Matthew Dunn - Slingshot

“All in their thirties.”

“Have the traces been done?”

“Yes. We can’t find anything on them.”

“Nothing?”

Suzy shook her head. “We could put their names out to some of our Russian sources, see what they say.”

“No. We don’t have the time to do that-plus, if they’re the team, we’ve got to say nothing to anyone about them. Anything else in the German report?”

Suzy rubbed her temples, clearly trying to mentally wade through the vast amount of data she’d read yesterday. “Something that stood out. . but not anything that would prick up our ears. .” She paused. “Yes, one of the men went through customs with goods to declare. He’s epileptic and has a license to carry Clonazepam.”

“Epileptic?”

“The paperwork all checked out and the dosage he was carrying was correct for the duration of his stay in Germany. There was nothing else in the report.”

“Has any reply been supplied to the BfV?”

“Not yet. The request was marked Routine.”

“Okay. Make sure we tell the Germans that we’ve got nothing on the men and don’t believe them to be suspicious.” He looked at Alistair and Patrick. “I could be wrong, but there are too many coincidences here. A four-man Russian group enters Europe so quickly after the Gdansk incident, most likely military backgrounds given their alleged employer, no obvious intention of doing business, no history to their identities. Plus they’re the right age to be experienced operators.”

Patrick said, “Possibly, but one of them needs his pills to stop him from going into a seizure. Doesn’t sound like an operative to me.”

Will shook his head. “The Clonazepam can be taken in higher doses to sedate. It’s possible the team’s brought it into Germany to drug Yevtushenko after they capture him. They must have a different route out of the country and they’re going to use that route to get Yevtushenko back into Russia while he’s unconscious.” He looked at Roger. “You, Laith, Mark, and Adam need to be all over those men.” He turned to face Patrick and Alistair. “If I’m right, the Russian men are SVR. They’ve been deployed to Germany under business cover to link up with and support the big Russian who survived the Gdansk fight. The Russians know considerably more about the paper and possibly where it’s gone than we do. If we stick to them, we’ll be close to the paper. Meanwhile, I need to work this from the other end of the spectrum, and that means understanding Yevtushenko’s role in the theft of the paper. Miss Belarus might be able to help me with that. If I can get her to talk, I might be on a path to establishing the identity of Yevtushenko’s master.” He smiled. “That gives us two starting points to this operation.”

Will stood at the end of the long residential street and analyzed everything on it. A few people were on foot, walking as quickly as they could through the thick snow, all of them dressed in thick overcoats and hats. Stationary vehicles, caked in ice and snow, lined the street. Adjacent to them were streetlamps that were starting to come on as dusk descended on the Belarusian capital of Minsk. The 1980s Soviet-designed buildings that straddled the road looked functional and drab, a combination of row houses and apartment blocks. One of them would contain the woman.

He waited, his hands deep inside the pockets of his stylish overcoat, his leather shoes offering little protection from the cold ground. The pedestrians kept moving, some coming toward him, others going in the opposite direction. None of them looked suspicious. They had the appearance and postures of people who just wanted to get to the shelter of their homes before nightfall. Turning his attention to the vehicles, he methodically moved his gaze from one to the next. Those nearest to him were certainly unoccupied and in darkness, but the street was over three hundred yards long and he couldn’t be certain that at least one of the cars farther down the road wasn’t occupied by a local security service or Russian SVR surveillance team.

He wished he could have dressed in attire that matched the few poorly paid workers who were heading home. That way he could have walked the full length of the street and made an assessment as to whether the woman’s house was being watched. But the suit he was wearing was necessary for what he needed to achieve. He needed her to know who he really was.

He glanced at the building opposite hers. It was in darkness. He wondered if the people who owned the place were still at work, were perhaps out for dinner, or whether the place was instead occupied by men and women with binoculars, military communications systems, and night-vision equipment. If he’d had Roger’s team and more time, he could have ensured that a full reconnaissance was made of the area around him. Having the luxury of neither, he was going to have to take a risk.

He moved forward, his hands in his pockets, his head still, his eyes flickering left and right to look for sudden movement. After seventy yards, he stopped at an apartment block, made no attempt to look around, and quickly pressed one of the buzzers adjacent to the door. A woman’s voice spoke in the intercom. Will said in Russian, the second language of Belarus, “I need to speak to Miss Alina Petrova.”

The woman hesitated before answering in the same tongue, “ Da, that’s me.”

“Can you let me in? This is official business.”

The intercom was silent for ten seconds. Then, “What business?”

“Business that concerns you. Please, let me in.”

“Are you police?”

“No.”

“A government man?”

“No.”

“Then there is no official business to be conducted.”

Will stamped his feet and silently cursed. “This matter concerns someone you know. He’s done something stupid and is in trouble. You might be able to help him. But I can’t talk to you over the intercom.”

He didn’t know what else to say, couldn’t stay out here for more than a few seconds longer, and decided that if she didn’t let him in he’d have to come back in the morning and approach her as she was going to work.

But the door buzzed and its lock was released.

He entered the building, allowing the door to swing shut behind him and automatically relock. Ahead of him was a flight of stairs and adjacent to it a graffiti-covered, dilapidated elevator. Taking the stairs, he walked quickly up six flights to Alina’s apartment. He knocked on the door, heard a bolt being snapped open, and watched the entrance open a few inches until a security chain went taught. A young, dark-haired woman was partially visible in the crack between the door and its frame.

“Alina?”

She stared at him, her expression suspicious. “Who are you?”

“Someone who’s here to help.”

“You could be here to hurt me.”

Will shook his head. “If that were true, the door would be off its hinges by now.”

Her suspicion remained. “Can I see your ID?”

“I don’t have any that’s relevant to this meeting.”

Alina looked taken aback. “And yet you seriously expect me to let you in?”

“I’m here about Yevtushenko.”

“Who?”

“Oh, come on Miss. Petrova. You were his lover, maybe still are.”

“It’s not illegal to love someone.”

“Legalities don’t matter to me. I need to know if he’s been in touch with you during the last few days.”

From somewhere within the apartment, a baby started crying. Alina glanced over her shoulder, looked back at Will, and seemed uncertain what to do.

Will repeated, “I’m not here to hurt you.”

The baby’s crying grew louder.

“Nor am I here to give you any trouble. I just want to talk. Then I’ll go.”