Matthew Dunn - Spycatcher

Will spoke quietly. “You are correct to say that Soroush had unique access to Iranian secrets. But you’ve forgotten that his years of servitude to the British intelligence community gave him significant information about us-information that could not fall into the hands of the Iranians.” Will pointed at Alistair. “Killing Soroush was the only solution. If we had allowed him to be taken away by the Iranians, they would have extracted everything from him via torture before murdering him. I killed Soroush to protect the integrity of what we do and to protect a man from unimaginable torment.”

Alistair shook his head. “You are a rule breaker, and I’ve always tolerated that because of your effectiveness. But even by your standards, engaging in a gunfight in the middle of New York City was the height of recklessness.”

Will reached into a pocket and pulled out three little blister packs of medication. He withdrew pills and threw them into his mouth, wondering how long the painkillers and antifever tablets would take to work. A fresh sweat had broken out under his clothes. “I don’t give a damn about rules. All I care about is getting the job done.”

“What you care about is prosecuting and punishing bad people. Thankfully, it just so happens that those bad people are also enemies of the West.” Alistair caught Will’s eyes and held them. “I know why you have an absolute sense of right and wrong; I know where all that unflinching sense of morality started for you. But you have to understand that I am your boss and that there are rules to be followed.”

“Your rules, not mine.” Will looked away for a moment. “My decision to kill Soroush was the correct one.”

“Your decision,” Alistair snapped, “very nearly compromised your role. You should have left Soroush to his fate. You know how hard I work to protect your identity and your missions for MI6. You are our most clandestine officer, and only the chief of MI6 and I know about your existence.”

“Not anymore. Apparently you told a CIA man called Patrick who I was.”

Alistair tapped a finger on the table. “What did Patrick say to you?”

Will swallowed to try to dislodge a pill stuck in his throat. “He said the strike against us will be massive and the great or the little will be the victim.”

Alistair spoke sharply. “Victim or victims?”

“Victim.” Will frowned. “What does it mean?”

His Controller glanced away for a moment. “As far as certain inflammatory Iranian commentators are concerned, America is the Great Satan and Britain is the Little Satan. Iran clearly intends to do battle with evil.” Alistair smiled briefly, then looked serious. “Soroush’s death has come at the worst possible time.” He spoke the words quietly, and they did not necessarily seem directed at Will. Louder, he said, “Tell me what you know about Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps and specifically its IRGC Qods Force.”

Will chuckled. “As head of the Middle East and Africa Controllerate, you should have whole teams of analysts who could produce reports on the IRGC for you, I’d have thought.”

“I do.” Alistair looked back at Will. “But given your time spent with Soroush, you should have a bit of knowledge on the subject. And I don’t have time right now to wade through reports.”

“All right.” Will adjusted his position in his chair and felt fresh pain sear across his stomach. “The Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps is the component of the Iranian military used to enforce and protect the principles of the Iranian Revolution of 1979. Its exact size is unknown, but it’s estimated that the IRGC is approximately one hundred and twenty thousand strong and with its own army, air force, and navy. It is almost certainly structured along the same lines as Iran’s conventional military forces. The IRGC Qods Force, translated as ‘Jerusalem Force,’ is a small unit of the IRGC. It is tasked with special operations, including assassinations, export of terrorism, and intelligence gathering.”

“And why have we never been able to recruit a Qods Force officer?”

“Three reasons. First, merely identifying someone as a potential target is very difficult, given that Qods Force personnel aren’t exactly visible. Second, individuals within the unit are totally dedicated to their task and are handpicked on the basis of their loyalty to the revolution. It is highly improbable that a Qods Force officer would have any chinks in his armor to make him malleable to an approach by MI6. Lastly”-Will shrugged-“you’ve never tasked officers like me to recruit such an individual. Our efforts against Iran have so far focused on the Ministry of Intelligence and Security and on senior politicians.”

Alistair nodded slowly. “I see. Well, things have now changed.” He paused for a moment before speaking with intensity. “It has become essential that we identify and capture a high-ranking Qods Force officer. Actually, I want us to find a very specific officer: the Qods Force Head of Western Directorate. The man responsible for all covert Iranian or Iranian-backed terrorist actions against the U.S., the U.K., and Europe.”

Will showed no expression. “We do not know if such a man actually exists. And even if he does, finding him would be like hunting for the proverbial needle in a haystack. In all probability he’d be ensconced in Iran, inaccessible to men like us.”

Alistair shook his head. “Patrick thinks otherwise. He’s seen National Security Agency reports suggesting that the Qods Force Western Directorate is being run out of Central or Eastern Europe.” He smiled. “Which brings me back to you. Our Sarajevo station head has been contacted by a former agent, code-named Lace, who thinks he might be able to help us get alongside a senior Iranian military officer, given that the Iranians have been very active in Bosnia during and after the wars in what used to be Yugoslavia. I want you to meet Lace and find out what he has to say.”

Will observed Alistair silently. “You’ll have regular intelligence officers for a task like that,” he said at last. “Are you trying to punish me? If you are, you know you’ll fail.”

Alistair sighed and looked down at his cuff links. “I’m not angry with you because you took Soroush’s life. I know you well enough to know that that must have been a terrible decision for you to take and no doubt one that was made with Soroush’s own consent. But as vital to us as he was, you should have left him to his fate rather than trying to protect the man when all was lost. Soroush was vital.” He looked back up. “But you are Spartan and therefore invaluable. That is why I am angry.”

“I never leave anyone to his fate.” Will spoke with anger, and then he sighed, too. He looked around at nothing for a moment before returning his attention to Alistair. “Will our Service take care of Soroush’s family? His wife and children have been totally reliant on his income and will struggle without financial support.”

Alistair did not meet his eyes. “I have spoken to our Benevolence Department. They are adamant that they cannot help Soroush’s family, because in their eyes Soroush was not killed by our enemies. He was killed by you.”

Will banged his fist on the table. “Idiots.”

“They follow rules. You do not.” Alistair steeled his voice. “You should have left Soroush to his fate. You should have got out of that park. You should have realized how invaluable you are to MI6.”

“If I’m invaluable, then why task me on a regular intelligence mission?”

Alistair shook his head. “There is nothing regular about this mission.” He tapped his fingers again on the table. “But to start with, I do want you to pose as a regular intelligence officer. Our MI6 Sarajevo head knows nothing about you, so I will give you a new identity for your meeting with him. Meet him, meet his agent Lace, and see if this lead of theirs can take you to the Qods Force commander. If it can, then I give you total authority to use your. . own methods to track the man down.”