Matthew Dunn - Slingshot

Will looked at Delta 9.

“Adam Tark. Five years in the Qs. Before that seven years in the SAS.”

Will frowned. “I once knew a Scot called Ross Tark who was also SAS.”

“Aye, he was my younger brother.” Adam smiled. “Always followed me around.” His smile vanished. “Were you there when he died?”

Will answered, “No,” as he recalled gathering up Ross’s entrails and inserting them back into his stomach. The SAS soldier had been gutted by a Russian Spetsnaz commander during Will’s last mission. That operation was so sensitive that everyone involved in it was instructed to never speak to anyone else about what happened, anyone including security-cleared relatives of those who’d died in the mission.

“And who are you?” Mark flexed his muscular hands.

“That”-Alistair held up a hand toward Will-“really is none of your business.”

Will studied the Q men. Adam looked nothing like his deceased brother. Though probably in his early thirties, he was prematurely balding with graying hair, and clearly had undergone emergency reconstructive surgery on what would have once been a handsome face. Mark was older, probably early forties, with cropped brown hair. His face was weathered, tanned, and partially covered with stubble. Aside from their physique, both men shared one trait. Their eyes looked dead.

Will asked Mark, “What’s your brief right now?”

“Fuck knows. Vauxhall Cross”-MI6 HQ-“wants us to report in tomorrow. I suspect we’re going to be put before the Inquisition. Seen it happen to other Qs before. Our bollocks will be squeezed until we’re without a job and a hair’s breadth away from prison.”

“But you’ve done nothing wrong!”

“On paper, I did nothing right.”

Will looked at Alistair. “We can’t let that happen. We owe these men, plus they performed impeccably.”

Alistair frowned. “And what would you have me do?”

“We’re light by two men on the paramilitary front. Make them part of the section. If you do that, you’ll save them from the bureaucrats.”

Alistair looked affronted. “Selection to the unit is rigorous. .”

“It is. And Mark and Adam passed the test in Gdansk.”

Alistair darted a look at the Q men. “Gentlemen, would you be kind enough to leave the room for a moment?”

“Let them stay. After what they’ve been through, I believe we can talk openly in front of them.” Will nodded at Mark. “My name’s Will. There are real sensitivities around what I do, but don’t take it as a slight against you that we can’t go into what they are.”

Mark shrugged. “Fine by us.”

Alistair moved up to Will and whispered, “What would Roger and Laith think?”

Roger Koenig and Laith Dia. The two CIA SOG paramilitary officers who were permanently seconded to the Spartan Section.

“They’ll want to know they’re working alongside professionals of equal caliber. Once they’ve ascertained that’s the case, their respect for you will grow exponentially. They’ll have seen that you’ve put your powerful wings around two men just like them, and that will make you stand out from the pencil pushers.”

“I don’t need faux flattery.”

“I know. But you need a team.”

Alistair seemed unsure. “If I requisition them, I’ll upset quite a few people.”

“Since when do you care about pissing off senior management? In any case, if you requisition them for the section, nobody can do anything about it.”

Alistair nodded slowly, deep in thought. “It would, I concede, complete the team.” He turned toward the Q men and studied them for a moment before speaking in a commanding voice. “Gentlemen, in days gone by, condemned men were sometimes given a choice between the rope or a lifetime of serving on the very worst battlefronts. I’m giving you a similar choice.”

Mark smiled. “Nobody’s going to put me in a rope.”

Adam nodded. “My sentiments, exactly. But what is this section?”

Alistair wagged a finger. “You’ll need to sign some nondisclosure documents before I get into that.” He glanced at Will. “Then, things will become clearer.”

Will looked at Mark and Adam. “Once you’ve signed the papers, you’ll be outside of all other chains of command. Trust Alistair, trust me, trust everyone else in the section, but no one else.” He guided Alistair away from the Q men and asked quietly, “Patrick?”

The CIA cohead of the section.

Alistair frowned. “What about him?”

“He needs to be here, together with Roger and Laith. When are they flying over?”

“For what?”

Will felt exasperated. “You know what the AW operative told us. We can’t allow that piece of paper to remain in the wrong hands. The mission is clear. .”

“It’s not! We don’t know anything about the paper.”

“We know its value. What happened in Gdansk proved that.”

Alistair spoke with deliberation. “You can’t expect me to deploy the section on something so intangible. And I’m certainly not going to do so just to allow you to make up for the fiasco in Poland.”

Will snapped furiously, “It’s got nothing to do with that. The Russians deployed a whole SVR team to retrieve the paper.”

“Then let them find it.”

“What happens if they can’t? There’s only one of them left.”

“They’ll send him more bodies.” Alistair shook his head. “You can’t expect Patrick and me to take this to our premiers to get them to sign off on the section’s deployment.”

“I can.”

“This is wrong.”

“Have I ever been wrong in the past?”

“Yes, lots of bloody times.”

“I mean in terms of the results of the operations I’ve conducted?”

Alistair hesitated before saying, “You’ve got nothing more than a hunch that this is worth pursuing.”

“Perhaps, but every operational instinct in me says it’s vital we get involved.”

Alistair sighed. “We’d have to tell the premiers that we’re recommending this course of action purely based on your instincts .”

“Tell them what you like. Just make sure they sign off.”

“And what if we do deploy and you’re wrong, William?” His expression changed to one that looked like sympathy. “The premiers’ patience with you is already stretched to near breaking point.”

Will shrugged. “What are they going to do? Find someone to replace me? I wish them luck, because I doubt anyone else is able to complete the Program.”

“They know that!” As did Alistair. Eight elite MI6 officers had not only failed the Spartan Program before Will had gone through it to earn the code name Spartan, they’d been left psychologically and physically damaged and had needed to leave the service. “But 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 nodded slowly. “I see.”

“I’m so glad that you do.”

“But conversely, if we get this right we might turn some of those detractors into supporters.”

“That’s a damn big risk.”

“Worth it though, don’t you think?”

Alistair was motionless. “I concede, you have always been right about the things that matter. But there is a first time for everything. This would be an almighty gamble.”

“Please, Alistair. Say what you like to the premiers. Position it however you think is best. Just get them to sign off on this.”

Alistair lowered his head. “If you’re wrong and they shut down the section because of that, all of the section members, me included, would be given other jobs in the service or the Agency.” He lifted his head. “But you’ve been operating on your own for too long. No one would want someone with your kind of skill set. It would be over for you.”