James Barrington - Overkill

‘I didn’t expect that you would be,’ Bykov said.

‘And I didn’t think,’ Richter said, ‘that it was entirely your operation. We were surprised when a bunch of Arabs appeared out of the woodwork with their own world domination plan. Which,’ he added, ‘might well have worked if the American weapons had been exploded as they had intended.’

Bykov grimaced. ‘You weren’t anything like as surprised as us,’ he said. ‘They were obviously Minister Trushenko’s personal little secret, but neither he nor anybody else here suspected their hidden agenda. In fact, for stopping them, we owe you and the Americans a debt of gratitude. And we are genuinely sorry about Abilene. You must believe it was never our intention to actually pull the trigger – the weapons in America were just a threat, pawns, as it were, to be played in our long-running game of international chess.’

After a moment, Bykov spoke again. ‘Comrade Gremiakin has not reported for work today.’ He looked at Richter expectantly, and the Englishman could feel the net closing around him.

‘Perhaps,’ Richter said, ‘this Gremiakin is unwell.’ Bykov looked at him appraisingly. ‘His apartment is empty, and nobody has seen him since last night. He called his security guards to report an armed intruder, and they thought he might have been driven away in a VAZ saloon.’ He stared at Richter. ‘Where were you yesterday evening, Mr Beatty? Doing paperwork at the Embassy, perhaps? Something like that?’

‘Yes,’ Richter said. ‘Something like that.’

‘You can produce witnesses, no doubt?’

‘If necessary,’ he replied, ‘I probably could.’

Bykov nodded. ‘I’m sure you could,’ he said agreeably. Then his tone hardened. ‘Do you know what Gremiakin did yesterday afternoon, Mr Beatty?’ Before Richter could answer, Bykov shook his head. ‘No, of course you don’t. Let me tell you. He was instructed to terminate General Modin. The general and I were ordered by the Kremlin to fly back from London almost as soon as we had disclosed that the weapon had been seized in France. Because of General Modin’s part in the project he knew that he would inevitably be blamed for its failure, and he could probably guess what would happen to him.’

Holy Russia – Rodina – exerts a compelling pull on her children, a pull which is impossible for a non-Russian to comprehend. Time and again in the history of the country, citizens have returned voluntarily, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that they were facing certain – and often extremely painful – death.

‘Gremiakin did terminate the general,’ Bykov continued. ‘It took him nearly three hours, and when he’d finished they had to send a squad into the cellar to hose down the walls and the ceiling. You cannot imagine what he did to Modin, and nor would you want to.’ Bykov leaned forward. ‘Gremiakin could be unwell, Mr Beatty,’ he said softly, ‘but I hope he’s not. I hope the bastard’s dead in a ditch somewhere.’

Richter sat silent, not knowing what to say.

‘Between ourselves, Mr Beatty, you have actually done me a favour. Operation Podstava has failed, that we know. Like General Modin, I had my doubts, but unlike him I did not voice them. Perhaps,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘that is why I am alive and enjoying my promotion, while he is dead.

‘Following the death of General Modin under interrogation yesterday,’ Bykov continued, ‘I was immediately promoted. The failed plan was deemed to be the fault of Minister Trushenko and General Modin; the Minister for a totally unauthorized operation and for negotiating with, and accepting funds from, the Arabs, and General Modin for failing to realize that the operation was not approved by the Kremlin. But no blame was attached to General Sokolov or to me.’ He smiled. ‘That is the favour you have done me, Mr Beatty.’

‘And Gremiakin?’ Richter asked.

Bykov’s face clouded and his voice dropped. ‘Gremiakin,’ he said, ‘was nothing more than an animal, a hideous example of the worst excesses of the Stalin era. The trouble was, he was also very senior, and had powerful friends. There was no way to curb him, to stop what he called his “work”. For the removal of Gremiakin,’ Bykov concluded, ‘for I am sure you were responsible, I also thank you.’

Richter nodded, but said nothing. Bykov looked at his watch, and stood up. ‘Come, Mr Beatty, or you will miss your flight.’

‘I thought,’ Richter said, getting to his feet, and still unsure of the situation, ‘that making me miss my flight was why you were here.’

Bykov shook his head and smiled. ‘No, no, Mr Beatty. I really did only come to see you off. Oh, and to warn you that it might be better if you stayed away from Russia for a while. As I said, Gremiakin had some powerful friends.’

Viktor Bykov stood silent for a few seconds, looking at Richter, then held out his hand. And after a moment Richter reached out and shook it.

James Barringtonis a trained military pilot who has worked in covert operations and espionage. He now lives in Andorra and this is his first novel in the series featuring Paul Richter.

Paul Richter series

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PAYBACK

No one person ever writes a book; it’s always a team effort, and I’ve been lucky enough to find myself working with a first-class team.

I’d particularly like to thank Luigi Bonomi of Sheil Land Associates – a real writer’s agent – who saw potential where others had not, and Vanessa and Amelia, otherwise known as The Girls In The Basement, for their success in selling the book internationally, even before its British publication.

At Macmillan I couldn’t have asked for a better editor than Peter Lavery, and I owe special thanks to him and to the talented and enthusiastic team responsible for the publication of this book.

On a personal note, my thanks go to Bill and Barbara Vine who were, so to speak, there at the birth and who provided helpful and accurate guidance. Thanks also to Rowland, whose last name would be known to many and is omitted here for reasons of professional embarrassment.

Unlikely though it may sound, I’d like to thank my mother-in-law, Betty Lee-Kemp, for providing encouragement and unfailing optimism, despite having to read the flocks of rejection slips as they came home to roost. Particular thanks are due to my sister-in-law Sue Lee-Kemp for what might be termed ‘special services’ – she knows exactly what I mean – and to my brother-in-law Paul for his enthusiasm and belief.

And in the great British tradition of saving the best until last; to my wife Sally, my first and most vocal critic, and my support for always and for ever.

This book is a work of fiction, with all the usual disclaimers about people living or dead. However, the central idea is built upon a verifiable factual base, and brief reference has been made to the real American politicians John Kennedy, Jimmy Carter and Ronald Reagan, and to a man named Sam Cohen.

Sam Cohen was employed as a strategic nuclear weapons analyst by the Rand Corporation, a military think tank based in Santa Monica, California. In the late 1950s he effectively created the neutron bomb or Enhanced Radiation Weapon when he proposed removing the outer uranium casing of a hydrogen bomb, creating a nuclear weapon that killed people but left structures largely intact. Details given in the book about the way a neutron bomb works and the theoretical maximum size of the weapon are accurate.