Slingshot s-3

by Matthew Dunn

  Betty chuckled. “Seems he hasn’t changed.” Opening the oven door, she sprinkled the potato wedges around the chicken. “After two weeks, I told him that we were leaving. He didn’t want us to go, said that he liked us being around. I replied that he needed to start socializing with other students. So we left.” Betty leaned against the work surface, staring at nothing. “Since then, I’ve often wondered if we should have stayed a bit longer.”

  “Maybe you should have done!” Sarah put her wine down. “Perhaps it would have stopped him getting involved in stuff that”-she swept an arm through the air-“screws up other people’s lives.”

  Betty frowned and turned toward Sarah. “What do you think he does for a living?”

  “I don’t know. But I suspect that whatever it is, it’s illegal.”

  “You think he’s a criminal?”

  Sarah nodded.

  Betty considered this. “I suppose he is.”

  Sarah muttered, “I thought so!”

  Betty knew that Will would be furious with her for what she was about to say. “After all, spying is a crime in most countries.”

  Sarah looked incredulous. “He’s a spy? For whom?”

  “For us, silly. Britain.” Already, she regretted saying anything, though part of her knew it was the right thing to do. “He’s an MI6 officer, has been since he graduated from university.”

  “Why. . why didn’t he tell me?”

  “Because he’s not allowed to. The Service uses him on very specific projects. There are only a few people in MI6 who know he’s an officer.” She wondered if she should stop talking. “They singled him out and put him on a very tough training course. Only him. Despite the odds against it, he passed, and for the last eight years he’s been deployed almost continuously.” She hesitated. “The other reason I suspect he didn’t tell you is because you wouldn’t let him do so.”

  The hostility was back in Sarah’s face. “No. All the good you did for him after he left the Legion was undone. They made him become the person he didn’t want to be. Probably much worse.”

  Betty said more to herself, “I don’t think so.” She frowned. “No. . I don’t think so, at all.” She looked at Sarah. “There’s no doubt he’s exceptionally good at what he does. He’s driven by guilt that he couldn’t save your mother, and has been trying to make up for that by putting himself at great risk to protect others. But he knows there’s another world out there. During the two weeks we spent with him, we gave him the tools to live within that world.”

  “Maybe, but he still chooses to do what he does.”

  Betty nodded. “He won’t quit while there’s a job to be done. But he’s working hard to have a different side to his life. You can’t see that because you’ve made no effort to get to know him during the last few years.”

  “Of course not! He’s a dangerous man.”

  “Not to you. You’re the only family he has left.”

  “I saw what he’s capable of.”

  Betty was silent.

  Fresh tears ran down Sarah’s face. “The gang of criminals came in; they bound my mother with tape, some of it over her mouth; one of them threw me to the floor and put a boot on my head; then Will came in the room. He was. . was only a boy.”

  “He was seventeen.”

  Sarah shook her head. “Only a boy, to me. They sent him out of the room to fetch cash. My mother died. He came back in holding a knife. I looked at him, he looked at me. The boy was gone. And he killed them.”

  “How do you think that made him feel?”

  Sarah shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen such explosive violence come from someone. Probably it made him realize how good he was at it.”

  “That’s not what I meant. How do you think it made him feel, seeing you look at him with an expression that suggested you no longer knew him?”

  Sarah didn’t respond.

  “He’s been living with that ever since.” Betty sighed. “And he’s been trying to get you to understand that the boy you once knew is still inside him.” Her tone became stern. “But you made a judgment about him, wouldn’t see him, wouldn’t reply to his letters, wouldn’t do anything that could unbalance your perfect self-centered world. And as a result, he’s felt totally disconnected from people around him because he’s believed that if you can’t see the good in him, then others must feel the same.”

  “He brings danger into people’s lives!”

  “No, he doesn’t!”

  A split second after Betty had uttered the words, a high-velocity round smashed through a window and struck the wall inches from Sarah’s head.

  Sarah screamed.

  Betty shouted, “Get down!”

  Alfie burst into the room, his handgun held high. “Direction of shot?”

  Betty crouched by the kitchen table. “West, from one of the mountains.”

  Alfie moved to Sarah, put a hand on the back of her head, and pushed her roughly to the ground. “Stay down.”

  James called out in a terrified voice, “What’s happening?”

  “Get behind cover and stay there until I tell you to move!” Alfie stared at the broken window, waiting.

  Nothing happened.

  They stayed like this for twenty minutes, Sarah sobbing, Betty and Alfie motionless as they gripped their guns.

  Alfie narrowed his eyes. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

  The sniper got onto one knee on the mountainside and started stripping down his weapon. The man next to him continued staring through his binoculars toward the house. A third man was on his cell phone confirming to Kurt Schreiber that they had sufficiently unsettled the property’s occupants to get them to move locations.

  Just as Mr. Schreiber had wanted.

  Because he couldn’t allow Sarah’s guardians to become too familiar with their surroundings and therefore further refine their security protocols.

  They watched Alfie sprint to the car, start the engine, and stand next to the vehicle while training his handgun toward the darkness ahead. Betty rushed toward the vehicle, gripping Sarah and James. Five seconds later the car was speeding off down the track.

  That didn’t matter.

  The rest of the surveillance team were all waiting in vehicles, ready to tail them to their next location.

  And Mr. Schreiber had promised his men that if he gave the order to kill their target, it would happen there.

  Twenty-Seven

  Kurt Schreiber glanced at Simon Rubner. “You’ve performed impeccably. After tonight, take a couple of weeks off.”

  “What about your other projects?”

  “They’re all in hand.”

  Rubner sighed. “I’m not going to say no. I could do with a rest.”

  “You’re not going to say anything, and you’ll do what you’re told.” Schreiber checked his watch. “Report back to me in fourteen days. I’ll put you in charge of the Budapest initiative. It’s time the prime minister knew who he was dealing with, and I want you to personally hand him the photographs while giving him a strongly worded verbal message.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Schreiber.” He smiled, though he felt uneasy. “Good luck. . tonight.”

  “Luck?” Schreiber laughed.

  The old man opened the car door and stepped onto a cobbled street in the Bavarian capital of Munich. It was late evening, and a fine drizzle was descending over the dimly lit old town. Wearing a thick overcoat, suit, dark felt fedora hat, and rimless glasses, and carrying a stick to aide his journey, he walked into the Karlsplatz-a large square next to the Karlstor, which between the fourteenth century and 1791 was one of the main gates in the city wall. Now, its fountain had been transformed into a beautifully illuminated ice skating rink; adults and children were laughing and calling out to each other as they glided over it. Leaving the square, he walked alongside various streets, some that had remained unchanged since well before Adolf Hitler’s creation of the Nazi Party in the city and others that had been rebuilt after the allies crippled Munich w
ith bombs. When Schreiber was in the Stasi, the city had been part of West Germany-enemy territory. But he’d spent more time in places like this than he had in East Berlin, and knew every inch of the city.

  He stopped opposite Michaelskirche, the sixteenth-century Jesuit church that was the largest Renaissance church north of the Alps. It was shut for the night. Over its closed doors was a gleaming bronze sculpture of Archangel Michael fighting a demon in human form.

  His heart beat fast as he approached the entrance.

  The plaza around him was deserted of people.

  This was the moment.

  He stood within twelve feet of the magnificent church’s entrance and looked at the shadows within it. “Schreiber, looking for Kronos.”

  In the doorway, he saw a man’s large boots.

  “Colonel Schreiber. I arranged this meeting.”

  The man said nothing.

  “You got my message. I’m here, as arranged.”

  Silence.

  “Speak! I have little time.”

  Kronos stepped forward.

  The church’s lights shone down over his face. “I could have killed you ten times since exiting the Israeli’s car and coming here. I’ll speak when I wish to and your time is of no relevance to me. Where are the others?”

  Though he had anticipated that Kronos would have followed him here, Schreiber had no idea how the assassin knew that the man who’d driven him to the city was Israeli. “Half of them are dead. The other half sent me.”

  “You have a traitor?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Who?”

  Schreiber gave him the name. “He intends to testify at a hearing in The Hague in two weeks’ time. I can’t let that happen. He’s currently being held in a maximum-security facility in the southern Netherlands. My sources have confirmed that he’s being moved from the facility ten days prior to the hearing and will be taken to another maximum-security complex. He’ll be under significant protection at all times. Do you think you can do it?”

  “Of course. What is he testifying?”

  “All you need to know is that it relates to the Berlin meeting in 1995-a secret we shared at that meeting. I can’t let that secret become public knowledge.”

  A secret that was omitted from the Slingshot protocols.

  One that would kill hundreds of millions of people.

  “You also need to know that I’ve been pursued by a British intelligence officer called Will Cochrane and an SVR operative called Mikhail Salkov. I don’t know if they’re still after me, but it’s possible that Salkov knows about you.” He supplied Kronos with the home addresses of both operatives.

  Kronos shrugged. “They won’t get in my way.”

  “Good. Once the job’s completed, ten million dollars will be deposited into your account. Then, you must change identity and location. Are you married, have children?”

  Kronos did not answer him.

  “If you do have a family, you cannot stay with them. You must disappear.”

  “The deal was that I am permitted to lead my life until I’m activated, that I must move locations after the job. There was never any mention of leaving my family.”

  “Things have changed! I can’t afford for there to be any potential security leaks.”

  Kronos felt anger rise within him. “You can’t afford any leaks?” He thought for a moment. “Are you sure you’re representing everyone present at the Berlin meeting?”

  Schreiber grew impatient. “Everyone’s who’s alive, yes. If you’re doubting my authority to be here, then you’d better say so.”

  Kronos smiled. “I doubt everything that comes out of your mouth, you little shit. But the DLB was activated correctly.” His expression grew cold. “You’ve changed the terms of the deal, so I’m forced to do the same. Five million will be paid in advance.”

  “What!”

  “In advance. Changing identities and locations is an expensive business and requires preparation. Presumably, you want me to slip into that new life immediately after I’ve killed the witness. Aside from that, I need guaranteed compensation if I’m to walk away from my family.”

  “That’s not. .”

  Kronos took three quick steps toward him. “What were you about to say?”

  Schreiber stepped back, nearly tripped, fear coursed through him. “I was about to say, that’s not a problem. You’ll have half the money up front.”

  “I’m glad you made that decision.” Kronos kept his cold stare fixed on Schreiber. “I’ll take care of your target. In return, stick to your side of the bargain. If you don’t, then you know what the outcome will be.”

  It was nearly midnight when Stefan got back to his home on the outskirts of the Black Forest. He entered the kitchen. Plates and pans had been washed up after his family’s dinner. He knew they’d now be asleep. In the center of the table was a dinner plate, over which was foil and a note from his wife saying in German:

  Three minutes in the microwave-don’t forget to take off the foil first! I love you.

  He removed the packaging and smiled as he saw that his wife had prepared him konigsberger klopse-veal meatballs in a white sauce containing lemon juice and capers-with roast potatoes and schupfnudel. After placing the dish in the microwave, he looked around and felt a twinge of sadness. He’d eaten thousands of meals in here, most of them with his family. It had been his rule that mealtimes were an important part of the day for the family to sit together, share the experience of eating his wife’s wonderful cuisine, and swap stories. But the mealtimes were never a formal affair; instead they were usually filled with laughter and imaginary tales.

  Removing the plate of food, he sat at the table, alone.

  Fifteen minutes later, he rinsed his empty plate and placed it alongside the others to dry. His wife was a stickler for maintaining a clean and tidy household.

  He arched his muscular back and yawned. Tomorrow would be a very busy day. He walked up the stairs and entered the twins’ room. Mathias and Wendell were both lying asleep on their backs, their blond hair slightly ruffled, their faces looking angelic. He stood between their beds and brushed his big hands against their cheeks. “My darling boys.”

  He wished he’d been able to continue telling them his bedtime story about the forest gnomes’ search for the legendary Timestop mushrooms. He wondered if he’d ever have the chance to finish the tale.

  His thoughts turned to Schreiber. Tonight, the man had made a mistake by changing the deal so that Stefan had to abandon his family. One day, he’d make him suffer for that.

  Twenty-Eight

  Will walked across the Auguststrasse apartment and stood opposite Peter. “I’m going to be away for a day or two, to see if Patrick really can’t get access to the Rubner files. It’s our last remaining lead. In my absence, you’re in charge.”

  Peter said in a sympathetic tone, “This isn’t your fault.”

  Will sighed. “It’s a fact that most of my initiatives have just provided a handful of names and haven’t got us anywhere nearer to the paper.”

  “Perhaps this guy Rubner’s not linked to any of this.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You think you might be able to persuade Patrick to go over the director’s head?”

  Will shook his head. “I think you’re right. He wouldn’t win that battle. And that means I’m about to fail again.” He stepped away from Peter, then paused. “The section’s losing its teeth, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  As Will exited the Auguststrasse apartment, Mikhail turned on his vehicle’s ignition, engaged the gears, and slowly crawled forward. The MI6 operative was one hundred yards ahead of him. He’d keep him at that distance until the man hailed a taxi or got into a private vehicle.

  His large handgun was tight against his beltline, ready for use the moment the British intelligence officer led him closer to the whereabouts of Schreiber.

  Will walked quickly across the concourse of Berlin Hauptbahnhof, Germany’s bigges
t train station. It was early evening, and the station was crowded with commuters. He found a pay phone, shoved twenty euros into it, and dialed an international cell phone number.

  Patrick answered, “Yeah?”

  “It’s me. Can you talk?”

  “Hold on.” The line was silent for thirty seconds. “Can now.”

  “Okay. Are you able to cut through the bureaucracy to get to the files Suzy asked about?”

  “Possibly, rather than probably. But either way, it’s almost certainly a nasty one-way ticket for us if I try. Bureaucracy and self-interest’s a pile of crap. What’s this about?”

  “I need you to get on a plane.”

  “When?”

  “Now. Or as near to now as possible.”

  “Where am I going?”

  “Israel.”

  Patrick said tersely, “That’s a long flight.”

  “Please, Patrick.”

  “You’re sure it’s going to be worth my time?”

  “No.”

  Silence. “It had better be worth my time.”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  “To do what?”

  “We need to meet the in-country head from your organization.”

  “Okay. I’ll get the meeting set up through the normal channels.”

  “No. It’s imperative you set it up yourself. No one else must know.”

  Silence for seven seconds. “Give me a call back in thirty minutes and I’ll give you details.” He repeated, “What’s this about?”

  Will smiled. “It’s about unblocking crap.”

  At four the next morning, Will was in a taxi heading toward the airport. He felt tired and knew that he’d have to get some sleep on the flight, but right now his mind was too active to allow him to rest.

  Understanding Rubner’s role was key. Will suspected that once Rubner had been given Lenka Yevtushenko’s name, he had been involved in coercing the Russian to steal the paper from the SVR. But Langley was blocking Will accessing information on Rubner, so his plan was now to approach someone who almost certainly would have been a customer of Rubner’s CIA intelligence reports, intelligence that could indicate whether Will’s suspicion that Rubner had been manipulating his CIA handlers for his own ends was correct.