Matthew Dunn - Slingshot

One of the doors opened, and a field operative whose work focused on the Russian target emerged.

Tibor’s smile broadened as he walked toward the man. “ Dobry den, Tim.”

Tim frowned. He did not know who Tibor was, but reciprocated, “Good afternoon.”

“If I were you, I’d come clean about the twenty thousand.”

Tim’s face paled.

Tibor chuckled as he walked past the man. Tim was unaware that CIA senior management knew that he’d stolen twenty thousand dollars that he was supposed to have paid to a Hungarian access agent, and had decided to give him two weeks to come forward and confess. If he did so and returned the money, they would accept his resignation and his pension rights would be protected. If not, they’d cut off his balls.

Tibor turned into a corridor belonging to the Office of Middle East and North Africa Analysis. Three men were standing outside a room, talking in hushed tones. One of them was Ed Baker, the head of the office.

Ed growled at Tibor, “ As-salamu ’alaykum, Tibor.”

Tibor beamed. “ Wa ‘alaykumu s-salamu wa rahmatu l-lahi wa barakatuh . Still grubbing around in the desert looking for crazies?”

Ed made no effort to hide his hostility. “I hope your star wanes someday soon.”

As Tibor skipped past the senior officer, he replied, “If it does and wanes low enough, I’ll apply for your job.”

“Fuck you.”

The insult heightened Tibor’s good mood. He walked down more corridors until he reached the meeting room. After checking that his tie’s knot hadn’t slipped, he made three rapid knocks on the door and entered. Marcus, Damien, and Lawrence were seated at a table, looking at him. He shut the door, decided not to sit, and instead leaned against a wall and studied his Flintlock colleagues. “I’ve got some news.”

“Of course you have.”

“We wouldn’t be here, otherwise.”

“Though we’re hoping the news is good.”

Tibor considered how to respond. “It’s bad news that could be transformed into excellent news.”

Lawrence asked, “Yevtushenko related?”

Tibor nodded. “We’ve had a call from the golden source.”

Marcus looked affronted, given that he was the prime point of contact with the agent. “Why did the source call you?”

Tibor waved his hand with a flourish. “Because I’m the good-looking one. Maybe the source has the hots for me.”

Damien huffed. “Given the source’s current family situation, I hardly think that’s the case.”

Tibor pretended to look hurt. “Really?”

Marcus shook his head. “When the call came in, you should have found me.”

“Bit difficult given you were on a 747 this morning, flying back from that silly thing you’re doing in Singapore.”

“It’s not silly . If my operation works, I’ll get three governments to turn on each other and will change the landscape of Asia.”

Lawrence was becoming impatient. “Any of us can take a call from the source. What’s the news?”

Tibor looked at them, one by one. “Tomorrow, Mr. Will Cochrane is going to fly to Russia and attempt to break into Yevtushenko’s home.”

After a moment’s silence, Damien asked, “You think he’ll find something there that will tell him who’s got Yevtushenko?”

“I don’t think so. Whoever’s clever enough to manipulate the Polish exfiltration route should also be astute enough to have briefed Yevtushenko not to leave anything behind that could lead men to him.”

“Then, providing Yevtushenko remains off the radar, there is no bad news .”

Marcus drummed his fingers on the table while staring at Tibor. “I guess that’s not the issue, is it Tibor.”

“Nope.”

Marcus turned to his colleagues. “ We never had the chance to brief Yevtushenko to cleanse his place of any evidence that he’d had contact with us. And my God, Yevtushenko’s tradecraft’s so poor that he would have needed that briefing.”

Lawrence’s mind was racing. “The FSB or SVR would have searched his home; maybe there’s nothing to find or they took anything remotely interesting.”

“Maybe, providing they knew what was interesting .”

More silence.

Damien suggested, “We could send Miss Petrova another note saying that Cochrane’s heading over to Yevtushenko’s home. That should prompt the private boys to get him there.”

Tibor shook his head. “The source says she’s now cooperating with British Intelligence.”

“Shit! That means he’s seen our note to her.”

“He has, and though he’s got no knowledge of us he’s smelled the whiff of our business cover operation against Yevtushenko.”

Lawrence said angrily, “We can’t allow Cochrane to get anywhere near us.”

Tibor smiled. “Of course not.”

With deliberation, Marcus asked, “So how can we turn this impending disaster into excellent news?”

Tibor folded his arms. “I’ve got an idea.”

His colleagues were motionless.

“Yevtushenko’s property is almost certainly going to have some kind of police presence, but I reckon it’s going to be minimal. . couple of cops, not much more. And they’ll be there just to make sure the house isn’t contaminated after the security services searched it when Yevtushenko disappeared.”

“Cochrane will easily get past them.”

Tibor held up his hand. “Thankfully, he will.” He pointed at Marcus. “Have you still got Valerii and his men on your payroll?”

Marcus nodded.

“Good. So, I’m thinking you put a few of them around Yevtushenko’s property-at distance and with long-range scopes, but in positions that ensure they’ve got every inch of the property’s exterior covered.”

“A hit? That could lead back to us.”

“Let’s make it a bit more subtle. Valerii spots Cochrane enter the property and then immediately makes an anonymous call to the cops saying he’s a concerned passerby who’s seen an armed man smash into the house.”

Lawrence smiled, “Armed man? That’s good. Suggests he’s not a petty criminal who can be dealt with by the cops guarding the place. Instead, and given the significance of the property, it suggests he’s an IO. The cops will take that break-in very seriously.”

“And will immediately deploy in numbers to grab him.”

“Though Cochrane will resist capture.”

“And as a result, there will be a fight.” Tibor drummed his hands against the wall. “We do need to be subtle, but we can’t allow Cochrane to escape. If he gets out of range of the cops, he’ll run into Valerii’s ring of steel. And they’ll use Russian police sidearms to gun him down.”

At 1330 hours the following day, Will was walking through the arrivals section of Moscow’s Domodedovo Airport. Dressed in a business suit and overcoat, he’d entered Russia using a passport that was in the name of Christopher Jones and contained a multi-entry visa for business trips into the country. In his wallet and attache case he had documentation to support his identity, including bank and business cards, a smart phone and laptop crammed with data showing he was a self-employed headhunter specializing in sourcing executives for the oil and gas industry, and a legitimate letter from a Moscow-based office-leasing agency saying that his meeting with them was confirmed for 3:30 P.M. this afternoon and that they’d be delighted if he decided to set up a subsidiary branch of his business in their premises.

Aside from his passport, so far none of this documentation had been needed, as he was not questioned by the airport’s immigration or customs officers.

He moved to the Avis desk, gave his car reservation details to a female employee, and was supplied keys and instructions to locate his prebooked E-class Mercedes sedan. Ninety minutes later, he was heading northwest out of the center of Moscow. As he did so, he recalled that the last time he was in the city, he, Roger, Laith, and three Russian assets had been chasing an extremely dangerous man, culminating in the hostile escaping and most of the team being captured and tortured by soldiers. Then, Russia had been on the brink of war with the United States. Now the city looked busy, yet normal and peaceful.