Assassin (John Stratton)

by Falconer, Duncan

  She smiled slightly. It broadened her narrow face. Her mouth was big. She looked intelligent but tired.

  ‘John Stratton,’ she said, taking a step into the room and remaining there, keeping the adjoining door open.

  He got to his feet and crossed over to her, offering his hand. ‘That’s right,’ he said. She didn’t appear remotely threatening. In fact she had a pleasant, welcoming look about her.

  ‘I’ve heard a lot about you for many years,’ she said, taking his hand. She held his fingers lightly for a few seconds without shaking them. ‘It’s a pleasure finally to meet you.’

  She had a strong Russian accent, but otherwise her English sounded perfect. Stratton said nothing else. He was waiting for a name, her codename in particular, or proof that she had sent the email.

  ‘I’m Bullfrog,’ she said. ‘A nickname. A private codename from Berry.’ She pronounced his name softly. As if the taste of the word invoked fond memories.

  ‘You knew him? I mean, personally?’ Stratton asked.

  ‘Yes. Will you come next door please?’

  She walked back through the adjoining door and Stratton followed, closing the door behind him. The room smelled of fresh cigarette smoke. She waited for him to move out of the way before locking the door.

  ‘These rooms are used for private meetings,’ she said. ‘The room you were in is for examination. Once the attendees have been swept and examined for any kind of recording or monitoring device, they come in here. There are no monitoring devices of any kind in this room. The sensors indicated you have a phone on you.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, taking it out of his pocket.

  ‘Remove the battery please.’

  Stratton did so and placed it on the dresser.

  ‘You have no transmitting devices on you, but it’s very difficult to detect electronic passive recording devices that can be downloaded afterwards. You have three coins in your breast pocket.’

  He removed his wallet from inside his jacket and opened it to reveal the money.

  She took the coins and dropped them into a glass of water.

  ‘It’s not you I don’t trust, Mr Stratton. Someone could have placed them on you to retrieve them later. Your watch please.’

  He removed his watch. She took it and held it over the glass. ‘I take it your watch is waterproof,’ she said with a thin smile.

  He nodded. She put it in the glass, which she then covered with what appeared to be a tea cosy. A sound-proofer.

  ‘Please sit down,’ she said.

  He sat in the armchair, taking a quick look around. The room was just like the other one.

  ‘Would you like a drink? Some water?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  She remained standing, took a cigarette from a pack and a lighter off the table. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘No.’

  She lit the cigarette and stood at the window as if contemplating what she was going to say. ‘I work for the FSB,’ she began. ‘Berry suggested I tell you a little of my past and how he and I met. Is that of interest to you?’

  ‘Very much,’ Stratton said. He wondered if she might shine some light on Chandos’s lost years after he left the Service.

  ‘I started my service life in the Army and a few years later I joined the Spetsnaz. You’ve worked with them, I understand.’

  ‘I wouldn’t exactly say with them,’ Stratton said.

  ‘Of course.’ She smiled. ‘I was one of the handful of female operatives in my division at that time. I did a lot of surveillance work. Mostly in Moscow. Have you been there?’

  ‘Once or twice,’ he said.

  ‘It was interesting in those days,’ she said. ‘In particular the relationships we had with the Americans. Some of those relationships among the senior members of both countries were truly special. Many people remained close after the Berlin wall came down. When that happened, a number of powerful KGB men moved into the private sector. It wasn’t that they didn’t approve of the new capitalist order. Or of the FSB. On the contrary. Most of them thoroughly embraced all of the changes. Why shouldn’t they? With Russia turning to capitalism, there was much more wealth – and power – to be had in the private sector.

  ‘I first met Berry Chandos in a hotel bar in the city not long after the wall came down,’ she went on. ‘By then I was an apprentice handler in the FSB.’ She paused as if waiting for Stratton to contradict her, but he didn’t move. ‘It wasn’t a set-up. It was natural. We didn’t know anything about each other. I allowed myself to be consumed by him.

  ‘But I had to report the relationship. The usual investigations were made. When I read his profile I was not too surprised to discover he was MI6. The next time we met I confronted him. I told him I was a member of the FSB. He had not known. He had not yet reported me as he was supposed to. He was still much more of a soldier than he was an agent. A risk-taker. To my surprise my boss allowed me to continue seeing him. Perhaps he thought I might recruit Berry.

  ‘You must wonder why I am telling you this. Well, the beginning of the end came unexpectedly for us. And only a short time ago. I stumbled on a conspiracy. Quite by accident. It involved two men, one of them American, the other Russian. The American was a former member of the National Security Agency. He had been an advisor to three US presidents. The Russian had been a general in the KGB. They were both wealthy, powerful men who wanted even more wealth and more power.’

  Stratton sat still, listening carefully.

  ‘When you find a conspiracy of such magnitude,’ she went on, ‘among people like that, it is not a simple thing to expose. Something terrible will certainly happen to you within a short time of revealing your knowledge to the wrong person. But I trusted Berry. Strange perhaps that the only person I could tell was from the other side.’

  She paused a moment, as if to collect her thoughts accurately. Stratton did nothing to distract her.

  ‘I was servicing a meeting room in Paris,’ she said. ‘A small hotel in Concorde. Two rooms together just like these. A cleansing room with an adjoining meeting room. As I was leaving the cleansing room by the connecting door, I heard the front door unlock. I quickly closed the adjoining door behind me. I was not seen. I thought it was the hotel cleaner perhaps or some other member of staff. The meeting room had not been booked and so no one was officially expected.

  ‘I turned on the monitoring system to see who it was. To my surprise, it was not hotel staff but two men in suits. I knew them both by reputation only. My immediate thought, before anything else, was that I had not logged into the room prior to servicing it. An oversight on my part. I should have done so. The men would have checked the log. They thought the room was empty. It was the safest place in Paris for them to talk. Because they had something extremely serious to talk about.

  ‘I wanted to leave but I could not without alerting them. Even if I had got away without them seeing me they would have eventually known it was me. I was the servicing officer, the only one with access control outside of meetings. There were also cameras in the hotel elevators and on the stairs. What I should have done was walk into the meeting room right away, before they started talking. It did not matter that I had seen them together. Meeting each other was a part of their job. I would have apologised. I would have been seriously reprimanded. And they could have found somewhere else for their talk.

  ‘But I did not. I was worried. I could have been expelled from my job. And so I remained in the room. I could do nothing else but listen. After a few minutes it became very clear to me that I would be a dead person if they ever found out I was there. They began to talk about gold. Its great and increasing value. And how it was so simple to steal for people like them. They began to discuss something else. They talked about a bomb. A nuclear device that would soon be in the hands of terrorists. Terrorists who were senior officers in Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence. They mentioned a name. General Javas Mahuba. They talked about how ideal the Pakistan plan was. News had already leaked
to the media about the missing device, but these two men had created other evidences. False, misleading information. They seemed pleased with their progress.

  ‘They knew who had stolen the bomb, and from where. They knew where it was going. The Russian asked about the arming codes. The American said that they had already been secured and sent ahead into Afghanistan. They were in the hands of a trusted Taliban commander by the name of Kalil Rohami. He would personally deliver them to Bagram once the bomb had arrived there. The American said that side of the operation was about to be taken care of.

  ‘After they left, I sat still for a long while. Maybe two, three hours. I was frightened for myself. But also of what these men were planning to do. It seemed to me that they intended to allow the bomb to explode in Bagram. Among thousands of the American’s own troops. But why would these two men let such a thing happen? On the face of it, it was madness. But these men were not mad. All I could think of was the conspiracy theories surrounding the Twin Towers. There were always rumours that high-level members of American intelligence knew it was going to happen and did nothing. Just like Pearl Harbor. There are those who believe that could have been avoided but was deliberately allowed to go ahead to bring America into the war.

  ‘If such a thing happened,’ she said, ‘if Islamists detonated a nuclear device and thousands of Americans died, it could unite the entire world to rise up against Islamic terrorism. America could ignore every legal and human rights obstacle to exact their revenge and wipe their enemy from the face of the earth, wherever they were – and Europe, Russia, even China would not stand in their way. It would be in their interests too. They are all cursed with the Muslim threat. I cannot think of any other reason why those men would allow such a thing to happen.’

  Bullfrog stubbed out the cigarette which had by now burned down to the filter. Stratton wasn’t sure if it was the end of her revelation. He waited, his mind full of questions.

  Finally he asked, ‘When did this conversation take place?’

  ‘Five days ago.’

  ‘What did Chandos advise?’

  ‘He had the same problem as me. Who to tell? The bomb could already be at Bagram. Then there are the codes. Where are they?’

  ‘Who were the two men?’

  ‘Their names are Henry Betregard and Mikhail Gatovik.’

  Stratton had never heard of either man before.

  ‘Berry decided to track down Betregard immediately,’ she said. ‘He hoped to find a clue. Anything that might provide some evidence that he could take to his people.’

  Stratton had to get out of the chair and stretch his legs. ‘Do you know what happened to Chandos?’ he said, going to the window, which was covered by a thick blind.

  ‘He must have made a mistake. All I can think of is that Betregard found out Berry was investigating him and sent an assassin after him. He went to Nigeria. He asked for details of an al-Qaeda cell he knew operated in Lagos. He asked me to arrange a car for him. He asked for weapons and explosives. He didn’t explain what he was planning to do.’

  ‘Why Lagos?’

  She shrugged. ‘Neutral ground, perhaps. It suited his purpose.’

  Stratton studied her for a moment. ‘Do you expect me to take up where he left off? Is that why you’re telling me all this?’

  She didn’t answer, as if she had her own doubts.

  ‘Chandos was more experienced than me. What chance do you think I’d have?’

  ‘Berry made a fundamental mistake,’ she said. ‘He focused on the cause when he should have been dealing with the symptoms. Those are more in your league.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He could never get to Betregard,’ she said. ‘He’s far too big a fish. But he might have been able to find the bomb.’

  ‘Was the meeting recorded?’

  ‘Only monitors. Sound recording is not permitted.’

  ‘How could you find the bomb?’ Stratton asked. ‘Without inside information, that’s a task for specialists.’

  ‘A process of elimination,’ she said. ‘It will not be in the air base because they don’t have to take that risk. My guess would be somewhere in Bagram Town.’

  ‘I’ve driven through it a few times. It’s not big. But it’s spread out, a lot of outlying compounds.’

  ‘Mahuba is taking responsibility for the placing of the device. We can be certain of that much. I have done my research on that man. He is determined. But also old-fashioned, and refined. When he went into battle he would get as close to the front as he could, to be seen by his men. And he was always immaculately dressed. Although he grew to hate the British, he admired them when he was a young man. He used to dress like them. He was known for wearing a clean cravat into battle. Tucked into a crisp, starched shirt. There are few houses in Bagram where he would stay. He would refuse to live in a mud hut. And there would have to be servants. He has never cooked a meal for himself in his entire life or cleaned his own clothes. He would not start now, certainly not in his final days.’

  ‘You’d base your search for the bomb on Mahuba’s personal habits?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘That’s a fundamental.’

  ‘How can you be sure he’d go to Bagram himself anyway?’

  ‘He would not leave such an important task to a subordinate.’

  ‘And the detonation?’

  ‘It’s an impact device. As far as I know – it has to be detonated manually. The ultimate suicide bomb, Stratton. It requires the ultimate suicide bomber. Mahuba knows he will die soon after anyway. No one involved in this massacre will survive the witch hunt. It will not be pleasant for those who do not kill themselves.’

  ‘What about using technology to find it?’ Stratton asked.

  ‘I’ve considered that,’ she said. ‘The problem with our detection systems is you need to know more or less where the radiation source is. Most of the systems have to be close. Metres away. Our best detection system can operate from a thousand metres. But that would require a large team. Once again, I would need to tell someone. Even if we could organise such a team, it would be too late. The Americans have a detection system in Bagram. But once again, who can I trust?’

  It was obvious she was expecting him to go looking for the nuclear device.

  ‘There is no other way but to search for it,’ she said. ‘Look for signs. Mahuba will have guards, vehicles. I’m not asking you to go.’

  He looked at her, wondering why he’d got it wrong.

  ‘I would expect you to do it without being asked,’ she said.

  He should have been ready for that one.

  She could see his resistance and looked disappointed. ‘Berry was your friend. But not only that. Thousands of your allies will die if that bomb is initiated. Think of the repercussions. America would take Pakistan apart. And that would just be for starters. Thousands upon thousands of innocent people would die and suffer. The rest of the world might turn on the Muslims for fear of the same happening to them one day. It would be World War Three. The fundamentalists would be smashed to pieces. That is what they want. But how many innocents would die before it was over?’

  Stratton began to seriously doubt Bullfrog. Perhaps she was the real nutter here. Maybe she’d been exposed to the business for too long. Her story had the hallmarks of a wild conspiracy theory.

  ‘Do you have any proof at all about anything you’ve told me today?’ he asked.

  She hesitated and he saw the first signs of impatience. He watched her come to a decision. She went over to her briefcase on the desk and opened it. She removed an envelope and took several photographs from it.

  ‘I am quite insane, you know,’ she said.

  He wondered if she was suddenly about to reveal her own startling psychology report and unravel this entire meeting.

  ‘I must be to carry around material like this,’ she said. ‘If I had an accident and someone went through my things, or if my case was stolen and the items were found by the police, they might event
ually end up in the hands of someone who knew what they were. And I would be dead shortly after.’

  Stratton stepped closer to her to look at the photographs.

  ‘I was unsure about showing these to you,’ she said. ‘But I am aware that my claims are quite extreme and incredible. You would have every right to question my sanity.’

  She placed several photos on the desk in front of him. They showed two older well-dressed men standing in a similar hotel room to the one they were in. The men looked like they were deep in conversation in one shot. Another showed them sharing something amusing. In another they were leaning close to each other.

  ‘These were taken in the hotel meeting room in Paris when I was in the examination room,’ she said. ‘That’s Henry Betregard.’

  Stratton studied the pictures. The man looked tall but it was hard to say. He had light-brown hair and deep-set eyes and his suit fitted him well. The other man, Mikhail Gatovik, was smaller, with darker hair, though more of a physical presence. It was hard to define the dynamic of the relationship just from these few images.

  ‘I got the images from the log-in scanner,’ she said.

  ‘Could anyone else access these?’

  ‘No. I erased the scanner after I copied the images.’

  Stratton looked at her. Too long for her liking.

  ‘I suppose I wasn’t prepared for you to doubt me,’ she said, moving away from him. ‘Berry didn’t.’ She looked back at him, unsure about what she could see in his eyes. ‘Do you?’ she said.

  On examination, his feelings were entirely mixed about her. He couldn’t accept that she was mad, but neither could he accept the same about the men in the photos. What she suggested was indeed madness. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

  ‘Then you must think I’m insane. Do you think Berry was also insane?’

  Chandos might have been a little gullible, Stratton thought, but not insane.

  ‘Perhaps I fooled him into believing me?’ she said. ‘But what about the assassin? Or do you think that was a dream too?’