Matthew Dunn - Slingshot

Will said, “We need to understand Interpol’s interest in Schreiber.”

“It’s being followed up.”

Will nodded. “What else have you got, Suzy?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then she shut her cell phone, rubbed her tummy, and said, “Simon Rubner. Mossad intelligence officer. And for the last six months he’s also been a CIA agent.”

Will and Peter simultaneously exclaimed, “CIA!”

Suzy nodded.

Will’s mind raced. “Give me the details. Everything .”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have the security clearance to read anything about Rubner.”

Impatience surged through Will. “Patrick can get that clearance!”

Suzy was unflustered. “It was Patrick on the end of the phone. He tried to get clearance, but was then hauled into the Director of Intelligence’s office and told to mind his own business. In fact, the director used far stronger language than that.”

“Then Patrick needs to go over his head and speak to the president!”

Peter shook his head. “Come on, Will. It’s a delicate time for us. Patrick and Alistair won’t want to risk a fight at that level. The section could lose, or worse could happen.”

Will banged a fist against the wall, recalling what Alistair had told him in London.

Things are changing. There are cries for transparency from the intelligence community, demands to do away with so-called shadowy task forces and the like. This is not just about you. If we get this wrong, some might grab this as an opportunity to shut us down.

Will asked Suzy, “Any reference to Mikhail in the double agent files?”

“I’m still searching. Nothing yet.”

Roger entered the room, checking the workings of his handgun. “Have I missed something?”

“Not a thing. We’ve hit a fucking roadblock!” Peter walked up to Will and asked in a near whisper, “Did you get these names at Yevtushenko’s house? How are they connected?”

“I found them among other stuff in Yevtushenko’s basement. I’ve got no idea if they’re connected and, given the delicacy of our situation, we’ll never find out.” Will looked at Roger and Mark. “Our only chance now is to follow the Russian team to the target.”

He tried to understand what had happened in the valley. The surveillance team should have killed him; instead it seemed that they were trying to drive him back toward the police so that he could be arrested or killed by them. That was the only reason he got out of there alive. One thing he was certain about was that knowledge of his intended break-in of Yevtushenko’s house was limited to the section, its coheads, and a handful of other senior officers in Langley and London. One of them had betrayed him, and that person had to be the same individual who’d leaked his name and address.

He wondered if that person was in the room with him.

Kurt Schreiber was sitting at his desk in the farmstead’s study. In front of him were ledgers containing the accounts of his multiple companies, six files that he’d drawn up for potential new business associates, a folder containing a draft business plan to derail a major oil conglomerate’s bid to establish drilling rights in the South Pacific and to then charge the conglomerate a small fortune to get the bid back on track, a list of men and women who needed to be killed, and a file that had the letter K on the front. That file had nothing in it-committing anything to paper would be far too dangerous-but he kept it in front of him to focus his mind. After all, none of his other projects were as significant as activating Kronos.

Simon Rubner entered the room and sat down opposite him. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Schreiber.”

Kurt placed the cap over the nib of Will Cochrane’s gold fountain pen and put it on top of the list of people he wanted dead. “What is the situation on our perimeter?”

“We think there’s about fifteen of them on at any one time. At least double that number in total. All are armed, they’ve got sophisticated surveillance equipment, fast vehicles, and they look professional. They don’t seem concerned that we know they’ve surrounded our place.”

The old man waived a hand dismissively. “They want us to know they’re watching us.” He removed his glasses and polished the lenses. “Yevtushenko?”

Rubner ran fingers through his short beard. “We’re trying to force food and water down his throat. It’s not easy. His health’s deteriorating; he’s petrified.”

The former Stasi officer smiled. “Of course he is.” He became motionless, deep in thought. “Are matters progressing in Russia and the United Kingdom?”

Rubner nodded. “Cochrane’s sister and her two guardians have moved location. We’re watching them.”

“The guardians?”

“A husband-and-wife team: Alfie and Betty Mayne.”

“Their backgrounds?”

“Both ex-army, though they’ve been out for a very long time. God knows, Cochrane could have chosen better foot soldiers.”

“They’re not foot soldiers and that is precisely why he chose them. He trusts them more than anyone else to protect his sister. And that means they are very valuable to him.”

“Do you want us to kill the target?”

Kurt thought for a moment. “Not yet. We don’t know if Cochrane’s still after us, so his loved one can still be used as leverage.” His expression turned cold. “What about the SVR officer?”

Simon Rubner spoke quickly. “Mikhail Salkov’s wife and children have been located and approached. We’ve explained to the wife the seriousness of her family’s predicament. That happened twenty hours ago. Almost certainly she’s communicated the approach to her husband.”

“Of course she has.” Kurt Schreiber glanced toward his study’s window. “He’s still out there?”

“On and off. But he always keeps men on the perimeter.” Rubner walked to the window, looked out of it, and folded his arms. “The wife and children have moved locations. We’ve kept them under observation. What do you want us to do?”

“The tactic against Mikhail didn’t work. Kill his family.”

“Yes sir.”

Kurt asked, “Is everyone ready?”

“Your men here and beyond the perimeter are primed. Mikhail’s men will be taken completely by surprise.”

“What time?”

“Three A.M.”

“No survivors.”

“Yes, Mr. Schreiber. I estimate that the convoy will be leaving here a few minutes later.”

Kurt picked up the two sheets of paper containing the codes. “Good. Don’t let me down, Simon.”

Kurt placed the sheets alongside each other.

“What do you want us to do with Yevtushenko?”

“You’re still keeping him in shackles?”

“He’s chained up in the basement. But even if he wasn’t, I think he’d be too weak to escape.”

Kurt looked around. “This place has served us well, but after tonight it will be compromised. We’ll change our base of operations to one of the other German locations.” He smiled. “You’ll kill our unwanted guards; we’ll depart in convoy; Mikhail’s reinforcements will arrive sometime thereafter, but by then we’ll be long gone; they’ll search the farmstead and they’ll find Yevtushenko.”

“Alive or dead?”

“Alive. But I wonder what the Russians will do to him, given that his theft of the paper has ultimately led to the massacre of their colleagues?”

Rubner felt a moment of unease. Though he was no stranger to death and violent acts, he took no pleasure in them. Kurt was very different. The former Stasi officer reveled in seeing others suffer. “They’ll tear him apart.”

“Precisely.” Kurt looked sharply at the former Mossad officer. “All that matters is that you get me safely to the Black Forest tomorrow. In forty-eight hours, Kronos will be let loose. Then everything will be different.”