Execution ht-5

by Adrian Magson

  ‘And if we don’t?’ said Votrukhin. ‘We don’t even know where they are. And every day we stay in London is a day closer to our being identified.’

  ‘Don’t!’ Gorelkin snapped. ‘I will not have defeatist talk! This is vital work, much more so than either of you two clods can imagine. Now get out there and do your jobs!’

  Votrukhin stood up, an angry retort on his lips. But Serkhov grabbed his arm and stopped him.

  The two men walked out without a word, leaving Gorelkin staring at something very far away.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  ‘What do you want, Ballatyne? I’m busy.’ Candida Deane barely looked up as Ballatyne stepped into her office, focussing instead on a file she was reading. The soft lighting, essential for all the inner offices of SIS Headquarters like this one, made her features seem less harsh than normal, as if she had been airbrushed.

  ‘Just a chat.’ Ballatyne wasn’t fooled by the businesslike tone; she was puzzled by his appearance. He pushed the door closed behind him, something that he knew would put her nerves further on edge. Other than the required briefings and meetings which brought all department and desk heads together, he and Deane rarely had reason to speak alone. Even with everything surrounding the Russian hit team and their attempt on Clare Jardine, their encounters had rarely been without other heads involved, and therefore somewhat impersonal.

  He sat down without being asked, and crossed his legs, flicking away some imaginary dust. He glanced around the office, which was not yet hers until her superior gave his final notice, and saw signs of her already settling in; a few books, a set of tiny hand-painted Matryoshka dolls, some photographs of foreign places.

  ‘About what?’ She put down the file and sat back.

  ‘Your meeting with George Paulton, for one.’

  She stared at him, her face showing no emotion, then said, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why would I meet with him?’

  ‘That’s what I would like to know.’ He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a single photo. ‘But before you go all girly and deny it, take a look at this.’ He dropped the photo on the desk in front of her.

  It showed Deane standing in St James’s Park. Alongside her was George Paulton.

  ‘It’s a fake.’

  ‘Of course it is.’ Ballatyne allowed a full measure of sarcasm to coat his voice, and put his hands together. ‘As was, I suppose, the old man who jogged by at one point. He was dressed in jogging gear and wearing enormous headphones. He looked as if he was about to die. In fact Paulton was quite rude about him; said something about not having a gun — I have the full transcript which I can give you, but I can see by your expression that you don’t need it.’

  Her eyes were like ice and her voice just as frosty. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Please let me finish. The old chap’s name is Emil Panowski. He was one of the best Cold War field operatives we ever had, did you know that? You should look him up in the archives. He used to cross the Berlin Wall back and forth like a rat up a drainpipe. He still does the occasional job for us where we need an invisible presence. He’s getting on for eighty, you know.’ He sniffed. ‘He had a full sound recording on you the moment Paulton showed up. Very interesting it was, too.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ Deane had gone quite pale, he noted, but she was still defiant.

  ‘Really?’ He took a small digital recorder out of his top pocket. ‘Perhaps this will convince you.’ He pressed play and Deane’s voice echoed into the room in a sequence of brief utterances.

  ‘I think I know where the Jardine woman is.’

  ‘Tell me I’m wrong, droog.’

  ‘Find Tate, you’ll find Jardine.’

  ‘And when I do?’ It was Paulton’s voice this time, before switching back to Deane.

  ‘Don’t be coy, George. You know what I mean.’

  And finally.

  ‘Whatever you do to her, it had better be permanent.’

  Ballatyne switched off the recorder. ‘I got my boys to do a bit of simple editing, I admit, but I think you’ll agree, it’s a game changer. This little selection alone puts you in a meeting with a wanted traitor and enemy of this country; it shows you had knowledge of events and facts that you have chosen not to share with an on-going investigation; and you actively sought the murder of a former MI6 officer — all as a means of gaining promotion. Or did I get the wrong end of the stick?’

  Deane’s voice, when she spoke, was shaky. ‘So why haven’t you used it? You want Paulton and the Russians for yourself, is that it? Grab all the glory for yourself?’

  ‘I couldn’t care less about Paulton. He’s finished, anyway, as I’m sure he must know by now. If Gorelkin doesn’t get him, Harry Tate will.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But he has his uses until then and that’s what I’m focussing on. I want to know where he is.’

  ‘How would I know that?’

  ‘Because you’re not stupid, that’s why. You had one of your tails on him from the moment you first met. You’ve had him followed and pinned down ever since. Paulton’s good, but he’s been out of the game too long, unlike your young shadows.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll do you a trade. Give me Paulton and I’ll sit on this recording. And you do nothing — and I mean nothing — to warn him or to make a move against me.’

  She made an ugly noise. ‘Like I should trust you.’

  ‘I agree it’s a bit one-sided, but that’s the offer. Take it or leave it.’

  He walked to the door without waiting for her answer, and let himself out.

  FIFTY-SIX

  ‘What is this place?’ Katya Balenkova looked with suspicion at the oak panels and heavy pictures on the wall, made drab by a yellowish light coming in from the outside. It was the room in Great Scotland Yard where Harry had attended the meeting with Ballatyne and the various security-related committees. She sat down gingerly between Harry and Rik. Clare was on her way to a private clinic arranged by Ballatyne, to undergo some tests. She had, in any case, refused to attend anywhere official after arriving back from Vienna, on the simple grounds that she didn’t trust Ballatyne or any of his sort not to lock her up and throw away the key.

  ‘We call it Room one-oh-one,’ said Ballatyne, settling in his seat at the head of the long table.

  Katya gave him a flinty smile. ‘Of course. Where nasty things happen. How appropriate.’

  ‘You’ve read Orwell?’

  ‘Of course. It was how we learned about life in the west.’

  Ballatyne realised that she was laughing at him. ‘How droll. Don’t worry, the only nasty thing likely to happen here is if you drink the tea. They use it down in Portsmouth to de-scale the hulls of clapped-out destroyers.’ He tapped the table, attracting the attention of Harry and Rik, John Crampton of the Met Police CO19 team, a young male official with a notepad and a lean and tanned individual seated at the far end, dressed in a plain suit straining at the shoulders. ‘Shall we get on?’

  ‘Who’s the strong silent type?’ Rik was the first to speak, jerking a thumb towards the man at the end.

  ‘He’s an observer,’ said Ballatyne. ‘Hopefully we won’t need his services, so introductions aren’t necessary. Our singular purpose for holding this meeting is to find a way of locating and stopping the two FSB operatives who killed Tobinskiy and tried to eliminate Miss Jardine. Beyond that, we do not go.’ He glanced at Katya. ‘Miss Balenkova, I understand your position; you don’t wish to operate against your countrymen, although it seems to me that you’re already doing that by being here. However, your presence here is a courtesy. You are not expected to take part in any direct action.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Ballatyne shuffled two pieces of paper and continued. ‘We now have identifiable footage of the two men we believe assassinated Roman Tobinskiy in King’s College. The same two men subsequently raided the hospital’s security control centre and shot the guard after taking the hard drive to the cameras. They were then filmed bo
th inside and coming away from Starbucks in Pimlico, and shooting an unarmed policeman in the street outside.’ He glanced at Katya. ‘They weren’t here to play games.’

  ‘How are the wounded men?’ asked Harry.

  ‘Recovering, although unlikely to ever work again. The shooter and his mate were seen dumping their car afterwards in the Park Lane underground car park. It all tallies rather nicely with footage of them entering the country six days previously, proof for cynics that the cameras do have a genuine function.’ He smiled drily. ‘I had my men canvas the area around Park Lane, and they turned up a doorman on the Grosvenor House Hotel who remembered them.’

  ‘Lucky break,’ said Crampton. ‘Or were they careless?’

  ‘Luck, apparently. But we all need it from time to time. This particular man used to run security in the casinos in Monaco. His skill was remembering the faces of professional card sharks and so-called lucky players. These two weren’t players, but he remembered them the moment he saw the photos. All we had to do was match his memory to the security cameras inside.’ He looked very pleased with himself for a moment, then said, ‘We came up with a surprise package. Our two shooters, whose names we don’t know, were there, having a cosy chat with one Sergei Gorelkin. And who else should walk in but a man known to us all, but most especially to Harry, here. George Paulton.’

  Harry found he’d been holding his breath. He’d had a feeling Ballatyne had uncovered something important, but hadn’t known what it was. Now he knew.

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Right now, no idea. You don’t sound surprised.’

  ‘I’m not. This business has his thumb-prints all over it. Gorelkin’s men must have been tipped off about who and what Clare was, and her connection to Katya and Six. Paulton would have known about both. You said Maine pulled his details off the files, possibly to find some dirt as a safeguard if Paulton cheated him.’

  ‘Correct. Sadly we can’t confirm that now Maine’s dead. But it’s almost certain that Paulton silenced him. I ran a check on Paulton’s operational log. It seems he and Gorelkin popped up simultaneously in Stockholm, Berlin and Madrid, among other places, several years ago. Paulton was running at least two officially sanctioned fishing operations against him, although the debriefs show nothing of significance was achieved. With hindsight, I think we can treat that with a certain amount of disbelief. I reckon he and Gorelkin came to an arrangement over the years, and may have even worked together since Paulton went rogue. He’s been out in the wilds, and unless he won the Spanish lottery, he’ll have needed funds.’

  ‘You think Gorelkin brought him in to help kill Tobinskiy?’ Crampton asked.

  ‘I doubt it; that was already an on-going operation. But he might have brought him in to gain access to MI6 and MI5 files, to find Jardine. That’s where Keith Maine comes in. He had the means and the knowledge, and Paulton would have known him well enough to exert pressure.’ He sat back. ‘Now I’ve established who did what, we need to find Gorelkin and his men before they latch onto Jardine again.’ He looked directly at Katya. ‘You told Harry that they might be operating illegally — or, at least, without proper sanction from the government.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And that makes them criminals.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘It would save a lot of mess,’ he said slowly, ‘if we could get them pulled out by their own people. What are the chances?’

  She thought it over, eyes on his. ‘You want me to contact someone about these three men?’

  ‘It would help if you could.’

  ‘But why would they believe me? In their eyes I’m now a criminal and a traitor. I could be acting on your instructions. . which I would be, of course.’

  ‘Plant the seed; that’s all I ask. You must know somebody you can call. If it means finding a private phone number, I’m sure we can help.’ He smiled knowingly.

  She sat back, eyes clouding over, and thought about it for a full minute. ‘Maybe there is one person.’

  ‘Dare I ask who?’

  ‘His name is Bronyev. He was my colleague in Vienna. We were friends, too. He is a good man.’ She looked a little sad at the memory.

  Ballatyne was sceptical. ‘A bodyguard with the FSO? Does he have any clout?’

  ‘Not him, no. But his father does. He is an army general. Is that clout enough, Mr Ballatyne?’

  ‘Good enough for me.’ Ballatyne nodded sideways at the young male official. ‘Go with Julian, here, and he’ll show you to a secure communications room. Take your time. Just tell them about Gorelkin and the others. If what you told Harry is correct, and they were acting illegally, somebody will take notice.’ He reached into his breast pocket and produced a memory stick. ‘This has still photographs of the men involved, taken in various locations. They’re good enough that even their own mothers will recognise them. Julian will help.’

  They waited for twenty minutes, during which time Ballatyne arranged for coffee and biscuits, and the man at the far end of the table got up and disappeared to the bathroom. The atmosphere was heavy and utterly quiet, with almost no sound of movement in the corridor outside and just a hint of traffic noise from the street.

  ‘You spoke to Clare,’ said Rik.

  Ballatyne nodded. ‘We had a brief chat. She seems to be bearing up remarkably well, but I thought she should have someone take a look at her, just in case. She must be feeling better; she asked for a laptop.’

  Rik looked surprised. ‘Really? I could have lent her mine.’

  ‘No need. I arranged for one to be delivered to her at the clinic. It was the least I could do after all she’s been through. I asked if she wanted any help, but I gather she’s quite the IT buff on the quiet.’

  Harry said, ‘What did she want it for?’

  ‘She wants to sort out her future, she said. Their future, actually; hers and Miss Balenkova’s. I believe they’re looking for somewhere to go away, far from the madding crowd of spies, lies and security officers. Not that I blame them.’

  ‘And you just gave her a laptop.’

  ‘On loan, actually. But why not?’ Ballatyne looked innocent. ‘She’s hardly likely to run off with it, I shouldn’t think.’

  Harry said nothing. He was prevented from asking further questions by Katya returning with her escort. She looked pale but composed.

  She sat down without meeting Ballatyne’s gaze and said, ‘It’s done.’

  The MI6 man glanced at Julian, who nodded in confirmation.

  ‘Good.’ Ballatyne clapped his hands. ‘I think we’re finished here. Thank you, Miss Balenkova. I appreciate that wasn’t easy for you. Mr Ferris, can you watch Miss Balenkova’s back? I need to talk to Harry.’

  Rik nodded. ‘Sure. I’ve got nothing else on at present.’

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  ‘What was that all about?’ Harry and Ballatyne had stopped along the gravel path of Victoria Embankment Gardens, skirting small groups of tourists and office workers on their lunch break. Ballatyne had led him at a brisk walk from the building and down towards the river, forging ahead on the busy pavement in a manner that avoided conversation. ‘Why the play-acting with Crampton and the Special Forces liaison?’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘No, I recognise the type.’

  ‘I was covering my back. You know how these things work.’ Ballatyne turned and looked towards the river, chewing his lip. ‘This job is as much about politics these days as it is about gathering intelligence. Departments have their own priorities and agendas, and as much blood is spilled in the corridors as out in the field. I just have to make sure none of it is mine, which is why those others were at the meeting. I needed them to hear the basics.’ He gave a thin smile. ‘Crampton and the nameless one will spread the word about Paulton; I’ll do the rest from another direction.’

  ‘So why am I here?’

  ‘We need to stop this in case Miss Balenkova’s message doesn’t get through. I wasn’t entirely open and honest in that mee
ting. We’ve actually got more information about the two shooters than I let on. First of all, though, there’s Paulton.’

  ‘There always is. Do you know why he was here?’

  ‘In a nutshell, he wants to come in from the cold.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘I wish I were. Maybe life out in the wild isn’t all it’s cracked up to be when you’ve got a price on your head. It seems his plan was to bargain his way back by bringing something of value to the table. And for that he needed a sponsor. . someone who would give him the time of day without having him shot on sight. Somebody who would appreciate something to trade — if it had added value.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘A birdie told me.’

  Harry had been thinking a lot about who else would have benefited by Clare’s death apart from the Russians, who wouldn’t have wanted their part in Tobinskiy’s murder revealed. But exactly who that was meant someone else had to be pulling some strings. As an old instructor had been fond of saying, when you’ve considered and rejected all possible options, all you’re left with is the blindingly obvious. But naming names wasn’t his job.

  ‘Who?’

  But Ballatyne was enjoying himself too much to let it all out at once. ‘Well, let’s remember that Clare Jardine figures closely in all of this. First of all, who would have a grudge against her? The list is not very long, strangely enough. Second, who has the ambition, balls and position to risk talking with Paulton as a means of getting to Jardine? Who would also give anything to get the Tobinskiy hit team — and their controller? And who would bring Paulton back into the fold — and potentially turn on him as a personal coup?’

  Harry knew who Ballatyne was talking about. The only person he had referred to who might fit. Candida Deane. What he didn’t know was why the MI6 man was going after one of his own colleagues in such an open fashion.