Matthew Dunn - Spycatcher

“Did the two men escape?”

“Yes, they did. They got into Bandar-e ’Abbas and used the trawler captain to take them to the emirate of Ras al-Khaimah.”

“And the CIA man they left behind?”

Alistair leaned forward. “We later found out from some of our Iranian agents who survived the revolution that the CIA officer was captured and subjected to terrible torture. We know that he revealed nothing to the Iranians. We also know that he was finally executed and that his body was dumped somewhere in the Persian Gulf.”

Will was silent for a moment before asking, “What is the point to your story?”

Alistair did not reply immediately. Instead he stared at Will, as if analyzing him. He tapped a finger once on the table. “The story is another memory for you. But I fear that it will drive you even harder. I fear that it will snap any remaining possibility for you to one day gain peace with yourself and others around you.”

“As you said, so far that has suited you just fine.”

Alistair nodded. “It has, and it continues to suit me. After all, it was I who spotted you when you joined MI6. It was I who identified your extreme and peculiar potential. It was I who took you away from the normal corridors of MI6 and put you on the highly classified Spartan Program. No man of your generation had ever done the yearlong program and lived. However, you not only survived but excelled in the program, and as a result you became our most deadly and effective operative. There is never allowed to be more than one of you, so while you live you are the only man who has our most distinguished code name: Spartan.”

A memory came to Will. It was the first day of the Spartan Program. He was standing barefooted in the Scottish Highlands wearing blue overalls. It was winter, snowing heavily and well below freezing. An instructor walked up to him, pointed north, and quietly gave him his first task:

You’ve got two days to cover one hundred miles on foot across the mountains. Armed men with dogs will be trying to hunt you down. If they succeed, you fail. If you don’t get to the objective within the time allocated, you fail. If you try to get help from anyone you might meet on the route, you fail. And know this, if you succeed we’re going to take you away and put you in a prison cell for two weeks. There you’re going to receive your first taste of intense torture and total sleep deprivation. We will make you wish that you were dead. With every frozen step you take over these mountains, remember that.

Will pushed the memory away.

Alistair’s eyes narrowed. “As Spartan you have provided exceptional results in the field. But one day I am going to have to look in the mirror and ask myself some hard questions.”

“One day, but not yet?”

Alistair leaned farther forward. His words were hushed and rapid. “Right now the Qods Force Head of Western Directorate is the West’s most dangerous opponent. He is not a fanatic or an ideologist or a martyr. Instead, and from the little we know of the person, he is an exceptional strategist and an intellectual who also happens to be a killer. He plans to massacre thousands of people in one of our cities in Europe or the States. And I need you to stop him. But I cannot allow your desire for vengeance against the world’s evil to cloud your judgment.” Alistair reached across the table and gripped a hand over Will’s muscular forearm. Despite his age and thin frame, Alistair’s grip was surprisingly strong. “Whatever happens, whatever you subsequently hear, can you assure me of that?”

Will looked down at Alistair’s hand and then back up at the Controller’s face. “My judgment has always been absolute and unclouded.”

Alistair nodded once and released his grip as he leaned back. He took a sip of his Margaux and then replaced the glass on the table. “Tomorrow you will fly to CIA headquarters in Virginia. There you will meet Patrick, who will brief you on our Qods Force commander. He will also be on hand to help you throughout the mission.”

“This is to be a joint operation between the CIA and MI6?”

Alistair smiled crookedly. “Technically, yes. But you would do better to view this as a joint operation between Patrick and me.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t, but Patrick will ensure that you do.”

Will considered this. He looked away, frowning in thought before turning back to face Alistair. “I presume you must have been the MI6 officer in that car outside of Bandar-e ’Abbas. Would I be right in saying that the CIA man who escaped with you was Patrick?”

“You would.” Alistair was motionless while watching Will.

Will frowned as he recalled Patrick’s words to him in the New York room:

Alistair and I share the same debt of gratitude to another man. And that debt brought me to this room today.

Will’s frown increased. “Who was the other CIA officer?”

Alistair nodded slowly. His eyes glistened. “He was a private man who kept his work completely secret. Even his small family believed that he was an American diplomat whose death was a tragic accident.” Alistair was very still now. “I think about him every day. I think about how calm he looked when he took the decision to save me and Patrick. I think about how defiant he looked when he held the revolutionary man against his body and shoved the handgun’s muzzle to the man’s head. I think about how resolute he looked as the soldiers rushed toward him while we escaped.” Alistair placed his fingers again over Will’s forearm, but this time the grip felt tender. “Every day. . every day I never fail to think about your father.”

“So Alistair’s given me the great hunter.” Patrick was standing in the corner of the room beside a small table. He lifted a jug of hot water and poured liquid into a bone china cup. He stirred the cup’s contents before bringing the drink over to the room’s main table. He looked at Will. “There is no doubt in my mind that you’re the right officer for this job. But there’s also no doubt in my mind that you’re an extremely dangerous and unpredictable individual.” He pointed a finger at Will. “How can I be assured that you will do what you’re told?”

Will inspected the cup and saucer before him. “How can I be assured that what you tell me to do will be the correct course of action?” He smiled and changed his tone. “Thank you for the tea. It’s been worth the wait.”

Patrick stared at him for a moment and seated himself at the opposite side of the table. The two men were alone in an anonymous room within the headquarters of the Central Intelligence Agency in Langley, Virginia.

Between them were several loose papers and some files. Patrick brushed a hand over some of the papers and picked up a single sheet. He glanced at it and then tossed it across the table to Will. “It all started with this.”

Will read the report before him. It was dated two weeks earlier and had been produced by the United States National Security Agency.

OVERVIEW

1. Iran intends to attack a location within the United States or the United Kingdom.

2. The location and timing of this attack are unknown, but it is assessed that the attack is imminent.

3. The scale of the attack is unknown, but it is assessed that the attack may produce significant casualties.

DETAIL

1. The Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps’ Qods Force has been given authority by the Supreme Leadership of Iran to plan a terrorist strike against a location within one of the cities of the United States of America or the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. The reason for the attack is unknown.

2. The Qods Force Head of Western Directorate has overall responsibility for the planning and execution of this attack. He has completed the planning phase of his operation, and it is therefore anticipated that he intends to execute his attack within an imminent time frame.