Matthew Dunn - Slingshot

The portly man looked to be in his late fifties, and was wearing a suit and no tie. When he spoke, fear was evident in his voice, though also a degree of defiance. “My wife and children are due back from the ballet shortly. If you’re going to do anything, make sure it happens before they arrive.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Will walked up to him and put the nozzle of his pistol against the prosecutor’s temple. “Why are you interested in Kurt Schreiber? What’s his link to an impending testimony at the ICC?”

Van Acker’s expression changed. “You’re not the first British man to ask me those questions. Two days ago, I received a call from someone who introduced himself as Alistair McCulloch, a senior member of the Secret Intelligence Service. Do you work for him? Has he sent you here to bully me?”

“He doesn’t know I’m here. But it’s in your interest that you answer my questions.”

“It’s in your interest that you leave right now, before the police arrive and shoot you.”

“If they arrive, you’ll be dead.” Will pulled back the hammer on his gun. “I’m not here to negotiate with you. It’s simple: You speak, you live. If not, I pull the trigger. And then I’ll pay the president of the court a visit and ask him the same question.”

“There’s no need.” The man who was lying alongside the chief prosecutor began getting to his feet.

“Down!” Will swung his weapon at the elderly man.

But the man waved a hand through the air and stood. “I am Albert Metz.”

The president of the International Criminal Court.

The tall, thin, well-dressed man pointed a finger at Will. “You threaten my chief prosecutor and me, and you attempt to pervert the course of justice. To your face, and in the presence of witnesses, I can tell you that both are very grave crimes.”

Will smiled. “I’ve broken bigger laws than this.” His smile vanished. “You’re standing in the way of a Western intelligence operation that I believe may be linked to your high-value witness’s presence in The Hague. That pisses me off. To your face, I’m telling you that if your obstructive behavior results in my operation failing, then I’ll make sure that every state signatory to the Rome Statute knows that the ICC is run by a group of pencil-pushing bureaucrats who’ve no interest in justice. Your careers and reputations will be fucked.”

The court’s president took a step toward him. “I doubt you have that authority, young man.”

Will kept his gun planted against van Acker’s head. “Oh, I most certainly do.” He stared at the prosecutor. “Why are you interested in Kurt Schreiber?”

“None of your damn business.”

“Wrong!”

Between gritted teeth, van Acker said, “I’m not at liberty to divulge that information.”

Will walked up to him, pointed his gun at his head, and muttered, “Are you telling me that this has been a waste of time? That I should just get this over with?”

“I think you should.” A Russian man’s voice.

From behind Will.

Will froze.

Footsteps crunching over gravel.

The lawyers were now looking over Will’s shoulder toward the sounds.

Mikhail came alongside Will and put his handgun against the MI6 operative’s head. The big SVR officer smiled, though he looked menacing and focused. “And after you’ve pulled your trigger, maybe I should pull mine, because following you here was my last fucking lead.”

Will remained motionless, his gun still flush against the president’s head. “Lower your weapon, Mikhail.”

The Russian frowned. “How do you know my name?”

“Mikhail Salkov, I know all about you. We got you on your overseas postings.”

“Very clever,” he huffed. “Still, makes no difference given where you’re now standing.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Make these men talk, or you’re of no further use to me.”

Will smiled. “You followed me after my team and your men attacked the convoy. You watched me leave the Auguststrasse apartment and tailed me to the airport. And this morning, you observed me briefing my team on the outskirts of Berlin.”

“An informed guess. You never spotted me.”

“If that’s true, then I wouldn’t have needed to cover my back tonight. Would I?”

Mikhail frowned again.

Will called out, “Have you got him?”

Roger jumped down from the wall, his pistol aimed at the center of Mikhail’s head. “Yeah, he ain’t going anywhere.”

Will nodded at Mikhail. “I’ve been looking out for you since we attacked the convoy. I spotted you three times. And I suspected you might break cover this evening.”

“You want me to drop him?” Roger was very still, his finger poised to pull back the trigger.

“Gentlemen!” Albert Metz placed a frail hand over Will’s forearm. “Who are you?”

Speaking quickly, Will answered, “I’m an MI6 officer. The Russian is an SVR operative. We’ve been working the same operation, from different angles. Is Schreiber the high-value witness?”

“I can’t answer that!”

“What’s this about?” Mikhail nudged his muzzle against Will’s temple.

At first, Will didn’t respond, his mind racing. He was in no doubt that Mikhail would pull the trigger if it helped him get closer to the missing paper. But if the Russian shot him now, he’d achieve nothing. Moreover, Will had witnessed him risk his life to protect others in Gdansk. The man wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer. He made a decision and told Mikhail about the ICC’s interest in Schreiber and the witness being protected in the Netherlands. “Do you know who the witness is?”

“No. But he won’t be Kurt Schreiber.”

“Why not?”

Mikhail was silent.

“What’s on the missing paper?”

More silence.

“You told the Pole you saved in Gdansk that we must all try to get the paper, that it’s lethal. Even though my superiors think I’m crazy for doing so, I’ve been trying to help you.”

“This is a Russian operation to retrieve Russian property.”

“This was a Russian operation that failed.”

Anger flashed across Mikhail’s face. “You’ve no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“From where you’re standing, do you really think you have the upper hand?”

“I’m not talking about me, you idiot! Schreiber sent out a dummy convoy. That means he’s now loose.”

Roger called out, “We’re running out of time!”

But Will remained still, keeping his eyes on Mikhail. “Kurt Schreiber orchestrated the theft of the paper?”

Mikhail nodded. “He’s behind all of this. He’s gone to the Black Forest, but I don’t know where.”

“The paper?”

Mikhail hesitated.

“What’s on it?”

Mikhail muttered, “You’re right-this has been a fucking failure. And there’s nothing more we can do.”

“The paper!”

Mikhail stared at him. “It’s one-half of a military grid reference. Schreiber’s theft of it must mean he’s got the other half of the paper. It pinpoints a DLB in the forest. He’ll have used it to activate an assassin.”

A realization struck Will. “An assassin, code name Kronos.”

“How do you know that?”

“Am I right?”

Mikhail sighed. “I don’t know his identity, but that most certainly is his code name. He’s Russia’s most deadly assassin and it appears that he’s been activated to. .”

“Stop a high-value witness from opening his mouth in The Hague.” Will looked directly at Metz. “Correct?”

“Lower your weapons.” Metz spoke with a commanding voice. “If we’re to talk, we can’t do so like this.”

Will hesitated, then pointed his gun at the ground.