The Milan Contract
Page 24
“Bloody hell, Harry.”
“You know the newspaper Conza had in his bag? The story was on page three. I’ve sent it to you in an email.”
Conza could hear excitement in Harry’s voice, but there was something else. He was nervous.
“Those numbers you gave me from Stolz’s wallet. Turns out they were software instructions for the Skyguard data link. Written in hexadecimal. Do you know hex?”
Conza didn’t.
“It’s a number system, like decimal but it runs up to fifteen instead of nine. It’s all in my email.”
“So Stolz was carrying secrets around with him?”
“Jimmy says not. They’re just numbers. Meaningless without a context. But I do think they were important. To cut a long story short, Jimmy did some poking around. Checked the data at work.”
“What did he find?”
“That’s the strange thing. He called me this morning, quite agitated. Said the numbers led him to discover something.”
“What?”
“He wouldn’t say. But I got the impression he was really concerned, scared even. I’ve known Jimmy for twenty years, and I’ve never known him to be frightened, but he was today.”
“That’s worrying, Harry.”
“I agree. I hope I haven’t dropped him in it. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, Raffy.”
“I don’t believe that, and nor do you. What’s he going to do about it?”
“He’s called an emergency meeting tomorrow with the Skyguard board of directors. He’s taken it pretty seriously.”
“Let’s hope whatever he found, isn’t as bad as he thinks. Sorry to drag you and Jimmy into all this, Harry.”
“I wasn’t dragged into anything, Raffy, I jumped. How’s it going over there anyway?”
“Don’t ask. But we found Stolz’s USB. We can’t access it though, it’s password-protected.”
“But at least it counts as progress.”
“Not really. We don’t have the password and the reminder just says ‘dog’ in German. We think Stolz had a dog called Fideccio, but it doesn’t help. The password needs to be ten characters long.”
Conza heard Chase murmuring to himself.
“Spell it for me.”
“F I D E C C I O.”
“Give me a minute, Raffy. I’ll call you straight back.”
Conza sat at his desk staring at the red question mark on the whiteboard. When the phone rang, he snatched at the receiver.
“Raffy, probably barking up the wrong tree, but Fideccio translates to ‘4 0 5 7 9 1 0 2 8 8’. That’s ten digits.”
“How?”
“Hex. Well almost. If ‘I’ is one and ‘O’ is zero. Don’t thank me, thank Jimmy, he put me onto it. Let me know how you get on.”
Conza thought he could hear the dull thud of his heart in his ear as he inserted the SEDS fob into his computer.
‘WARNING – ONLY TWO ATTEMPTS REMAINING.’
Slowly and carefully, he typed in the digits.
The pop-up disappeared as the computer’s hard drive whirred into life. A new window opened showing two icons: ‘Event Log 1307/Op/LAT/01’ and ‘Diary’.
Conza sat back, hands on head and offered a grateful blessing to an English barrister and his Skyguard friend. When he double-clicked on ‘Event Log’, a new window opened, which rapidly filled with rows of four-character groups. ‘There must be ten thousand,’ he thought in amazement. The word ‘event’ struck a chord, and he scrambled to find the notes of his conversation with Pisani in Skyguard’s Milan office. ‘Missile firing = event.’
Clicking on the ‘Diary’ icon brought up yet another window, in which appeared Lukas Stolz, sitting behind a desk, staring straight into the camera. Grey hair immaculately swept to one side, narrow jaw and cheeks etched in fine lines. Behind the thick-rimmed glasses, sad and tired eyes. ‘Bloody hell, he made a video.’ Conza pressed play. Stolz began talking, his voice deep and serious; in German. Conza tried to pick up the sense of what he was saying but couldn’t understand. However, every so often Stolz uttered something recognisable; ‘Leipzig’, ‘Berlin’, ‘Potsdam’, ‘Skyguard’, ‘Milan’.
Conza fast forwarded the film and when it restarted, he thought Stolz said, “Tilza”. He rewound the film and played it again. There was no doubt, Stolz had referred to the Latvian town.
Conza tried making notes but had to guess too often. He was about to press stop in frustration when Stolz, now looking angry, slammed his hand onto the desk.
“Backdoor,” he said, in the middle of a German tirade. Twice, he said it.
“Backdoor,” repeated Conza.
He thought of Chase, Jimmy and his emergency meeting at Skyguard. He jotted down the time Stolz uttered the phrase and opened Harry’s email. He read the story from The Times. It was entitled ‘Russians allege NATO missile firing’. He read it again.
“Shit,” he said, as he hit the print button.
Conza phoned Pisani who was clearly irritated by the policeman’s request.
“I’m at a family party, Lieutenant. Can’t this wait until Monday?”
They compromised and Pisani agreed to meet him at the Skyguard office in the morning. Conza checked his watch and called Harry Chase.
“Harry, you were right about the password. It worked.”
“That’s brilliant, Raffy. What have you found?”
“That’s why I am calling. I’m really sorry, but I need your help again. Feel free to tell me to bugger off. I really wouldn’t blame you. But you served in Germany for quite a while, didn’t you?”
“That’s right, at Wildenrath. I was there for six years, on and off.”
“I thought so. How’s your German?”
87
Sunday
‘The Manor House’, Hatchmere, Cheshire, England
Max Yahontov slid into position at five o’clock on Sunday morning and immediately knew his plan would have to change. The floodlights had already been switched off and other than the dim light cast by a lamp above the garage door, the house was shrouded in darkness.
He checked his watch and waited. For an hour he stared at the house, but the sentries didn’t appear. Nothing stirred and even the chill breeze relented.
He lay on top of the stable and tried to figure out what might have happened. Fanucci told him the target’s name was Salterton. A career criminal. A hard man. He’d known many hard men, but none of them had survived a bullet to the head. Maybe Salterton had run? Found somewhere safe to hide out. Did Salterton know he was coming? Maybe someone had warned him. It wasn’t likely, but possible. Maybe it was a trap?
He decided to move closer. If it were a trap, they would have to be very good to catch him unawares. He cocked the pistol and turned off the safety. With barely a sound, he slid off the roof and crept towards the high wall sitting as a black square against the grey morning sky. A bird flew low overhead in a flash of white, swooping to take its prey from the grassy shadows. Using a branch of the overhanging oak, he deftly pulled himself up and over the wall. A few seconds after he landed on the damp earth, a light in an upstairs window spilt a narrow, yellow band across the gravel. He froze. A minute later, the light went out.
He edged forwards, staying low and using the cover afforded by bushes and trees until he was at the edge of the wide sweeping lawn that encircled the house, drive and outbuildings. In the early morning light, the grass was grey and silver with damp. He calculated it would take him less than three seconds to cross the open ground. He took a deep breath and broke cover. ‘No turning back now,’ he thought. ‘If you’re here, come and get me.’
Reaching the rear wall of the garage, he pressed against the brickwork and stood still. No sound, no lights. After a couple of minutes he crept around to the window, which he’d seen being opened and closed by the soldiers. It was secured by a simple drop-catch, which he swiftly opened with his knife. He quickly and silently clambered into the shadows.
His torch revealed two empty
camp beds, a large crate, a table and three armchairs. The radio was switched off and cold to the touch. ‘They’ve left,’ he concluded in surprise.
The door leading to the kitchen was unlocked, and he made his way along the hallway to the foot of a wide, sweeping staircase that split at its mid-point, arcing in two directions up to the landing.
He switched off the torch and stowed it in his belt. The heavy drapes in the hallway held back the morning light and he was wrapped in darkness once again. With both hands holding the machine pistol, he slowly started to mount the stairs. As he neared the top flight, he halted. Slightly above him and to the right, he thought he saw a shadow sway, just a few inches, almost imperceptibly.
The light that suddenly filled the hallway startled him, just as he was bringing his gun to bear on the moving figure. Now, he could see that the swaying shape was a man’s head; a grey-haired man’s head. Yahontov found himself blinking and squinting down the barrel of a black, pump-action shotgun.
Their eyes met for an instant before the barrel exploded in a blue and orange flame. Maksim Yahontov’s chest felt the force of a thousand hammers propelling him upward and backwards against the wall.
He felt no pain even though his mouth was a fountain of warm salty liquid and his eyes were struggling to focus. But he could still make out the shape of his pistol balanced on the edge of the top stair. He knew instinctively that he was only a few seconds from death. He knew death.
And then, Salterton was standing over him, screaming and cursing and spitting. Max sensed the warmth of the gun’s muzzle on his cheek. Salterton saw him smile, and then felt the searing pain of the eight-inch blade slicing through his thigh and into his groin. The shotgun went off again and the right side of the Russian’s face disintegrated in a shower of blood, teeth and flesh. Max’s final conscious thought was that warm liquid was cascading over his fingers and down his arm.
He took his final breath three seconds later, but on what was left of his mouth, a smile persisted.
Maksim Yahontov had completed his mission.
88
Skyguard’s Regional Office, Milan, Italy
As Conza ambled past the shuttered shopfronts on Via Torino, he thought about Kadin and the man he’d been forced to kill. Even when Conza had discovered Lukas Stolz’s message, his inability to understand German had denied him the opportunity to comprehend what lay behind the contract. The frustration was overwhelming. He thought of Harry. He would be the first to know why Kadin had been forced to kill Lukas Stolz.
Instinctively, he knew the film was about to change everything. The case was about to reach a whole new level, and others would decide how the story would be concluded. And Conza knew, that in the fallout, Kurti may be allowed to walk away. The colonel would console him, of course. ‘Next time, Raffy. We’ll get him next time.’ The realisation was depressing.
◆◆◆
Lanfranco Pisani was waiting in reception when he arrived and despite Conza’s apologies, it was clear the manager was going to sulk.
“Mr Pisani, I need your help. When we met before, you told me this office is responsible for the analysis of all Skyguard missile firings; events. Did I understand you correctly?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Can you please check your records and tell me if you analysed an event that occurred on the thirteenth of July last year?”
“Lieutenant Conza, this is a very sensitive area, and I must insist on receiving Ministry instructions in terms of what I can and cannot discuss with you. I’m sorry, but I’m bound by the law in this respect.”
“I understand, and I’m sorry if my request places you in a difficult position, but I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t vital to my investigation into the murder of your colleague.”
“I’m not in a difficult position, Lieutenant. You are. Either come back with a duly issued warrant or speak to my superior tomorrow morning. I cannot and will not be compromised like this.”
Conza had no choice. He only had one card to play.
“Mr Pisani, please look at this.”
He handed over a printed copy of the event log. Pisani’s eyes widened and he stuttered an expletive.
“Where the hell did you get this? It’s highly classified. This is crazy.”
“Stolz had it on his SEDS. I need to know when this event occurred. I promise you everything will be handed over to the proper authorities as soon as I’ve finished here. But I need to know when this event happened.”
Pisani was in turmoil, but seeing Conza’s expression, he turned away in disgust and logged on to his computer. He tapped at the keyboard and squinted at the screen.
“Lieutenant, this event did not occur, the log is a fake. No missile firings have ever been associated with this log number.”
Conza looked at him and thought for a moment.
“OK, I accept it’s a fake, but can you tell me the time and date it says the event took place?”
“It’s here in the second line of data.”
Pisani picked up a calculator and started tapping.
“08:40:14 GMT, thirteenth of July last year.”
“Were there any events recorded around that time?”
“No. There were no missile firings within two months of that date.”
“Did Lukas Stolz visit this office on or after that date?”
“Around the thirteenth of July?” asked Pisani scrolling through another spreadsheet.
“No, he couldn’t have. The office was closed for two days. We had a computer virus on the thirteenth. We were ordered to shut down and vacate the office. A technical team came in to clear it. Skyguard are utterly paranoid about viruses.”
“When were you given the instruction to vacate – exactly?”
“We were told to leave immediately. I cannot tell you when that happened, exactly. But I do know I was the last one out of the office at 10:22.”
“Taking into account time differences, that’s just one hour after the event,” Conza said to himself.
“OK Mr Pisani, you have been extremely helpful, and I’m sorry that this has been so stressful. One final question. Who issued the order for you to vacate the office?”
“That I don’t mind telling you, Lieutenant. It was Professor Stolz. I insisted the order was sent to me in writing. One has to be so careful in this line of work.”
89
Hotel Napoli, Milan, Italy
While Conza was walking back to the office, the magnitude of what he’d discovered started to sink in. By the time he passed the statue of Vittorio Emanuele II, his initial rush of excitement had been replaced by dread.
This wasn’t police business. It was espionage, sabotage, spying, maybe even treason. He’d entered a world he knew almost nothing about. He suddenly felt childish, naïve, and ignorant. Babcock had talked about the effects on the British economy for Christ’s sake. This wasn’t a mob shooting of some hoodlum, with a smoking gun and a corpse in an alley. There were international repercussions to what he knew, and he didn’t know everything. He wasn’t sure he should be trying to find out the rest.
His mobile rang.
“Lieutenant Conza?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“Meet me in an hour, Hotel Napoli.”
The phone went dead. Something was very wrong. He walked up to the piazza on Via Cordusio and took a taxi.
The hotel bar wasn’t yet open so Conza asked for a coffee at reception and took a table at the rear of the large lounge, from where he could view the street. His coffee cup was cold long before they were due to meet.
The colonel wasn’t in uniform and when he waved through the window, Conza noticed that there was stubble on his chin, and he looked tired. There was concern in his eyes and his cheeks were pale and stretched. He sat down wearily and Conza waited.
“It’s over, Raffy. I was suspended this morning. I’m not allowed back in the office and have to fly to Rome this evening.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“They found out about the meeting in Berlin. I seem to have annoyed some powerful people.”
“The meeting with the BND? Why?”
“I have been accused of acting outside my authority, and let’s face it, I was.”
“But you were just following up my investigation. Doing your job.”
“They’re not that naïve, Raffy, and nor are you. In any case, I can’t approach the intelligence agents of a foreign power without permission. I knew it wouldn’t be granted, which is why I didn’t ask.”
“What will happen to you?”
“I think much of that will depend on where this case takes us, how many feathers I’ve ruffled. But you’ll be OK, I’ve made it clear you were acting on my orders.”
“I’m not worried about me, Colonel.”
“You should be worried, Raffy. I had no right to expose you to such a risk. I was foolish and I’m sorry. But if it ends here, today, I think they’ll leave you alone.”
“I’m a grown-up, Colonel. I wasn’t dragged to Berlin kicking and screaming. But this isn’t about you breaking protocol, is it? This is about the powerful people Ralf mentioned, protecting themselves.”
“Almost certainly. And I made the mistake of underestimating their reach.”
Conza looked out of the window.
“Things have happened that you don’t know about. I was going to hand everything over to you this afternoon.”
The colonel sat up.
“I’ve got a lot to tell you, but you need a coffee and so do I.”
Conza went to reception. When he returned, the colonel had shifted along the bench and was peering through the window.
“That’s where Stolz was shot, I take it?”
Conza laid the event log on the table.
“It is. And I know why. Well at least, I think I do. I’m waiting for a friend to get back to me.”