Matthew Dunn - Spycatcher

“There are no other IRGC Qods Force officers working in Europe. The lead I’ve given you remains the best.”

“I’m not asking you to find me another Qods Force officer. Just a regular IRGC person. Can you do that?”

“If it’s what MI6 wants, then yes.”

“Forget MI6. You work only for me now.” Will’s lips were touching Harry’s ear. “Only me.”

“Yes, yes!” Harry’s voice was urgent.

“Good. Now I believe that you and I have a much better understanding of each other. Would you agree?”

“Of course. Under the circumstances, why would I say anything different?”

Will smiled. “Very good, Harry. Very good indeed. But there is still one other thing I need from you.”

“Tell me.” Sweat from Harry’s forehead had begun to course down his face.

“The Qods Force commander. You must know who he is.”

“I don’t! Nobody did!” Harry shouted the words.

Will slowly moved the hunting knife away from Harry’s eye and brought it down against his throat.

“Please, no!” Harry gasped. “Please, no!”

Will’s words were now barely audible. “Unlike you, I have no need for company, acceptance, or adulation. All I need is a name. And I’m absolutely convinced that a man like you, a man who by his own admission is so well connected in the Balkans, would not have been able to go about his business during the war without knowing the name of this Iranian.”

Will brushed the edge of the blade up and down against Harry’s skin.

“We all gave him names.” Harry’s body was shuddering. “But they were our names, not his.”

“You are a businessman. Your brain deals in trades.” Will stopped moving the knife. “The trade I am offering you is beyond obvious.”

Harry’s legs began to shake. “A rumor! Just a rumor!”

Will sighed and moved the knife a hairsbreadth from Harry’s throat. “A rumor?”

“That’s all, Charles. That’s all. That’s all.”

Will brought the knife up to Harry’s eyes. “What do you think I am?”

“God only knows.”

“Maybe I know, too. Or maybe I don’t.” He could see Harry’s eyes in the reflection on the blade, and they were wide with fear. He wondered if his actions were too much. He decided they were not, because he knew that a man like Harry had to be tamed first before telling the truth. “But for now I’m prepared to play the good intelligence officer and listen to your conjecture and rumors. What did he call himself?”

A fresh sweat emerged across Harry’s whole face. He emitted a noise that sounded like a moan. His left arm began to twitch, and then his whole body convulsed. He took several deep breaths before speaking. “Megiddo. We believed that he called himself Megiddo.”

“It’s been only seventy-two hours since I gave you my instruction.” Alistair took a sip of his Chateau Margaux. “And within that time you have been to three countries, terrified two people into working for us, and witnessed the murder of a senior MI6 man.”

“I did advise you to send a regular intelligence officer.” Will smiled and pushed his own wine to one side.

“And maybe your advice was correct.”

Will narrowed his eyes. “But that officer would have met Lace, taken notes, and then returned to London to give you a well-written but ultimately useless report. I, on the other hand, have given you our target.”

The two men were sitting at an oak booth in Simpson’s on London’s Strand. The restaurant was an elderly eatery, popular with government mandarins and senior business executives. It was also a place to eat meat, and among many other things Will’s Controller was certainly a consumer of flesh.

Alistair peered at him. “Do you trust Harry and Lana?”

Will shook his head. “No. Harry thinks he’s reached a state of grace where business no longer matters to him, but he will always be someone who sees enemies around him. If it came to it, the only side he can choose is his own. Lana is motivated by abandonment-fueled anger and a desire for meaning, but those are dangerous and unstable emotions. Trust will never come into play, but I believe I can channel and control both Harry’s and Lana’s mind-sets to my advantage.”

Alistair looked out over the rest of the restaurant and its lunchtime diners. “What will you eat?”

“Nothing.”

“As you like.” Alistair took another sip of his drink. “You’ll need to be careful with Lace.”

“I know.” Will spoke the words slowly. He thought for a moment before saying “I’m certain that Harry did nothing careless to lead a killer to Ewan. But somebody knew that our man was going to be at that restaurant. Do you have a view on Ewan’s death?”

Alistair shook his head. “I suspect that Ewan was running up to fifty agents and as many operations out of his Sarajevo Station. There are a number of people of whom he could have fallen afoul.”

Will nodded. “Harry’s given me the Iranian man’s code name,” he said quietly.

Alistair cursed. “A code name? That’s hardly going to help identify the man.” He shook his head. “What is it?”

“Megiddo.”

Alistair’s eyes immediately narrowed. “Megiddo? You’re sure?”

Will frowned. “Of course.”

Alistair said nothing for nearly a minute while continuing to hold his gaze on Will. He then nodded slowly, and Will could see that a slight smile had emerged on his face.

“Is the name relevant?”

Alistair broke his gaze with Will and seemed lost in thought. He muttered something, but whatever the words were, they seemed more for his own benefit. “I have moments where I wonder if I have overcapitalized upon your terrifying desire for retribution against the world’s ills.”

Will leaned forward and spoke firmly. “Do not wonder anything about me, Alistair. I make my own decisions.”

Alistair regarded him and smiled, but the look seemed bitter. “I know you do,” he said quietly. “You always do. But I sometimes wonder what sort of man you might now be had those men not murdered your mother when you were barely out of boyhood.”

Will leaned even closer. “It’s a pointless thought. When she died, my childhood died.”

“Memories don’t die, William.”

“I have too few to know.”

“There may be more to be discovered.”

“What do you mean?”

Alistair looked down and seemed to ignore the question. “My interest is anything but pointless.” When he looked up again, he said, “I wonder how long I can continue to exploit your incredible mental and physical strength before I can tell myself that I have failed in my duty. I wonder what sort of man I am continuing to allow you to be. I wonder if I am about to make things even worse for you.”

“What do you mean?” Will repeated.

Alistair nodded. “Your tiny number of childhood memories has produced a man who takes absolute measures to kill those you deem worthy of such punishment and who saves those you deem helpless. You have left very little if anything for yourself. But”-he pointed at Will-“there is still a chance for you to address that.”

Will rested back into his chair and exhaled loudly. “I do my work. That’s all that matters to me.”

“I don’t believe you.” Alistair spoke sharply and quickly. He glanced around the restaurant and then back at Will. Sighing, he lowered his voice. “You’re a good man, William. I of all people know that. But I also know that you have exceptional skills, which I have shamelessly utilized for the sake of our work. That is what I do; it is my job. But”-he shook his head-“there is a part of me that hopes you will one day find peace and happiness. And I know that is what you really want, too.”