brain. He wondered why the man had then lifted him onto a shoulder to carry him through the smoke and fire and out into the garden. He wondered why the man had told him he needed Will to stay alive. He wondered why the man had left him on that ground and whether he’d done so for fear of his own capture or death. He wondered why Harry had disappeared shortly after telling him that everything was now upside down.

  Will opened his eyes. There was one thing he did not wonder about. He knew that the assassin had to be Megiddo.

  Thirty-Nine

  It occurred to Will that the men before him were probably two of the most powerful individuals in the Western intelligence community. It also occurred to him how very alike they looked. But more important than their physical similarities was the near alignment of both thinking and action that Will now believed more than two decades of covert collaboration had produced between Patrick and Alistair. They looked at him now.

  “You must never tell anyone about your actions against the French.”

  “Because even we would not be able to protect you from the repercussions if that event were ever disclosed.”

  “All that matters is your operation to seize Megiddo.”

  “If you’re still up to the task of capturing him.”

  “But are you?”

  Will patted a hand against freshly applied bandages. His wound had been examined and treated by the same small, bespectacled American man who had cared for him in New York. The man had told him he would need to keep the bandaging on for at least a week, and even then he would need to have minor reconstructive surgery to hide all traces of the bullet wound. Will had told him that he would be removing the bandages in the morning.

  He looked around the minimalist room. It belonged to a CIA safe house in a residential area of Boston’s West End. He looked back at the two senior men. “Lana will meet him tomorrow at noon, and I’ll be there to watch it happen.”

  Patrick and Alistair did not look at each other and instead kept their attention on Will. “Even though you’re now on U.S. soil, you do know that we still can’t give you extra intelligence resources to cover that meeting? And even though we probably could get help from the local and federal police and the military, that cannot be an option yet.”

  “I know.” Will had already concluded that police involvement would not work. If things went wrong, their primary objective would be to save lives. And military involvement, even special ops, was too risky, because any individuals deployed from that quarter wouldn’t have time to learn the nuances of the mission and therefore couldn’t be trusted to make correct decisions without direct instructions. He had to continue to rely solely on Roger, Laith, Ben, and Julian.

  “So, aside from wishing to check on my mental and physical well-being, why are you both here?”

  Alistair smiled.

 
Patrick did not. He took a step toward Will. “We have new NSA Hubble intelligence.”

  Will held up a palm. “It will be manufactured by Megiddo and therefore should be ignored.”

  “This cannot be ignored, because it is genuine.” Alistair was no longer smiling. “It is not intelligence about the location or timing of the attack but rather intelligence pertaining to the movement of men. And it can be and has been verified by independent sources. We know that twenty-five men are traveling to the United States from Iran during the next forty-eight hours. We know that all of them are members of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, and we have positively identified four of them as IRGC Qods Force men. We must therefore assume they are all Qods Force personnel.”

  “They must be coming to Megiddo.” Will looked at Alistair and then Patrick. “That will give him a team of thirty-two people in this country, and it must mean that his attack is going to take place here rather than in the U.K.”

  “Precisely.”

  Will frowned. “How do you know that the intelligence isn’t false or misleading?”

  “Because it is derived from multiple entry- and exit-port database systems as well as aircraft rosters. Even Megiddo cannot manipulate that amount or type of data.”

  Will thought for a moment and then asked, “Do we know anything about the men?”

  Alistair answered. “Of the four that we know are definitely Qods Force, three of them have been linked to terror acts in the Middle East and South Asia. They are bombers.”

  “Then the rest must be their chaperones.” Will drummed his fingers. “The men must remain untouched. I need Megiddo to feel confident that he has most of his tools in place to proceed with his mission. If we snatch his men, he’ll be so hampered that he’ll probably go to ground for who knows how long, and certainly the imperative for him to capture and interrogate me would instantly recede. He’d retreat, restrategize, regroup, and then hit his target when he felt safe to do so.”