Matthew Dunn - Slingshot

Patrick turned sharply toward him. “What!”

Geoffrey’s eyes narrowed. “I think you have some explaining to do, young man.”

“Like you, I’ll explain what I damn well like.”

“Sure.” The station head looked unsettled, glanced at Patrick, then back at Will. “We’re not your enemies.”

“I hope you’re not. Because I’m giving you due warning that I’m going to find out who betrayed me, and I’m going to drag them over the body of the director and dump their fucking asses at the feet of the president. And if the director’s involved as well, I’ll squeeze his balls until he screams. Nobody’s going to keep their mouth shut.”

“You’d tear apart the CIA because someone pissed you off?”

“No! But I’ll do it to find the scum who’ve put several innocent men, women, and children’s lives at severe risk.” Will leaned back. “The people who’re keeping their mouths shut are going to suffer, and they’ll do so with complete presidential and judicial backing once the truth comes out. You might not be involved, but I’m telling you now that it’s not in your interest to ally yourself in any way to these people.”

A bead of sweat ran down Geoffrey’s face. Facing Patrick, he said, “I’m not involved in the Rubner case. Nobody in my station is. We get the intel, but other than that we’re out of the loop.”

Patrick responded in a stern voice. “But you know what the intel is. That might help us.”

Geoffrey looked confused. “If I make the wrong call, I’m screwed.”

Will pointed at him. “If you make no call, I guarantee you those innocent people will die.”

The station chief kept his eyes on Will’s boss. “There is no ‘off the record’ at our level. If I tell you anything without clearance to do so, you’ve got to assure me that you have my back.”

Patrick pulled out a pen and notepad, wrote for a few seconds, then tore off a sheet and handed it to Geoffrey. “That’s my handwriting, my signature, today’s date, and confirmation that I’ve given you authority to speak openly about the Rubner case with impunity.”

The station head looked at the note. “You still have that level of power, Patrick?”

“If I don’t, then it’s my neck on the line, not yours.”

Geoffrey breathed deeply. “What’s wrong with Rubner?”

Will answered, “I think that Rubner’s CIA case officer gave him the name of a low-level SVR officer who also happened to be a CIA asset. One of our own was sold out. That agent is now either dead, or on the brink of death. I’m trying to find him. And I think the case officer’s trying to stop me before I uncover the truth.”

The station head seemed to be composing himself, though his mind was racing, “Do you know when the SVR officer’s identity was supplied to Rubner?”

“I can’t be specific.” Will recalled the contents of the Gerlache letter. “But it could be approximately one month ago.”

“Interesting.”

“Why?”

Geoffrey lowered his head and muttered to himself, “Jeez, this is some call.” He looked up. “Rubner’s intel dried up one month ago.”

Will said, “That doesn’t surprise me.”

Geoffrey frowned.

Will elaborated. “I think Rubner vanished soon after he got the SVR officer’s name.”

Lenka Yevtushenko.

“Where to?”

“To the organization he’s working with.”

“It was Mossad all along?”

Will shrugged. “I can’t answer that until you speak openly. What was Rubner’s intelligence?”

The station head ran a hand over his face. “The identity of Mossad agents operating on U.S. soil. It’s been gold dust and has enabled us to round them up and put them in prison.”

Will laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

Patrick added, “Yeah, I’d like to know the answer to that as well.”

Will’s expression changed. He felt that things were starting to make sense. “When did you supply confirmation that Rubner was a Mossad officer?”

Geoffrey answered, “Approximately six months ago. He must have been recruited within days of us supplying that information, because that’s when we got the first stream of intelligence.”

“How did you know he was an Israeli operative?”

“Because seven years ago he’d been posted to Brussels; the slot he took is a known Mossad cover. Plus his name was attached to a joint operation we did with the Israelis four years ago. He was billed as a political liaison officer, but we could smell he was an operative.” He sighed. “The U.S. wasn’t the only customer for Rubner intel. We shared it with the Brits as well. And they had independent confirmation of Rubner’s Mossad credentials.”

“He was selling out U.K.-based Israeli agents?”

“Correct. Via MI6, Rubner’s intelligence reports were supplied to MI5.”

Will shook his head. “What a cock-up.”

The two senior CIA officers stared at him, expectant.

Will rubbed his eyes. “You need to call your counterpart in Mossad and tell him that Simon Rubner is a CIA asset.”

“No way.”

“Yeah, no way.” Patrick placed a hand on Will’s forearm and gripped it tight. “No fucking way!”

Will ignored the fact that Patrick was pressing his fingers deep into his arm. “Do it. And I think you’ll find out something quite surprising.”

Geoffrey’s eyes were wide. “No. We can’t betray a CIA agent!”

Patrick released his grip on Will’s arm and thrust a finger against his chest. “And even if we did something as crazy as that, we could be playing right into their hands by telling them that we know this was a Mossad operation.”

Will shook his head. “Rubner’s no longer a CIA agent. And whatever he was doing for the CIA, I’m certain it wasn’t set up by Mossad. Even if they had a requirement to get hold of an SVR officer, they would never have floated Rubner in front of the CIA with the remit to reveal the identities of their U.S. and U.K. agents.”

Patrick lowered his finger. “I agree with that.”

Geoffrey mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “So do I. In the United States, Rubner’s intel has enabled the arrest of fifteen Mossad spies; twice as many are under FBI surveillance. The Brits have got their claws into a similar number.” He pocketed his handkerchief. “But even though we might be able to rule out that this was an Israeli operation, we most certainly know for a fact that Rubner was working for us. And that fact cannot be disclosed to Mossad.”

“It’s going to have to be, in order for us to get closer to the truth.” Will looked at Patrick. “ Please . Back me on this.”

“I can’t!”

“Please. It’s the right thing to do.”

“God damn you. You can’t ask me to do this.”

“I already have.”

Patrick stared at him. After a long silence, he muttered, “You’re taking one hell of a risk.”

“I know.”

Patrick was motionless for twenty seconds. While looking at the ceiling, he said in a loud, authoritative voice, “As the most senior officer in this room, I’m making the decision that Mossad should be made aware that Simon Rubner has been a CIA agent. If that decision is the wrong one, then I fully accept that I and I alone should suffer the consequences.” He lowered his head, looked straight at Geoffrey. “I’m instructing you to make the call.”

Geoffrey appeared taken aback, and spoke imploringly. “Patrick, this is wrong. You could be-”

“Do it!”

Geoffrey picked up the handset of one of the phones, held his fingers over the keypad, and glanced at Will. “Patrick clearly has a huge amount of faith in your judgment. I hope you respect that.”

He pressed numbers, held the phone to his head, waited, spoke fluent Hebrew to whoever was on the end of the line, and was silent for thirty seconds. No doubt the person he needed to speak to in Mossad was being summoned to the phone. He spoke again, his tone hushed, his words quick and urgent. The call lasted ten minutes. By the time the Head of Tel Aviv Station placed the handset down, his face was covered with perspiration.