The Saxon Network

by Norman Hartley

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do we know why not? Is he still close to them?’

  ‘He’s as close as anyone could get in the circumstances. The Iranians are in a small villa, just outside Paris. Leo’s got audio on them most of the time.’

  ‘But there’s no word on the target.’

  ‘Not a hint. The handler’s obviously holding it back until the very last minute. He doesn’t trust the Iranians. They’ve got no ideology he can appeal to except money. This is not about religion or nationality He tried the idea of a suicide attack out on them at one meeting and they laughed in his face.’

  Cronin agreed.

  ‘I’m not even sure they’re going to be allowed to control the attack when it happens. They are strictly window dressing. They’re there to take the blame. The Iranians know that and they’re hanging in only because they’re going to be paid shitloads of money. That’s their religion.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, ‘let’s move on.’

  I described Jay’s surveillance operation and put the images on the laptop screen.

  ‘We need to identify these men.’

  Delgado and Cronin examined the screen carefully then Delgado spoke first.

  ‘I know three of them,’ he said. ‘those two are Russian germ warfare specialists. The tall one is Vladimir Yukovsky, former deputy head of the Biopreparat, the organisation controlling the original Soviet chemical and biological weapons program.

  ‘Like many military scientists, Yukovsky was left high and dry after the collapse of the Soviet Union and was open to ways of making money out of his skills in the new capitalist Russia.

  ‘The other Russian is Ayrtom Liss. He was junior to Yukovsky but he’s key to all this. His speciality is dissemination control. He invented the Spinner, that’s the diffusion mechanism they’re planning to use in the attack.’

  Delgado was in full flow now and showing off his expertise seemed to relax him, so no-one interrupted.

  He confirmed what Bob had told us in Norfolk, that if you were using germ agents as weapons, controlling their diffusion around the target area was the most difficult problem.

  ‘Explosives can neutralise the agents and if you just let the germs loose they can blow around everywhere. The spinner creates a kind of mini-tornado and whirls the germ agents round at high speed to keep them within a given area.’

  ‘Why do they need Yukovsky?’ Tim asked. ‘Isn’t the weapon pre-packaged?’

  ‘No,’ Delgado said. ‘I can’t be sure but I’d guess that he’ll be in charge of processing the Strain 11 to make the threat immediate. People don’t start dying immediately from plague germs. But they’ll be mixed with a substance that produces visible toxic choking fumes so no-one will be in doubt that it’s a bio attack. The plague panic will be spread by internet, social networking, and so on. It won’t take long. That will cause massive panic and slow down the rescue operation because everyone will need protective clothing, and it won’t be easy to round enough up.’

  ‘‘What about the other faces?’

  ‘The chubby one is an American, ex-special forces, Dale Metzik, works for Ray Vossler. He’s the Iranians’ handler. He’s usually in Paris with them. He must have come over to report.’

  ‘What about the fourth man?’

  ‘No idea. Sorry. He looks Russian but I’m pretty sure he isn’t a germ man. I know the faces of most of the players.’

  ‘Bob?’

  ‘No idea I’m afraid.’

  ‘Pity,’ Chunk said, ‘looking at those images, I’d say he was the main man. Look at the body language. They’re all deferring to him. He’s the centre of attention in most of the shots.’

  ‘Kate and I will have a go at identifying him,’ I said, turning back to Delgado.

  ‘How long do you reckon we have? What’s your best guess at how soon they plan to move?’

  ‘I’ve no idea but I’m guessing it can’t be far off. Vossler wouldn’t have that team here in England if it wasn’t imminent.’

  To give Delgado a rest, I took back the briefing and summarised the other points we had established.

  ‘We’re pretty sure we know that Spring House is going to be used to store the weapon,’ I said, ‘if it isn’t already. We know they have access to the plague germs and presumably to this Spinner. We know that Vossler wanted to move to Spring House because of the Green Lanes.’

  This time it was Bob who asked for an explanation. He had stayed silent for most of the briefing, I presumed so as not to upstage Delgado. Bob still looked pale and tired despite the long sleep but I knew he had not missed a word. I gave them a rundown of what the Estate Agent’s files had revealed.

  ‘We also know there was a specific time he wanted to move,’ Kate said. ‘Suddenly right in the middle of a lease he wants to up sticks and move into this shithole. When he took the first house, he must have been planning this attack. Why did the Green Lanes suddenly become important?’

  ‘Good point,’ I said, ‘we’ll come back to it. Right now, we need to identify this fourth man. If the other two Russians are bowing and scraping, as well as Vossler, he must be somebody who matters.’

  ‘I have to fetch Rachel,’ Tim said, ‘let’s take a break. Vince, how are you feeling?’

  ‘I could use a break too.’

  ‘There’s a room at the back of the farm Tillie calls the sunroom,’ I said, ‘why don’t you and Bob rest up there for a while and Kate and I will see if anyone on the BBC net knows this man.’

  When we were alone, I asked Kate if she thought we could safely use the BBC newsgathering network again.

  ‘If we’re careful,’ she said. ‘I’ll back off if I think it’s getting too hairy. Crop me a couple of decent stills and I’ll have a think about who best to approach.’

  ‘Who have you picked?’ I asked when I’d finished manipulating the images.

  ‘My first choice would have been Annie Amalia,’ Kate said, ‘several of the Moscow bureau team are new or newish. She’s the most experienced.’

  ‘So why not her?’

  ‘She’s doing a second stint in Afghanistan and she’s away from Kabul. Even if she could help, she’d be too difficult to reach. She’s using a Sat phone, but she only switches it on a certain pre-agreed times. Battery life is very precious and her main log-on is in the evening and it’s pretty much taken up with programme calls. If we start trying to meddle, we’ll be getting seriously in the way of her basic communications and drawing attention to ourselves. I think we should go for Andrew Hillman.’

  ‘Of, course! Yes. Perfect. Kate you’re a genius.’

  Andrew Hillman was Amalia’s predecessor as chief Moscow correspondent. He was now based in Nairobi, where he was combining a less active correspondent post with writing a book.

  ‘Nairobi’s not the best place for communications, but links haven’t been too bad lately. They’re plus three hours, so we can try his cell.’

  She made the call and after some pleasant chit chat and good-natured grumbling, she persuaded him to stop playing with his kids in the garden of their house on the outskirts of Nairobi and go and log in to receive an e-mail. She sent the image and Hillman called back twenty minutes later with disappointing news.

  ‘No, afraid not,’ he said, ‘I don’t recognise him from any story I’ve ever covered. You said he might have military connections.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kate said, ‘he might actually be military or he could be government with a military link.’

  ‘There’s one person you could try,’ Hillman said, ‘Daniel Pressman. He was Moscow correspondent for the Wall Street Journal, but he lives in Johannesburg now. He’s a defence expert and does a lot of military stuff. You could try him.’

  ‘Look,’ Kate said, ‘you wouldn’t try him for me, would you? Could you say it’s you who needs to know for something you’re writing?’

  ‘Sure, no problem. I’ll give him a call right now. If he’s around, I’ll send him the image.’

  Within an hour, Hillman
called back and he sounded jubilant.

  ‘Success,’ he said, ‘Dan recognised him straight away. His name is Maxim Olgachov. He was a major in the Russian air force. A pilot. Hero of the Chechen conflict. Dan has no idea where is now, but he says there were rumours he was involved in selling military kit on the black market.’

  Hillman laughed.

  ‘But Dan doesn’t think he was cashiered. He probably just got fed up with not being paid and went, as they say, into the private sector. Oh and one other thing, Dan said he’s an aerobatics expert. He doesn’t know whether he’s still competing but he thinks Olgachov may be using air shows as a front for contacting potential buyers of black market kit.’

  Kate thanked him profusely and turned to me.

  ‘Olgachov could be the final piece,’ she said excitedly, ‘the Russians are selling the Spinner and Olgachov will bring it in. It would be the perfect cover. He flies in to an air show, no customs involved, and Vossler’s team transfers it to Spring House, through the Green Lanes.’

  I grinned ‘This is one of those ‘so perfect it’s got to be true’ scenarios, what journalists call a ‘too good to check’ story.’

  ‘So let’s get the hell on and check it,’ Kate said.

  Chapter 19

  What followed was a roller coaster of highs and lows. Each time a breakthrough was confirmed, something came up to set us back.

  It began well enough. Kate Googled Colonel Maxim Olgachov and discovered that he was a distinguished fighter pilot and war hero, twice decorated in Chechnya, who went on to command the Red Stars, the Russian air force aerobatic demonstration team.

  Clive was doing a spell of teaching on the simulator at Heathrow and couldn’t be reached so I called an armchair expert. Harold Cheeseman was an IT consultant but was really a pilot manqué. He had wanted to join the RAF but failed the physical. Now he spent every spare minute on his computer, using flight simulation software and competing in virtual aerobatics contests and war games.

  It was no surprise that he knew a lot about Olgachov.

  ‘He’s quite a character,’ Cheeseman said, ‘an amazing pilot and a total crook. He didn’t really retire from the Russian air force, he got kicked out.’

  That sounded promising but I asked ‘why?’ without showing any special interest.

  ‘He somehow managed to ‘liberate’ a Sukhoi SU27 Flanker. Most Russian squaddies when they’re stealing kit manage to get away with a few pairs of boots or the odd rifle. He managed one of Russia’s most advanced aircraft.’

  ‘How did he get away with it?’

  ‘The usual way. A spectacular degree of bribery. There was some kind of semi-official deal with the Ukrainians and somehow the Flanker ended up in a sort of private limbo. Of course, a lot of officials in the Russian and Ukrainian Defence ministries ended up very rich but Olgachov ended up with the aircraft.’

  ‘Why isn’t all this on the Net?’

  Cheeseman laughed.

  ‘Because he’s formed a consortium with some other ‘New Russians’ i.e. mafia types and they don’t take kindly to people who report their business.’

  ‘What is his business?’

  ‘Hard to believe, but he actually takes the stolen Flanker round air shows giving demonstrations. He’s absolutely amazing to watch.’

  To humour Cheeseman I had to listen through blow by blow descriptions of Cobras and Tail slides which were apparently Olgachov’s party pieces but eventually I got him back on track and established that enthusiasts all over the world were apparently willing to pay small fortunes for the trip of a lifetime.It all seemed to fit, especially when I asked when the next British air show was due.

  ‘Kestonbury in Kent next week’ Cheeseman replied.

  It was the perfect answer. Kestonbury was less than twenty miles from Spring House and I was sure that there would be a cross-country route involving Green Lanes.

  Cheeseman was very excited at the idea that Olgachov might be performing and promised to check and call me back.

  I called Birdy and asked if he could overfly the route between Spring House and Kestonbury by helicopter.

  ‘I’m on it,’ he said. ‘I’ll take Chunk. He can take some pix.’

  Kate grinned. ‘Let’s hope he watches out for birds’ nests.’

  It was looking seriously good and I went up to see Cronin and tell him the good news. He was pleased but he was still preoccupied by worries about Delgado.

  Bob was sure Delgado was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. The bird-watching had worked for a while but when he had rested after the briefing, his nightmares of an avenging Omar had returned. Eventually I sorted that one out with the help of Tillie. We decided we couldn’t sedate him indefinitely so Tillie sent for a retired farm worker known as ‘Old Micah’ who was apparently the ultimate expert on local wildlife. They went off together and the promise of a one-on-one nature master class seemed to cheer Delgado up, at least for the time being.

  The next breakthrough came when Tim and Rachel returned. Tillie and George joined us for tea in the garden by the pond and I gave them the latest developments.

  Rachel had missed more than Tim so I went over the surveillance sequence and when I was outlining the results of the real estate agent hacking and the Green Lanes issue, Rachel asked what date Vossler had decided he wanted to quit Maywood Manor and move to Spring House. I told her it had been approximately a month ago.

  ‘I’ll bet I know why,’ she said, ‘it must have been the start of operation Joyride.’

  George Overton laughed. ‘That was a beauty that was. Lot of cars were getting stolen. Some of them turned up burned out after taking part in races down near Maidstone. Youngsters it was, they reckoned, then more cars started getting nicked. Much classier ones. Police didn’t know if the kids were selling them on or whether professional car thieves were using the joy-riding as cover. People were getting hurt too, pulled out of their cars and bashed about to make them hand over their keys. Anyway, the Chief Constable lives locally and the press started saying he couldn’t keep order in his own back yard. Chief Constable swore he’d stamp it out and the very next week, his wife’s car got nicked and she got knocked about at the same time. Chief went ballistic and since then, we’ve had roadblocks and roadblocks to it. Anyone’s liable to get stopped, day or night.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Rachel said. ‘It’s become a joke in pretty much every force in the country.’

  ‘So the assumption is that Vossler was intending to move the kit from Kestonbury to Maywood Manor by normal roads, then these roadblocks started up and they decided they’d have to go off road and use the Green Lanes.’

  It was all fitting together perfectly, then Birdy and Chunk returned with the bad news. The cross-country route between Spring House and Kestonbury was totally blocked by construction work. Chunk downloaded a video of the flight and there was absolutely no doubt: the scenario we had created for Vossler simply wasn’t possible.

  The problem was around the village of Merryvale about half way between the house and the airfield. There were building works, stretching for almost two miles round the edge of the village, cutting off every lane that could provide an easy link on to Upper Weedon. A big housing estate was being built right across the old country tracks.

  It was obvious too that the building works were not new. The obstacle had not just sprung up since Vossler had bought Spring House, even though the open crater which created the biggest blockage could have been done fairly recently.

  To add to the gloom, Cheeseman called back and reported that there were no plans anyone knew about for Colonel Olgachov to perform at Kestonbury. Suddenly, we were back to square one.

  We discussed the possibility of handing what information we had over to the CIA or MI6 but Cronin summed up all our fears.

  ‘Not a chance we’d be taken seriously. If John goes to Six, you can guess what will happen. I can’t go to the Company. I have zero credibility. Even if I could find anyone to take me seriously, Vossl
er would find out immediately and the evidence would disappear like summer snow.’

  I decided to call Clive, just in case Cheeseman had got it wrong. I wasn’t optimistic and I certainly wasn’t expecting the result I got.

  I told Clive we were interested in Colonel Olgachov and the possibility of his performing in England.

  Clive laughed. ‘How the hell did you find out about Olgachov? That’s supposed to be secret.’

  ‘You mean he is performing!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘At Kestonbury?’

  Clive laughed again.

  ‘No, at the Guild of Air Pilots and Air Navigators Annual Garden Party. GAPAN’s holding it this year at the Danton Air Museum. We’ve been trying to keep it quiet because we haven’t got clearance yet from the Civil Aviation Authority.

  ‘When is this Party?’

  ‘This coming Sunday, starts at two.’

  ‘We need to talk urgently,’ I said, ‘can you come over?’

  I turned back to the group.

  ‘It’s on. Sunday. Three days from now. Danton Air Museum. An Airline Pilots’ Garden Party.

  ‘Danton is less than fifteen miles. Easy cross country tracks, I’m pretty sure there aren’t any blockages on the way. So we have the Find. Now to Fix and Finish.’

  In SAS terminology, FFF – Find-Fix-Finish – was the basic pattern for an operation. The Find was finding the target; The Fix was pinpointing the time and place at which the target could be taken; the Finish was the actual raid.

  ‘OK,’ I said, ‘let’s look at the tasks. We obviously have to capture the Spinner but ideally we have to track it into the country and we have to have evidence that clearly involves Ray Vossler. Olgachov will fly it into Danton on board the Flanker. His team will transport it via the Green Lanes to Spring House. Vossler will be at the Garden Party for sure but he may not take part in the transport. Ideally we have to film the whole operation and ambush the vehicle en route.’

  At that point we broke and waited for Birdy to do an overflight.

  Two hours later we had a report. There was one highly likely route and two other possibles. There were also several ambush points but one stood out.