Lies and Retribution (Alex King Book 2)

by A P Bateman

  60

  The .50 BMG calibre Barrett rifle is the sniper’s anti-personnel and anti-material rifle of choice for ranges in excess of one-thousand metres. It has a kinetic muzzle energy of fifteen-thousand foot pounds. It has an effective range of more than three-thousand metres, although sniper’s serving in Iraq and Afghanistan have claimed anti-material strikes of five-thousand metres, or three miles. At these ranges the bullet takes approximately eight seconds to reach its target. It is a truly awesome weapon.

  It must have been a comforting thought when the planning committee chose the glass for the top floor of Thames House for its resistance to parabolic microphone surveillance. That it could also withstand a bullet from this leviathan would not have gone unnoticed. No glass is rated to a higher ballistic performance.

  The Anzio 20mm anti-material (tank) rifle is exactly three times more powerful than .50 BMG. Its kinetic energy is thirty-eight thousand foot pounds. Or, seventy-five times more powerful than a 9mm handgun bullet.

  Vauxhall Bridge measured two-hundred and forty-seven metres in length. Thames House, or MI5 headquarters sat thirty-nine metres back from the riverbank and the sniper’s position was one-hundred and fifty-four metres from the bank on the Lambeth side. Four hundred and forty metres with a downward trajectory of sixty-two feet.

  The window was open, the curtains partially drawn and the light was switched off. The street lights had just illuminated, they were sporadic, not all yet lit. Certain sensors were more sensitive. In a matter of minutes, it would be dark outside as dusk gave way to night and an orange gloom would envelop the outside world. The sniper had set up the 20mm anti-material rifle on a table a week previously and weighted the bipod down with five kilo sandbags. He had loaded the heavy 20mm Vulcan rounds. The first and second rounds were depleted uranium. The heaviest naturally occurring element, and at these kinetic energy values, capable of penetrating not only the ballistic glass, but the building and the next three buildings behind it. The third, fourth and fifth bullets were incendiary rounds. Each incendiary bullet contained phosphorus which would disperse upon impact and burn and stick to everything in a twenty by twenty-foot room.

  The sniper got down behind the weapon and sighted the post and cross reticule on the eighth floor. The first and second windows from the left were clear. The light of the office was on but the smoked glass made it impossible to see inside. The sniper took out his mobile phone and dialled the direct line.

  “Director Howard, please.”

  “Certainly. Who is calling, please?”

  “Major Uri Droznedov. Russian Federation GRU.”

  “One moment.”

  There was a short pause followed by a clicking as the line was transferred.

  “Howard speaking.”

  “Ah, Director Howard, Major Droznedov. Thank you for your time.”

  “How may I help, Major?”

  “I wanted to talk quickly about the operation in Syria. The one where Forester called in the air strike on the ISIS cell. There was a Russian spetsnaz operative being held captive. Russian intelligence called for a pause in the bombing, a chance to get their operative back.”

  “Major, I am certain I cannot discuss such matters with you.”

  “I think it was a tipping point for Zukovsky. I think it was the reason he is here. The reason he wants revenge.”

  “We are aware of that,” Howard paused. “But I cannot discuss past operations with you, Major. It is a confidence too far, I’m afraid.”

  “I understand,” Droznedov said. “Are you in your office? I am nearby and maybe we could talk more discreetly.”

  “I am at my desk, but I have to meet the Prime Minister in an hour.”

  “Director Howard, I am sure you know. In fact, I am sure that it was both you and Forester who made the decision to sacrifice a young man in order for you to kill an ISIS cell which could have been killed at a later date. Another time and place.”

  “Major Droznedov, you are GRU. You know how it works. Now, I appreciate your cooperation but I have a pressing matter to attend to.”

  “One more thing, if you please.”

  “Yes?”

  “I work for Vladimir Zukovsky. I have done my entire career. The agent you sacrificed was his son. How pathetic you are, you and your Security Service. You even let me into your office. What a wonderful reconnaissance opportunity it was. Goodbye, Director Howard…” He put the phone down and sighted in on the first window from the left. The window with the smear of invisible ink, the kind used for security marking valuables, that was showing up clearly in the infra-red sight. The ink he had smeared on the glass as he admired the Thames and the landmark building belonging to MI6 on the other side of the river. He fired and the massive weapon erupted like a volcano, its muzzle flash scorching the curtain six feet away and the pressure wave rattling the window on its hinge. He moved his aim to the next window and fired. With the 5.9x75 scope it was an easy shot. Both windows were out and he fired the next round through the second window cutting off any potential escape. He moved the weapon back to the first window and fired twice more, working the bolt smoothly between shots. The office was burning white and yellow. A thousand or more degrees of burning phosphorus consuming the room and burning everything and everyone within.

  61

  King lay on his back. His breathing had returned to normal and he was in that wonderful post-coital dreamlike state of exhaustion, satisfaction and contentment. Caroline was curled into him, her left breast resting on his chest, her chin nuzzled into his neck. When she exhaled he had to fight the temptation to flinch like a child resists a tickle. He could put up with it.

  They were hot, the covers riding low on them. Caroline had been wild and passionate, King had matched her mood accordingly. Both had been completely satisfied, and the other had been sure of it.

  “I’m going to fall asleep if I stay like this,” Caroline whispered. The whisper tickled more than the breathing, but King still resisted. It was a snapshot moment, and he didn’t want to be the first to move, to break it.

  “Then sleep,” he replied. “You need it.”

  “Can’t. Too much to do.”

  “The police are out all over the west country looking for Zukovsky. By now the boat carrying the hostages should have been identified. There’ll be something in place soon. The Norwegian coastguard should have been informed as well. There’s nothing direct for you to do,” King said. “Get some sleep.”

  “You get some sleep,” she said, running a hand down over his stomach and resting it tantalisingly close to his groin. “I haven’t finished with you yet.”

  “Well, I need a drink,” King said. He moved her hand and slid out of bed.

  “There’s beer in the fridge.”

  “No, like I said, I’m driving later.”

  “Good point. There’s fresh orange with added vitamins. Drink that, it’ll get your strength up,” she grinned.

  King padded out into the lounge. He picked up his clothes and draped them over the back of a chair. He hated not being ready to move. It was a habit, but those were the habits which had kept him alive. He walked towards the kitchen. It was an open-plan flat with just the kitchen counter to separate the kitchen from the lounge. He glanced at the television, froze in his tracks. “Caroline!” he shouted. “Get out here and see this!”

  Caroline appeared moments later fastening an ivory silk dressing gown. She looked at him, then looked past him at the television. King was turning the volume back on. They could see Thames House burning. The eighth floor, first and second windows from the left. The Sky News reporter was looking flustered and she was adlibbing, but she had no information to hand and was clarifying that Thames House was the less obvious spy building on the other side of the river. The ticker-tape scrolled along the bottom of the screen: MI5 BUILDING UNDER ATTACK, MULTIPLE CASUALTIES. DIRECTOR HOWARD AND DEPUTY DIRECTOR CHALMERS BOTH CONFIRMED DEAD. MI5 DEPUTY DIRECTOR CHARLES FORESTER CONFIRMED KILLED IN GUN ATTACK EARLIER TODAY A
T AN MI5 PROPERTY. MI5 NOW DECLARED LEADERLESS. JOINT INTELLIGENCE AND SIS (MI6) TO TAKE TEMPORARY CONTROL OF THE SECURITY SERVICE…

  Caroline rushed to her handbag and picked up her mobile. “Shit! It was on silent. Nine missed calls.” She dialled her voicemail and listened intently, pacing the room as she waited.

  King picked up her clothes and put them on the back of the chair next to her own. He got dressed quickly, walked over to the counter and switched on the kettle.

  “Switchboard recalling all personnel,” she said, thumbing through the menu options and messages. “Oh Jesus! Hodges called – Sergei Gulubkin is dead. Cyanide by the looks of it. In a cigarette that he was given by Droznedov! That bastard! Hodges says that a translator listened to the tapes. Both Droznedov and Gulubkin knew each-other, that the two were arguing about Gulubkin being caught. Droznedov offered Gulubkin a way out. That’s when he took the cigarette. It makes sense! He refused the cigarette the first time he was offered.”

  King poured the boiling water onto the coffee granules and handed it to her. “Get that down you before you go. That was a big gin. You’re going to be busy tonight.”

  “Thanks,” she said as she took the cup. “What about you?”

  “I’m paying Al-Shaqqaf a visit.” He looked at her as she sipped the coffee. “We need Droznedov. If he did that, then he’s tight with Zukovsky. We need Zukovsky, Droznedov may be our only lead. Where did Forester meet him?”

  “At his hotel, I don’t know which.”

  “Forester’s driver died at the safe-house,” King said. “As deputy director he would have taken a security detail, surely?”

  “Usually an armed bodyguard.”

  “Pull the records, find out who the BG was and get him to tell you where they met. I doubt Droznedov is still there, but it’s a place to start. The manager can pull his bill, check the CCTV. Get round there as soon as you can. Work it, don’t allow SIS and Joint Intelligence to bog you down with busy work or a new assignment. The Security Service has suffered unprecedented losses overnight. There’ll be a power play. Contact Hodges, you need manpower to find Droznedov, but you need to do it now.” King went to the sports bag, took out the Walther P99 and gave it to her, along with the spare sixteen round magazine. “Take this,” he said. “Don’t let anybody know you’ve got it. But rest assured, Droznedov will be armed.”

  She took it, placed it on the counter and looked at it. “Thought you were going shooting?”

  “I’ll get by.”

  62

  Thames house was in chaos. The fire had burned fiercely, but due to the security measures in the building’s architectural design it had been localised and contained. The fire brigade was still damping down, and Howard and Chalmers were the only two fatalities. There were a dozen casualties from both the fire and debris caused from over-penetration by the 20mm bullets. Adjoining offices were scattered with a shrapnel of bullet fragments, concrete and wood splinters. The whole top floor had been sealed off and a HAZMAT team were sweeping and monitoring for radioactivity after it was discovered weapons grade depleted uranium projectiles had been used. Office staff on the top floor were being treated with anti-contaminate.

  Once Caroline had got through the security cordon she made her way to the records and personnel office suite on the second floor. She had pulled up Forester’s travel schedule on the mainframe computer using her ID and security clearance number, and after making some checks with the head of security she found out the name of the bodyguard who had escorted Forester and pulled the security report.

  Caroline left her Mini in the parking lot and called up a security officer and a pool car. The man was called Frank and he was a quiet ex-RAF warrant officer who had a wide ranging career and ten-years of service before applying to MI5. He had applied for a security post as a way of coming through the backdoor. Twelve years in and he had learned to be a cog in the machine. He was never going to be the intelligence officer he hoped, but he was a good driver, security officer and had been on watcher detail in the past. He was a solid character and had provided security for Forester many times. He drove the Ford Mondeo swiftly away from Thames House the short distance to Mayfair. Away from the embankment the traffic was flowing and apart from many traffic lights, there were no further delays.

  “I’m sorry to hear about Charles Forester,” he said as he drove, his eyes not leaving the road or mirror. “I know he meant a lot to you.”

  “Thanks,” Caroline said. She’d barely been able to think about it. Time had been a blur since they left the house and chased Gulubkin. She suddenly felt an ache inside as she thought about her mentor’s last moments. “It’s been crazy, hasn’t it?”

  “No word yet on who was behind the attacks tonight. It’s like something the IRA would have tried. Back in the day,” he paused. “But I expect its ISIS.”

  “It’s highly likely it’s a Russian attack. I’m going to try and find someone who might well be behind it.”

  “What, now?”

  “Yes.”

  Frank floored the accelerator and the car surged forward. “Better get a bloody move on then,” he said.

  “When I get to the Holiday Inn, you wait outside with the car.”

  “Bugger that, love. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “I’m armed,” she said. “I shouldn’t be. I’ll be okay.”

  “Too right you’ll be okay,” he said, swerving and overtaking two bicycles, frighteningly close. “Because I’ll be there with two weapons of my own.” He clenched his fist between gear changes. For the first time Caroline noticed how big the man’s arms and fists were. His forearm looked like a leg of lamb straining under his jacket, his fist like half a ham. “RAF boxing champion,” he said. “Four years on the trot and left the service undefeated. I want a shot at the bastard behind this.”

  “Well do what I say. Because we have to play the long game. If the man is there, he is our only lead to our principal target.”

  “Is this to do with the warhead?”

  “Yes. You know?”

  “It’s public knowledge, well, within Five that it, as of late this afternoon. The police are being cautious. Scotland Yard are handling that aspect, a percentage of each force is looking for this Zukatsy fellow.”

  “Zukovsky.”

  “Right.” Frank swerved again, this time around a bus. “And this attack is to do with these Russians?”

  “I’d bet my life on it.”

  “So what does this man at the hotel look like?”

  “Six-two, slim. But wiry, fit. Very black hair, slicked with gel. Or maybe just greasy. Hooked nose, sharp eyes. Two day’s black stubble.”

  “Typically Slavic, a Rusky?”

  “Just needs one of those fur hats and a bottle of vodka.”

  They pulled up to the entrance of the Holiday Inn and Frank mounted the curb. Caroline was out and making her way into reception while the engine was still running. Frank switched off, locked up and followed her in. Caroline was already showing a receptionist her ID and had the computer monitor angled around while the receptionist searched. The manager came out and asked if she could help. Caroline and the manager talked animatedly. Frank stood discreetly nearby, his eyes all over the foyer.

  “And the CCTV?”

  “Maybe you should come round to the office?” The manager suggested.

  Caroline turned to Frank and waved him over. “The bastard’s still here! He hasn’t checked out yet, but has ordered a car for tomorrow.”

  “A taxi?”

  “No. A hire car, to be delivered here at eight o’clock.”

  “And he’s definitely still here?”

  The manager interrupted as she looked up from the CCTV monitor. “He’s a strange one. He’s stipulated no room cleans, make-ups or anything else. He has highly sensitive work spread all over the place and wants no interruptions. His car is ordered from Hertz in the morning. Concierge service, delivered to the door. Look, this is him returning this afternoon.”

&nbs
p; Caroline watched the man at the reception. It was Droznedov. He looked flustered. She looked at the time. Seventeen-thirty-five. Forty minutes after the attack on Thames House.

  The manager looked at the screen of the hotel booking platform. She typed into the CCTV keyboard. “That’s him at the desk when he ordered a taxi. She looked at the notes on the platform and typed again on the CCTV keyboard. That’s him at the bar last night,” she paused, typing again. “And that’s him checking in, oh wait…” She frowned, looking at the screen. He checked in, so it should be… Sorry, it’s not him.”

  Caroline looked at the man checking in. Jet black hair cropped short. Wide shoulders, average height. It definitely wasn’t Droznedov. Nowhere near tall enough. “Who the hell is that?” She watched the man sign the form at the desk, put his card back in his wallet and put his wallet back into his pocket before turning and walking away with his travel bag.

  “Hold it!” Frank said urgently. “Rewind!” The manger did so and the man walked backwards to the desk. “There!”

  Caroline frowned. “What?”

  Frank pointed to the man behind. He was checking his smartphone. “That’s him. Blonde hair, but that’s him. Same gait as the bloke ordering the taxi and at the bar.”

  “Play it again,” Caroline said sharply. She studied the man, all two seconds of screen time. “Jesus, I think you’re right!”

  “Shall I call the police?” The manager asked.

  “Good God no! Don’t say a word to anybody. In fact, I’d like you to go off shift right now. I don’t want you to chance seeing him and him seeing your reaction.” She looked at the screen again, watched the footage and studied the man she knew as Droznedov, but without the extremely dark hair. “So if that’s the real Major Uri Droznedov checking in; who the hell is this guy?”

  63

  Max Clenton waited on the starboard deck, he smoked and watched the shoreline. The boat rose and fell with the swell, but was anchored securely. The tide was dropping and the prow of the boat faced the shore. He had seen the vehicle’s headlights more than ten minutes ago. They had cut a swathe of light across the shore break as the vehicle had turned off the road and into the carpark. The lights had gone out and the shore was in darkness once more.