by Matthew Dunn
When the waitress left, Mousavi asked in English, “Where did you learn Russian?”
“Household Cavalry. They put me on a year’s language course.” He grinned. “One year of sitting opposite a Russian stunner. She taught me a lot of stuff. More than she was supposed to . . .”
“My Russian teacher was nothing like that—nothing like that at all.” The DA looked serious. “Mr. Eden, your letter of introduction to me stated that you had an interesting business proposition to discuss.”
Will pointed at the DA. “Confidentially discuss.”
Mousavi seemed affronted. “I’m here in an official capacity.”
“I know.” Will leaned forward and lowered his voice a little. “But a man in my position has to be careful talking to someone from your country.”
“And what is your . . . position?”
Will leaned back and rubbed his hands together. “I do a lot of the normal stuff—procurement and sales to clients all over the world. It pays the bills.” He lost his smile. “But what I’m really good at, what I’m known for, is the classy high-end stuff.”
The waitress brought their bottle to the table and poured two glasses of wine. Will looked at her, his smile back on. “Chanel No. 19 . . .” He shook his head. “No. Chanel No. 19 Poudré. Am I right?”
The waitress nodded. “My boyfriend bought it for me. I couldn’t afford it on my salary.”
Will laughed. “Boyfriend? Too bad—for me.”
She smiled. “Not your lucky night.”
As she left, Will stared at her bottom, sighed, then looked sharply at Mousavi. “Blueprints of prototypes. The classy stuff. That’s what I deliver to discerning clients.”
“And you think the Iranian government might be interested in what you have to offer?”
Will shrugged. “I’m here to find out.” He lifted his glass and held it in midair over the table.
Mousavi stared at his own glass, then picked it up and chinked it against Will’s. “And I’m listening.”
Will took a sip of his wine and nodded approvingly. “This is a good drop.”
The DA drank. “I agree, though it’s a shame the restaurant doesn’t stock any ninety-eight.”
Will smiled. “I knew you’d know your wines.”
Mousavi placed his glass down. “What do you have?”
Will hesitated. “A new weapons system is being tested. It can easily be carried by one man and has a devastating effect.” He lowered his voice. “An ideal weapon for Iranian special forces.”
Mousavi seemed deep in thought. “Bombs?”
“Yes, but I can’t go into detail yet until I know where this conversation’s going.”
The DA frowned. “You have a legitimate supplier of the blueprints for these weapons?”
This was the moment Will had been leading up to.
“Legitimate suppliers are rarely of use to me. I’ve got a contact in the Russian army, a colonel. He’s involved with these weapons and has access to the blueprints. I’ve paid him a lot of money to copy the documents so that I can put them on the market. I’m giving you first refusal.”
Mousavi stood quickly, anger on his face. “You have been deeply mistaken, Mr. Eden. I will have no involvement in illegal procurement.”
“Mr. Mousavi—”
“No. This meeting is over!”
Mousavi stormed out of the restaurant just as the pretty waitress brought their steaks to the table. She looked concerned. “Is everything all right?”
Will tried to look disappointed, even though Mousavi had just said and done exactly what he’d hoped. “Tonight clearly is not my night.”
She placed the plates down, glanced quickly around, and whispered, “I finish at eleven.”
Will looked at her and wondered what it would feel like to meet her for a late drink. But he’d have to maintain the arrogant and lecherous personality of Thomas Eden in case the SBU detail was still on him. He couldn’t do that to the woman, nor could he do that to himself. His smile masked an inner sadness. “That would have been lovely, but I’ve got work to do.”
The following day, Will walked through the arrivals section of Saint Petersburg’s Pulkovo Airport. He’d entered Russia using his multientry passport in the name of John Lawrence. Sentinel had flown into the country earlier that morning, and Will was going to meet him.
He turned on his cell phone. A message bleeped; he recognized the number belonging to one of Patrick’s many cover phones.
They sent it over. No mention of the man or the items.
Will smiled. Langley had received the SBU transcript with no reference to the “colonel” or the bombs. The only reason they would have omitted those details was if they thought they’d gain further favor with the SVR by sending the information to the Russians so that the matter could be investigated by the FSB. His operation had begun. By carefully drip feeding snippets of information to the Russians, his hope was that Taras Khmelnytsky would be discredited and sacked from the military.
As he continued walking toward the exit, his smile faded. Two days ago, Sentinel had deposited his message in the Minsk DLB. Tonight they would be meeting Shashka. And if everything went according to plan, they would also be meeting Razin.
Chapter Sixteen
It was dusk as Will drove along a deserted, unlit road twenty miles outside Saint Petersburg. The road was straight as far as the eye could see and surrounded by woodland. Everywhere was icy, but the land was bare of snow.
Sentinel checked his watch before glancing at Will. “We’re on time.” He looked ahead. “Drive for another quarter mile, then get our vehicle off the road.”
Will drove forward for ten seconds, brought the rental car to a halt, and reversed it over rough ground between trees. When he was satisfied that they were hidden from any cars that might drive by on the road, he stopped the vehicle and turned off its headlights.
Sentinel rubbed his hands together. “I’ll wait here for her. I suggest you move up the road.”
Will nodded and exited the vehicle. After having been in the heated car for nearly two hours, the sudden cold hit him hard. He jogged through the woods, keeping the road to his right, his breath steaming in the air. After five hundred feet, he moved closer to the road and crouched down beside a large tree, looking back down the road toward Sentinel’s approximate location. He stayed like that for twenty minutes before he heard a vehicle. The road before him lit up; then a sedan drove by and stopped midway between Will’s position and Sentinel’s location. Nothing happened for a minute. Then a woman got out of the car.
Sentinel emerged on foot onto the road and called out, “7962.”
The woman responded, “5389.”
Sentinel walked quickly toward her and waved a hand to tell Will that the meeting was safe. Will approached the car with caution. Sentinel motioned to the woman. “This is Rebecca. She works out of Moscow.”
Rebecca was petite, looked quite young, and was very nervous. Shaking Will’s hand, the MI6 officer said, “This is the first time I’ve done this kind of thing outside of training.”
Sentinel ignored her, and walked to the rear of her vehicle. Slapping a hand on the trunk, he asked, “In here?”
Rebecca nodded while looking around. She was clearly desperate to get away from this place. “It’s open.”
Sentinel withdrew a small cloth bag and walked back to them. The bag contained the handguns and communications system he’d requested. He gave Will a Sig Sauer P226 and two spare clips and secreted his own weapon and magazines in his jacket. Looking sharply at Rebecca, he asked, “Anything suspicious?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. We’ve been talking to our sources. None of them has mentioned any deployment of FSB or SVR men to Saint Petersburg. Also, they’ve made no mention of Shashka.”
“London or GCHQ traffic?”
“Again, nothing.” She frowned. “I’ve been told by Guy to ask you about the security breach.”
Guy—the MI6 Head of Moscow Station.<
br />
Sentinel was quiet for a moment. Then, “I don’t have any evidence yet, but I suspect that one or more of my Russian assets may be working against me.”
“Do you know their identities?”
Sentinel shook his head. “Tell your boss to be careful, because some of his own operations may be compromised.”
“Thank you, I will.” She looked at Will. “I’ve not met you before.”
Sentinel glanced at his watch. “And it’s unlikely you’ll meet him again. You need to go.”
She got into her car, and Will watched her taillights disappear from view. Then he turned to his colleague. “There’s still time to cancel the meeting.”
“I’m not going to.”
“Razin could have rigged the safe house with explosives.”
“We’ll have to take that risk.”
“Your course of action’s wrong!”
“Meaning yours is right?” Sentinel shook his head. “Whatever you’re doing, Razin’s still loose.” He turned to face Will. “Borzaya’s been killed. I found out yesterday. Tomorrow I could find out that another agent has been killed because we did nothing. Stay here if you want, or come with me. Either way, tonight I’m going to try to kill Razin.”
Chapter Seventeen
It was early evening as Will sat alone in his car, watching the stationary car ahead of him. Sentinel was in that vehicle. They were on Dvortsovaya Naberezhnaya, next to the wide Neva River, within the heart of Saint Petersburg. Close by was one of the city’s main shopping areas of Nevskiy Prospekt, and pedestrian shoppers surrounded the MI6 men. Sentinel had wanted it that way. He needed his agent to have cover.
Sentinel was waiting for one of the many pedestrians to move to his car and sit alongside the MI6 officer. It was hoped that person would be Shashka. But the person could just as easily be Razin.
Will adjusted his earpiece, scrutinizing everything around him. It was nighttime, but bright street and building lights illuminated the entire area. Small motorized boats and larger cargo vessels moved slowly along the river. On land, families, couples, and solitary men and women walked by his car. Some carried shopping bags. Others had their hands thrust deep into their pockets. All of them wore overcoats and hats to protect them from the freezing cold.
Will spoke into his throat mic as he looked at the back of Sentinel’s car. It was three hundred feet away. “Nothing yet.”
Sentinel’s voice was calm. “Okay. I bet he’s watching me right now.”
Will looked at the crowds of people. There were a number of men within their ranks who could be Shashka. That did not concern him. Shashka would reveal himself when he was ready to do so. What concerned Will was that he was certain that Razin was also close by, waiting to see Sentinel and his Russian agent sitting together in the car so that he could gun them down before they had the chance to escape.
He moved a hand over the pistol by his side, mentally picturing what could happen and how he would respond. If Razin walked up to the car and raised a gun toward it, Will knew he could swing his handgun up, shoot through the windshield, and put a bullet into the man’s head within half a second. But if Razin had a higher-powered gun, he could shoot Sentinel and Shashka from a distance while hidden in the crowds. The people would panic; Razin would disappear before Will could even get out of his car. He looked around, silently cursing. His eyes locked on one man. He was 150 feet away from Sentinel’s vehicle and appeared to be looking at it. The man was tall and dressed in a long overcoat and fur hat. His arms were folded.
“Possible sighting.” Will spoke quietly. “He’s on your four o’clock, out of your line of sight.”
Sentinel replied, “Understood.”
The man continued to stare at the vehicle. Will looked at him but also darted glances at others near Sentinel’s vehicle in case the man was not Shashka. The crowds around him were getting thicker. Will imagined that shops were now closing, evicting their occupants onto the streets. A car drove by him, and Will looked at the people inside it: a man, a woman, and a child. The car continued onward, passing the man who might be Shashka and then passing Sentinel’s vehicle. The man remained where he was but now started looking left and right. Then he started walking.
“He’s on the move. Heading toward you.”
“All right.” Sentinel’s voice remained calm.
“He’s crossing the road.” Will gripped his gun. “He’s moving behind your vehicle. He’s stopped. Now he’s moving again.” Will waited a few seconds. “You should see him in your wing mirrors.”
Sentinel said nothing for a moment. Then, “It’s him. Radio silence from here on out, as I don’t want to spook the guy.”
Shashka hadn’t been told that Will would be attending the meeting.
Will looked back toward the crowds on the other side of the road. They were starting to thin; many people had clearly decided it was time to get off the freezing streets and head home. Will moved his eyes from one person to the next, searching for a killer. He looked back at Sentinel’s car and saw Shashka open the door and lower himself into the vehicle. Will moved his gun up to the vehicle dashboard. If anything bad was going to happen, it would happen now. Shashka shut the door. Will turned on his vehicle’s ignition, looking back at the few remaining people who were near Sentinel’s car. None of them looked as though they were armed and ready to shoot a senior MI6 officer and a general of Russia’s Western Operational Strategic Command.
Sentinel’s car moved quickly forward. Will depressed his vehicle’s accelerator, causing his tires to skid over the ice before they gained traction and forced the car to lunge forward. Soon he was a hundred feet behind Sentinel, traveling northeast on Dvortsovaya Naberezhnaya. They passed more pedestrians, but Will made no effort to look at them. Now that he and Sentinel were mobile, any threat against them would almost certainly come from another vehicle. They turned south onto Liteyniy Prospekt, and then southwest onto Zagorodniy Prospekt. All around them were shops, residential buildings, and offices. Traffic was heavy. They were moving through the center of the city.
Will kept very close to Sentinel’s car so that no other vehicle could move into the space between them. Snow began to fall, and he put the windshield wipers on. He scrutinized every vehicle close to him as well as the side roads to his left and right in case any vehicles were waiting there to speed out and ram Sentinel’s vehicle. They turned west onto the Naberezhnaya Obvodnogo Kanala and drove along the road, with the canal by their side. After ten minutes, they turned south again. Soon buildings became sparse. They were heading out of the city. Will’s observation of all around him intensified. He knew that a mobile assault on Sentinel’s car would be easier now that they were more exposed.
Sentinel drove faster, and Will kept up with him. They continued driving south for six miles before going west on the A121, with the Baltic Sea by their side. Fewer cars were on this road. They had left Saint Petersburg. Will kept looking in his mirror to check for signs that they were being followed but he saw nothing unusual.
They followed the A121 for 110 miles before Sentinel’s car began to slow down. Will adjusted his speed and watched his colleague’s vehicle drive off the road onto a small track. Turning off his headlights, he slowed until he was traveling at only ten miles per hour. Then he watched Sentinel’s vehicle’s taillights disappear up the track and followed them. The track was a mile long. Sentinel drove all the way along it before stopping by a house beside the Baltic Sea. It was another of his safe houses. All around them was darkness. There were no streetlights or other forms of illumination. Will stopped his car three hundred yards away from the house, briefly saw the interior lights of Sentinel’s car come on as its occupants exited the vehicle, and soon after saw lights within the residence. Sentinel and Shashka were in the building.
Disabling his interior light so that it would not come on when he opened the car door, he got out, raised his handgun, and pointed it back down the route he had driven. He waited for the sounds of a vehicle, a sigh
t of its headlights, or the noise of a man moving rapidly on foot toward him. But he heard and saw nothing.
He got back into his car and drove slowly to minimize noise. Parking it to one side of the house, he got out again and looked around. Aside from the building next to him, everything remained in darkness. The sounds of the sea were right beside him, and he could smell the salty air coming from it. Tucking his handgun into his belt, he entered the house.
He locked the door behind him and walked along the hallway. He could hear Sentinel and Shashka talking in Russian. He saw them sitting in the lounge facing each other. But as soon as Will entered the room, Shashka jumped up, his face angry and shocked. Sentinel also stood, speaking rapidly and placing a hand on Shashka’s arm.
Shashka broke away from Sentinel’s grip, stepping toward Will. The Russian was in his fifties, was as tall as Will, had neatly cropped gray hair, was clean-shaven, and had removed his overcoat to reveal an immaculate three-piece suit. The anger in his green eyes was vivid. When he spoke, his voice was a deep growl. “I’m told that I must trust you. But I hate being taken for a fool.”
Sentinel moved up to him. “Sir, nobody has done that. My colleague’s here to make sure that you are safe.”
Shashka looked sharply at Sentinel. “We’ve never met with others present before. What’s so different about this meeting?”
Sentinel shrugged. “These are difficult times. I’m merely being cautious.”
Shashka shook his head, remaining angry.
Will held out his hand. “I’m sorry that I startled you.”
Shashka looked at Will’s outstretched hand. His anger remained, but his expression changed a little. He sighed and gripped Will’s hand with strength. “No more surprises. I’m too old for them.” He released his grip and moved to a corner liquor cabinet, extracted a bottle of vodka and three tumblers, and poured the spirit into the glasses. Handing them a drink each, he lifted his own glass. “To peace.”
“To peace,” the MI6 officers responded in unison.