Matthew Dunn - Slingshot

Roger told him that he’d introduced himself to the hotel’s head of security, gave him false but verifiable credentials, said that he was responsible for the security of one of his guests, and that the identity of that VIP had to remain confidential, even from hotel staff. He’d further advised the hotel manager that there was no direct threat to the client, that Roger and three of his employees would be taking turns keeping an eye on the place, that they were unarmed, and that they would be grateful for the hotel’s cooperation in allowing them to sit in the lobby and other parts of the hotel, day or night. After checking Roger’s identity, the head of security had agreed.

Will nodded. “Diplomatic boxes?”

“They’re at Auguststrasse, arrived yesterday.”

Boxes that were sent from London and contained guns, ammunition, cash, alias passports and bank cards, tactical binoculars, night-vision scopes, and military communications equipment.

Will hoped that most of the equipment would remain unused. “Alina told me that she was visited by an SVR man. Based on her description of him and the circumstances of his visit, I’m convinced it was the big guy I spotted in Gdansk. He gave her the name Mikhail. No surname. It will be an alias, but give the name to Suzy so that she can do some digging.”

“That’s a hell of a dig.”

“It is, but I’ve seen her do more with less in the past.” Will lowered his head and was silent.

“Something’s on your mind.”

Will didn’t respond.

“I reckon your lady did give you something of substance, something that’s troubling you.”

Will raised his head. “I’ve got a problem.”

Roger smiled. “You always do.” His smile vanished. “Tell me.”

Will studied the former DEVGRU SEAL. He completely trusted Roger and yet he was still unsure whether to tell him about the note because he knew what Roger would say if Will told him what he was planning. “You’ve got your work cut out on the Russian team. Focus on that.”

“You’re not going to fob me off that easily, Cochrane.”

Will sighed, hesitated, then said, “Someone knows my name and address and has given that to Alina, who in turn has relayed it to Yevtushenko.”

“What!”

Will told him everything he knew.

“That’s a massive breach of security. Alistair and Patrick need to get on it right away. They’ll task Peter-he’ll find the bastard who leaked this.”

Will shook his head. “I’m not going to do that.”

Roger’s expression turned to one of exasperation. “Why, oh why, doesn’t that surprise me? You need . .”

Will held up a hand. “The note used the word ‘we’ ten times, ‘our’ twice, and ‘us’ once. It could have been done deliberately to hide the hand of one man, but I don’t think so. Whoever wrote the note is not in direct contact with Yevtushenko, but they wanted him to know exactly who they were. Plus, they didn’t expect the note to be read by anyone other than Alina. I’m certain we’re dealing with a team, and that the team is wholly independent of the men who have Lenka or the Russians. The other thing that leapt out at me was the reference to their business dealings with Yevtushenko and the fact they misled him as to their true identities. What does that say to you?”

Roger answered immediately, “Business cover operation.”

“Precisely.”

“There are other possibilities.”

“There are.” Will had thought of fourteen other possible explanations for the reference. “But none of them are as convincing.”

“Hostile intelligence agency trying to string a Russian SVR officer along by pretending to be a company?”

“It’s the most likely hypothesis at present.”

When he spoke, Roger’s tone was solemn. “You need a witch hunt. Find out who leaked your name and we’ll know which intelligence agency we’re dealing with.”

Will shook his head. “What’s the most vulnerable time in a witch hunt?”

Roger considered the question. “When the number of suspects falls to a handful of people. At that point, the investigation may be visible to the culprit and he or she may bolt.”

Will agreed. “Our problem is that the number of suspects is already small. The culprit knows that and yet has still leaked the information. I think he’s covered his tracks and betrayed me knowing that if I became aware of the leak, he’d find out very quickly. Going after the man or woman who did this is too risky. Yevtushenko remains the key. If I can find him, I stand a chance of finding out who’s got him, the location and significance of the paper, and who’s trying to get the men he’s with to take me out of the equation.”

“Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.”

“I’m going to disappoint you.”

“Then I’m going to come with you.”

“No, you’re not. I’m dealing with multiple assumptions and intangibles, but you’ve got four very tangible men holed up in the Grand Hyatt who remain our best hope of leading us to the paper. I can’t afford for you to have your eye off the ball for even a moment.”

When Roger spoke, his voice was measured, but tense. “Springing a trap sounds all good in principle. But you of all people know that it rarely works out that way. Don’t go back to London.”

Not far now, sir.” The London cabbie drove his vehicle onto Vauxhall Bridge. “Was it a long flight?”

From the rear passenger seat, Will answered, “Not too long.” He looked along the Thames. It was evening, and the walkways on either side of the river were tastefully illuminated by old-fashioned streetlamps. On the north side of the river, lights within Thames House, a landmark building that was the headquarters of Britain’s Security Service, otherwise known as MI5, were beginning to go out as employees were packing up for the day. Beyond the building, the Houses of Parliament were bathed in the golden glow of carefully positioned halogen lamps. He looked ahead. On the south side of the river, adjacent to the end of the bridge, was the headquarters of the Secret Intelligence Service, popularly known as MI6. Despite being prominent, imposing, and palatial in design, it had always amused Will that the MI6 HQ had been positioned at arm’s length from London’s political district. It also amused him that he’d only been allowed into the building twice-as a new recruit before he’d been selected for the Spartan Program, and years later when he’d been guided to a secure part of the building by men after they’d placed a hood and shackles onto him.

The cabbie increased the speed of his windshield wipers. “Still, bet you can’t wait to get home though. Long flights, short flights, it’s still bloody travel, ain’t it? And those blinkin’ queues at the airport. . drives you crazy, don’t it?” He reached the end of the bridge, drove alongside MI6, and pointed at the building. “I blame those boys. Seven P.M. and the place is all shut up. They should be out catching Al Qaeda and the Taliban and all of the other nutters who’ve made it impossible to take a bottle of aftershave through airport customs. But no, looks like the spooks have gone home for the night.” He drove south. “Just a minute or so now. Business in Europe, was it, sir?”

Will yawned. “Yes, Germany. My company’s setting up a new factory there. I had to go to sign off the paperwork.”

“Long way to go just to give a few signatures.”

“True.”

The cabbie chuckled. “You know, in my business I have to put up with all sorts of crap-yobs, drunks, tight-arse tourists, City boys who talk to me like I’m some lowlife. But it ain’t all bad. I reckon the best part of the job is getting travelers like you”-he pulled into West Square and stopped adjacent to Will’s house-“home safe.”