Matthew Dunn - Slingshot

Three men were in the speeding vehicle. As Will slammed the door shut, one of them said in an American accent, “Get your head down.”

Will did as he was told, lying sideways so that he was not visible to anyone outside of the SUV.

The man in the front passenger seat said, “First turning on the left, thirty yards.”

“Got it.” The driver changed gears.

The man next to Will looked at him. “Ninety percent certain we weren’t followed. But we’re going to have to take a fairly complex antisurveillance route back to the embassy. The Israelis are superb at this stuff, so we can’t afford to take any risks. Just keep out of sight. Okay?”

Will nodded. He didn’t know if the Americans were paramilitary operatives, intelligence officers, or Special Forces. But he did know that they were under CIA orders to get him into the U.S. embassy in Tel Aviv without him being seen by the Israeli security services.

The CIA Head of Tel Aviv Station closed the thick steel door to the embassy’s safe room, locked the handle in place, and sat opposite Will and Patrick. Middle-aged, chubby, wearing an ill-fitting brown suit and circular spectacles, and with a grin on his face, Geoffrey Pepper looked more like an accountant than a senior intelligence operative. He said in a southern accent, “All that effort just to get you into a soundproof room.”

The place rather more resembled a small cell. It contained three chairs and a small table with two secure telephone units.

Patrick had been picked up on the outskirts of the northern city of Haifa and had arrived at the embassy thirty minutes before Will. He wouldn’t have liked the journey-he’d been out of the field too long and these days was more used to being driven in limousines-though he would have far more hated the idea of being covertly photographed by the Israelis if he’d turned up at the embassy by more luxurious means.

Geoffrey fixed his attention on Will. “Who are you?”

Patrick held up a hand. “He works for me. That should be all you need to know.”

“Should be, but I’m kinda the inquisitive type.”

Patrick was about to respond, but Will interrupted. “I’m an MI6 officer.”

His grin still in place, Geoffrey said, “MI6? Oh dear. If I’d known, I’d have told my Station to burn all our files and hide the family jewelry before you got here.” He turned to Patrick. “What do you want?”

Patrick shrugged. “I’ve got no idea.”

For a brief moment Geoffrey’s smile vanished, then it returned. “You have every right to be here. .”

“Damn right.”

“Though it would be a discourtesy to waste my time.” Geoffrey looked at Will. “Presumably MI6 has an idea as to what you want.”

“No. MI6 doesn’t know I’m here, let alone why.”

“Oh, this just gets better and better, doesn’t it, gentlemen?” Geoffrey’s eyes flickered. “So, shall I conclude this is all very off the record ?”

“If you like.” Will wondered how the head of station was going to react to what he was about to say. “We’re here to talk about the CIA asset Simon Rubner.”

Geoffrey was motionless, silent.

“Given that he’s a Mossad officer, I’m certain your station would be a customer for Rubner’s intelligence.”

Geoffrey said nothing.

“Rubner’s name has popped up in a major operation I’m running. It’s crucial I understand Rubner’s value to the CIA.”

The station head darted a look at Patrick. His smile had now vanished. “You got locked out of Langley, so thought you’d come knocking on my door?”

Will continued, “That was my idea, not Patrick’s. I think Rubner’s not all that he seems. But we have been. . locked out. We need your help.”

Geoffrey leaned back in his chair, rested one leg over the other, and drummed his fingers. “If Langley’s keeping its mouth shut, then so will I.”

Patrick said quickly, “Not Langley, self-interested unknown persons within Langley.”

“Have you spoken to one of the directors?”

Patrick nodded. “I spoke to the Director of Intelligence. He won’t tell me anything.”

“Then it is Langley that’s keeping its mouth shut.”

Will asked, “Do the names Gerlache and Francois Gilliams mean anything to you?”

“Should they?”

“I think Gerlache is the front company used by the CIA intelligence officer running Rubner, and Francois Gilliams is his alias.” He recalled the note that had been handed to Alina. “It’s possible Rubner is being run by more than one officer.”

Geoffrey stopped drumming his fingers, seemed deep in thought, and said, “I’m not betraying any confidences by saying that you’re right we’ve been receiving Rubner’s intelligence, though we’re not the prime customer.”

“Who is?”

Geoffrey shrugged. “Langley and the FBI.”

“Why the FBI?”

The station chief’s smile was back on his face. “To answer that would be imprudent. Make your own deductions.”

Will said, “Rubner was feeding you details about Mossad operations on U.S. soil. The feds were the prime customer because they were the ones authorized to shut down the operations.”

“Maybe.” Geoffrey looked at Patrick and said quietly, “I’m afraid you’ve made a wasted trip. You can’t expect me to give you information that the director himself has refused to divulge to you.”

Will repeated, “Gerlache, Francois Gilliams?”

Geoffrey sighed. “I don’t know the identity of Rubner’s case officer. It’s quite possible he’s been using a French or Belgian front to meet Rubner, but on that point I know as much as you do.”

Patrick turned toward Will. “Geoffrey’s right to say nothing.”

Geoffrey frowned as he switched his attention to Will. “You’d have known that, young man. So, why drag someone as senior as Patrick halfway around the world to hear that I’m not going to breach security, lose my job, and possibly end up with a prison sentence?”

Will spoke quickly and in a hushed tone. “I needed Patrick to set this meeting up without others knowing.” He looked around. “I had to talk to you without fear that we were being watched or overheard.”

“Makes no difference to the result.” The station head began tapping his fingers again. After a few seconds he asked, “Why do you think there’s something wrong with the Rubner intelligence?”

Will ignored the question. “Does Rubner’s work for the CIA benefit you?”

Geoffrey seemed surprised, then smiled. “Good question.” He thought for a moment. “Not really. In fact, it’s been a bit of a pain in the ass.”

Will could understand why. If Rubner was selling out Mossad operations on U.S. soil, this would place the CIA Head of Tel Aviv Station in a delicate situation given that part of his work involved liaising with Mossad, Shin Bet, and other Israeli intelligence agencies on issues of mutual concern. He asked, “Were you involved in the targeting and recruitment of Rubner?”

Geoffrey shook his head. “Nope, beyond telling Langley that Simon Rubner was a Mossad officer. I’ve no idea how they got him after that.”

“So, you have no personal vested interest in the Rubner case?”

Geoffrey beamed. “I’m not going to blab to you just because my career might not benefit from Rubner.”

“Of course.” Will leaned forward, clasping his big hands, his expression now cold. “But before I answer your question about what’s wrong with Rubner, I need to know if you’re in cahoots with the bastards who leaked my identity and home address to cover up an act that, if they knew about it, would have the president and every senator wishing to string them up by their throats.”