by Rob Sinclair
He pulled the trigger again.
Chapter 36
Moscow, Russia
Winter casually strolled along the upper level of the GUM shopping centre in Moscow. He’d been there for almost twenty minutes, tracking his target, waiting for the right opportunity to approach. Above him, light was seeping in through the extravagant glass roof that reminded him of the classic British Victorian train stations. The warm glow from the sunlight gave the whole opulent expanse a balmy feel.
The GUM was deep in central Moscow, stretching some two hundred yards along Red Square, only a hair’s breadth away from the Kremlin. Being within such close proximity to Moscow’s historic political centre had sent goosebumps all the way down Winter’s back when he arrived and, given the clandestine nature of his visit, the anxiety still sweeping through him was hard to shake.
He hadn’t yet come within twenty yards of the target, Irina Tarasenko, but he knew he couldn’t hang around all day. Irina was in her late twenties, tall and slender with long, wavy brown hair that shone and glowed. She was wearing a fancy beige coat that, together with her expensive accessories and nonchalant swagger, made her look every bit the designer wife the world thought she was. But Winter knew there was much more to Irina Tarasenko than that.
When she stopped outside the window of a top-end fashion store, Winter kept on going, moving toward her, determined to make the moment count. He walked right up to her, then stopped and stooped his head down to get her attention.
‘Irina!’ he said in Russian, beaming. ‘Is that really you?’
She took her attention away from the window, her look frosty and stern.
‘It’s time, Irina,’ Winter said, quietly now. ‘I’m here because of Charles McCabe. Mackie. Just pretend you know me.’
Her expression changed at Mackie’s name, her stoic glare dissolving in an instant, replaced by a look somewhere close to dread. It didn’t last long, though. A split second later, her face changed again and she returned Winter’s broad smile as he straightened up. Her face, smile and all, was a true picture. She wouldn’t have looked out of place on the cover of a haute couture fashion magazine. And yet there was a certain coldness behind her dazzling eyes.
Winter leaned in to Irina and they gave each other a triple kiss on the cheeks. Winter looked over her shoulder and saw two broad-chested, suited men quickly closing in. They began to shout out, the larger of the two reaching his hand toward Irina to pull her away from Winter. She spun around to face them.
‘What are you doing!’ she blasted at them. ‘Come on, this is just an old friend.’
The men stopped in their tracks but their scowls remained.
‘Please, just let me have a minute,’ Irina said. ‘He’s hardly a threat, is he?’
Winter wasn’t sure whether to be offended by her words or not, but they seemed to do the trick.
‘Okay. But no more touching,’ the larger of the two men said.
‘Shall we walk?’ Winter said.
‘Yes. In fact, let’s go and get a drink,’ she said, then turned back to the two men. ‘We’re going for a drink. Is that allowed?’
Her tone was terse and full of vitriol. The two men looked at each other, then nodded.
‘Come on, this way,’ she said and began to walk.
‘How many men are there?’ Winter said, looking back at the two goons, who were eyeballing him suspiciously.
‘Four,’ she said. ‘One in the car, those two, plus the man in the brown jacket. He’s at your two o’clock.’
Winter stole a cautious glance and spotted the other guard. He hadn’t noticed him before. He was being way more discreet than the other two, who were clearly the muscle, the visual deterrent. Winter wondered for a fleeting second whether the man in the brown jacket had spotted him mooching before. But the fact he had let Winter approach Irina probably meant he hadn’t.
‘We can’t get away from them here,’ she said. ‘It’s impossible. If I’d known you were trying to reach me, then maybe we could have worked something out.’
‘I know. But there wasn’t time. We can make do for now.’
His answer was only half truthful. His plan to travel to Moscow and meet with her had certainly been hastily arranged, but in reality he’d wanted that element of surprise. It would give him the chance to really gauge her – to find out whether she could be as useful as he hoped. An organised meeting with her, on the other hand, could have turned into nothing more than an ambush.
They carried on walking to an escalator and descended to the ground level. The three guards followed.
‘So, is this really it?’ Irina asked. ‘I’ve been wondering whether this day would ever happen.’
‘Yes, this is it,’ Winter replied. ‘You could say your whole life has been building up to this. But I’ll be quick, I promise. No one will know we met today.’
She laughed nervously. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ she said. ‘Alex will find out. The guards will have to write this in their logs. He reads their reports every night, then questions me about what I’ve been doing during the day.’
‘Then you’d better start thinking about what you’re going to tell him. About who I am.’
She looked at him, the same stern look now on her face that she had given the guards moments earlier.
‘You’re not even going to help me?’ she said. ‘With the story?’
‘I’m sure you can think of something.’
She tutted. ‘Thanks a lot.’
They headed into a coffee shop that was decked out in dark wood and had a sprawling glass-fronted cabinet that housed what seemed like hundreds of different types of pastries and cakes, all different shapes, sizes and colours. The pungent smell of fresh coffee and warm, sweet pastry filled the air and made Winter’s insides grumble. They sat at a table in the window. The two suited guards found a table on the other side of the cafe and the third man stayed on the prowl outside.
A smartly uniformed waitress came over and Irina ordered a sparkling water, Winter a coffee. The lady asked whether either of them wanted some food – one of the cakes perhaps – and seemed offended when they both politely declined. Really, Winter was seriously tempted by the food, but he wanted the meeting to be quick – he was playing a dangerous game meeting her out in the open.
‘How do I know Mackie sent you?’ Irina said, playing with the sparkling rings on her fingers – a nervous habit, Winter assumed. ‘How do I know you aren’t really just setting me up?’
‘If you were being set up, you’d already be dead.’
She smiled meekly. ‘I guess you’re right.’
‘Mackie was killed,’ Winter said, searching Irina’s eyes for any hint of reaction. ‘Just a few days ago. In Russia.’
‘I know,’ she said. She shifted in her seat, looking this way and that, struggling to keep eye contact.
‘How did you know?’ Winter asked.
‘How do you think? I do what I’m supposed to do. I pry. I look for things I’m not supposed to know. I look through Alex’s office, his files. I’ve been doing that for five years. Do you know that’s how long it is since I last saw Mackie?’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘I couldn’t believe it when I found out he’d been killed. And in Russia too. The games spies play, huh? It hit me, but I really thought that when he died – or hoped, at least – that would be the end of it. That I’d finally be free from this. That I could move on and live my life with Alex.’
‘Maybe one day you can.’
‘But not today?’
‘No, I’m sorry, not today.’
‘So this is just the start?’
‘Yes. Do you have anything here with you?’
She huffed, an incredulous look on her face. Winter averted his eyes to the two goons, who were still staring, still looking less than impressed with the situation.
‘Try to keep up the pretence,’ Winter said.
Irina’s face softened again in an instant. ‘I’m sorr
y. No, I don’t have anything here with me. What, did you think I’d been lugging around top-secret information with me every day for the last five years on the off-chance someone like you might show up?’
‘I guess not,’ Winter said.
‘What do you need?’ Irina said.
‘What do you have?’
‘Nothing. I’ve never been told to keep anything, to copy anything or pass anything to anyone. I have what’s in my head. But I know how to get you information if you need it.’
The waitress came over with the drinks and Winter took a sachet of brown sugar, ripped the top off and poured it into the thick, treacly liquid.
‘What happened to Nikolai Medvedev?’ Winter said.
Irina’s gaze caught Winter’s stare. This time she held the eye contact.
‘Come on,’ Winter said. ‘You said yourself you’re in the know. I only have a few questions, then I’m gone.’
‘Gone for good?’
‘No. I’ll be needing the files you said you have access to. You’ll need to copy them somehow. But we can make arrangements for how to pass them over. It doesn’t have to be face to face.’
She sank down in her seat, an almost defeated look on her face. ‘Do you have any idea what it’s like to live this life?’ she said.
‘No,’ Winter said, though he thought that really he did. His own life was a constant lie to those he loved. His girlfriend, his parents. Irina’s life had the extra layer of betrayal that she must constantly feel, but Winter knew his own secretive life wasn’t too far removed.
‘It tears me apart, do you know that? Living like this, every day a lie. It’s heartbreaking.’
‘I’m not here for your sob story,’ Winter said, sounding as disinterested as he felt.
‘I love him. I love Alex. I really do. Maybe at first I didn’t, but now I do. He’s a good man. A good husband.’
‘And I’m sure he loves you too. But what do you think he would do if he found out about you?’
She said nothing but Winter could see her eyes begin to well up with tears. For the first time, he felt bad for her. At least he had a choice. This was the career he’d chosen. She hadn’t come into her situation so easily.
Mackie had first tapped her up when she had been in her early twenties studying French in Paris. Her father had been a prominent local politician in the Crimea, but the family had fallen on hard times when he’d been ousted and jailed on bogus corruption charges put forth by his opponents. Mackie, seeing potential in her in a way only he could, had pulled enough strings to see her awarded a scholarship to complete her education.
After that, she was in his hands. He’d steadily guided her toward the powerful crowd of elite politicians and government officials in Moscow, many of whom were sympathetic to her father’s position. Alex Tarasenko, a rising star in Moscow who’d previously led the KGB’s and subsequently the SVR’s activities in Italy, had taken an immediate liking to her. The rest was history.
She was a pawn. Mackie had played with her life for the benefit of the JIA. In that sense, Winter felt bad for her, yes. And he felt bad for having to be so blunt and emotionless with her. But only a little. It wasn’t the time for sentiment.
‘Come on, you need to stay smiling, if only to keep the guards at bay.’
She wiped her eyes, then returned her broad smile. The same one she had dazzled Winter with when they’d first met just a few minutes ago. He wondered how often she had to put that mask on. It certainly seemed to do the trick, though the more he saw it, the more cracks he saw.
‘What do you know about Nikolai Medvedev?’ Winter asked again.
‘Someone found out he was a double agent.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know. But they were following him that day.’
‘The FSB killed him?’
‘No. That’s the thing. The FSB trailed him, but another surveillance team turned up. They killed Medvedev and took the British agent.’
Winter’s mind began to race. What Irina had said didn’t match what he thought had happened at all.
‘You’re sure?’ he said. ‘The FSB didn’t kill Medvedev?’
‘That’s what I just told you. There were two surveillance teams. One was FSB – they were following Medvedev. They knew he was meeting with a foreign agent. The other surveillance team no one knows, but they must have been following the British agent. It was the other team that killed Medvedev and took the British man with them.’
‘His name was Paul Evans,’ Winter said. ‘He worked for Mackie.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
Winter stared at her, looking for any hint of a lie in those sparkling eyes. He saw nothing.
‘Do the FSB have Paul Evans?’ Winter said.
‘No. That’s what I just told you.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘As sure as I can be.’
Winter picked up his espresso cup and downed his shot of coffee.
‘What about Lena Belenov?’ he said. ‘Do you know who killed her?’
‘It was on the news. Your agent Carl Logan killed her.’
‘Except he didn’t.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I just do. So tell me what you know.’
‘I don’t know anything about that, honestly. It was on the news. I thought it must be true. I haven’t seen or heard anything otherwise.’
Winter sat staring at her for a few seconds longer, waiting to see whether she had anything else to add.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I really don’t know anything else about that. It wasn’t something I thought to follow up on.’
‘And what do you know about Carl Logan? You can’t tell me that he hasn’t been on your radar.’
‘I knew the FSB had him. Where, I never knew. And I knew later that he had escaped. The FSB are still looking for him. He attacked a team of agents not far from Volgograd, but that was two or three days ago.’
‘And since then?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You’re sure about that?’
‘Why would I lie?’
Winter sighed. It was a fair point. And she had done a good job to find out anything at all. No one had been in touch with her for five years and yet she had still been quietly getting on with her job, digging and prying.
‘Perhaps you’ll find what you’re looking for in the files,’ Irina said.
‘Perhaps. You need to get them to me.’
‘How?’
‘First you need to copy them. It’ll be safer if you can write them to an external drive. A thumb drive would be easiest for you to buy and dispose of.’
‘I can do that, no problem. But what then?’
Winter told her the web address for a popular chat forum and a username.
‘Can you remember that?’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘Set yourself up a new account on that website. Send me an instant message; it’s harder to trace than email. I’ll reply to let you know I’m there. All you need to do is plug in the drive and I’ll take the data remotely. It shouldn’t take long. There won’t be any trace of it happening.’
‘You’re sure that will work?’
‘It’ll work.’
‘Okay, give me three hours. I’ll be home by then. Alex will still be at work.’
‘Well, I think we’re done then,’ Winter said.
‘That’s it?’ Irina asked, surprised, but with visible relief on her face.
‘For now, yes.’
Winter got to his feet and Irina followed suit. Winter threw some roubles onto the table, then leaned in to kiss Irina.
She leaned in too.
‘I hope … I never … have to see you again,’ she said as she kissed his cheeks.
Winter stepped back and looked at her face, looked as she fought hard to keep hold of the false smile that covered it. For just a second, he wondered what would happen that evening when Alex Tarasenko – deputy director of the FSB – confronted her abou
t the man she’d had coffee with that day. If Alex ever found out about her, she would certainly be dead.
But there was nothing Winter could or would do about that.
Without another word, he turned away from Irina and walked out of the cafe.
Chapter 37
Barinas, Venezuela
Logan waited in the rusty car, eyeballing the tin shed on the other side of the street that passed as a bar. The temperature was baking. The car had no air con. Logan had wound down both front windows but there was little wind, and with the sun beating down on the car, heating up the metal heap, he was a sweaty, sodden mess.
It had been a whirlwind twenty-four hours since he’d carried out his orders and taken out the two targets at the abandoned village. Logan had immediately rushed down to the scene and retrieved the brown envelope from the grasp of the dead woman’s hands. That in itself was a risky move to make. His orders had been to eliminate the targets and get out of there. And with the envelope in his possession, what he should have done was pass the information it contained straight to Mackie. Instead, he’d been doing anything and everything he could to identify the woman he’d killed.
Mackie had been calling him non-stop through the day. Logan had answered the calls just twice. He’d told Mackie enough information to keep him at bay but given away nothing about what he was up to. Mackie had ordered him to stay at the safe house and wait for him to arrive from England. Not this time. Logan wanted to know what trouble he’d just caused.
After printing the pictures of the woman he’d killed from the portable printer in the safe house, he’d been trailing around the local villages, speaking to every informant he could – trying to find her identity. The easiest route to identifying her would be to pass the pictures directly on to the lab at the JIA. They had some of the most sophisticated face-recognition software available, together with access to more profiling databases than any other single intelligence organisation. But this was Logan’s problem. He wanted to get to the bottom of it before involving anyone else.
He didn’t have to wait in the car for long – just under half an hour – before he saw the man he was waiting for. The time was a little after five p.m. and, as he did every day, the man was heading straight to the ramshackle bar following the conclusion of his shift at a local courier company.