Matthew Dunn - Sentinel

“Their loss.”

“Their gain. MI6 couldn’t afford to underestimate your im- portance.”

“You’d damn well better have a reason to be talking about this.”

“Oh, I do. Alistair was sent to you for a very specific reason. It had to be him, because he’d just been given command of the revamped Spartan Section.”

Sentinel stared at the phone, and his expression changed. He seemed to be deep in thought. Eventually, he brought his gaze up to Will and asked, “Is this him?”

“It is.”

Sentinel nodded slowly, looked away, and muttered, “They kept it going.”

“It wasn’t easy. Eight recruits before him… failed. The future of the section was entirely reliant on someone passing the Program. I sent him to you out of respect for who you are.” He paused. “I’d like you to work with him. But I concede that I can’t order you to make that happen.”

The room was silent. Will kept his eyes locked on Sentinel.

Sentinel picked the phone up. “Okay, I’ll do it. But no more surprises. Understood?”

“I understand very well.”

Sentinel ended the call and tossed the phone at Will. He spoke in a quiet, measured voice. “Razin and his men have been instructed by Russian high command to covertly train with twenty prototype weapons. These devices are about the size of small suitcases and are highly sophisticated. There’s a view that the devices can be used in conventional battlefields and unconventional theaters of war and peace. Alpha’s task is to prove this view correct and to also prove that the weapons can be smuggled into heavily defended areas. Over the last few months, Razin and his men have been secretly entering Russian air bases, navy installations, army depots, and government buildings to plant these devices. Every infiltration so far has been successful. The devices have since been removed by Razin’s men and kept by them. The training exercise is due to be complete in the next few weeks, at which point the devices will be handed back to the army.”

“This is how he’ll spark a war?”

“It must be.” Sentinel looked at the prone cartridges again and shook his head. “I’ll send an urgent message to Razin that we need to meet in a safe house on the Russian border. We’ve used it before, so it shouldn’t seem suspicious. The message will also say that people are being killed, I’m concerned for his safety, and I need to brief him on new security protocols.”

Will’s stomach muscles tightened. “The devices?”

Gun in hand, Sentinel rose and walked to the window. Outside, snow was falling faster and was being whipped up by a strong wind. Their surroundings no longer looked eerily serene; instead they appeared harsh and violent. Sentinel slowly turned to face Will. When he spoke, his voice was deep, and somber.

“The devices are nuclear bombs.”

Will stood naked in his room in the Hotel Otrada, staring at his belongings laid out on the bed. He selected some clothes, carefully checked each item to ensure that none of them contained any compromising items such as receipts, and dressed. He examined himself in a mirror and decided that he looked as though he were about to embark on a winter hike. Stuffing cash into a jacket pocket, he repacked all of the remaining items, including his wallet and passport, into his case. The case he would leave with the concierge. He could see lunchtime traffic from the window, moving slowly below him through thick snow. There was no fog now. In the distance the Black Sea was easily visible.

He flicked on a kettle, tore open three tea bags, and emptied their contents into a mug. He poured boiling water slowly over the loose tea, carefully stirring the brew. Grabbing the mug and looking at the sumptuous sofa and two armchairs in the room, he ignored them and sat instead on the floor with his back leaning against a wall. After waiting a few minutes for the tea leaves to settle to the base of the mug, he took a delicate sip of his drink and closed his eyes in appreciation. Though the drink was not up to the standard of his favorite Scottish breakfast tea blend, it was still good. He’d always known that even the coarsest of teas could be coaxed into tasting nice if one prepared its leaves properly and added nothing but hot water to them.

He thought about Sentinel, wondering if he would become the same as him by middle age unless something drastically changed the path of his life. There was so much about the man that Will not only understood but also saw in himself: mistrust of others, a life lived in extremes, a life lived with unrelenting focus, a life lived alone. But Sentinel had something that he did not yet have: an acceptance of that way of life, a realization that there would never be an alternative to his mode of existence.

Will recalled words spoken to him nine years before when an anonymous MI6 officer had asked if he was prepared to go into the Spartan Program.

Before you agree, understand this. There’s no going back. If you survive the Program, everything will be different for you. Your body, your mind, your life. Everything.

He remembered being dragged to the edge of a forest in Scotland after two weeks of imprisonment, sleep deprivation, and torture by MI6 and special forces instructors, prior to which he had been chased by armed trackers and attack dogs over a hundred miles of frozen mountainous terrain. As he was dumped on the ground, an instructor walked quickly up to him, yanked his head up, pointed at the woods, and gave him his next task: “The forest is two miles long and one mile wide. Inside are four very skilled SBS soldiers. They’re armed. You won’t be. You’ve got to find them and render them immobile, but alive. If you exit the forest before doing so, you fail the program. And remember, this is not an artificial test. The men in there have authority to hurt you badly.”

He took another sip of his tea and opened his eyes. Many years before Will had done so, Sentinel would have gone into that forest. He would have moved through the place exhausted, disoriented, desperate to find the men before they found him, but all the while doubting that he had the speed, strength, and skills to beat them. He would have wondered if that day was his last day on Earth, just as he had wondered every other day during the twelve-month Spartan Program.

Like Sentinel, Will had succeeded in that forest. But there was one thing he’d never been able to conquer: a fantasy about a different, normal life. Nine years before, he’d briefly had the opportunity to take that path. He was about to graduate from Cambridge University when one of his professors took him aside and offered him a full scholarship to do a Ph. D. and the chance to become an academic.

“I know how hard it’s been for you, coming here after your experiences in the Legion. I know why you’re quiet, while the other students like the sounds of their own mouths. But you’ve a razor-sharp intellect, and you have the chance now to put it to good use. Stay in Cambridge.”

Will had answered, “I don’t belong here.”

The professor had countered, “So where do you belong? Do you really have a clear idea of where that place is? I suspect you don’t. Be careful, because one day you’ll stop, look around, and realize that you’re totally alone.”

Will knew that day had long since passed for Sentinel. But for a very brief moment, Will had seen real compassion and sadness on Sentinel’s face as the officer recalled the memory of his four dead agents. Will understood. Sentinel’s agents and assets were his kin, a disparate family.

But even though their work was dangerous and their lives isolated, Will was certain that none of them carried the burden that Sentinel did. Will had worked with many courageous and powerful men and women, but Sentinel was in a different league. To have survived so long in deep cover was in itself remarkable, but Sentinel had done so while at the same time building up an intelligence network that was second to none. Will had never met anyone so capable.