Matthew Dunn - Sentinel

Sentinel looked around. “We’ve got to get out of Russia. But only for a few days. I need to come back to meet another agent.”

“What?”

“I’ve got to, and I’ve got to notify Moscow Station.”

Will couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Your plan failed!”

“Only because we were outgunned.” He shook his head. “Razin has to pay for what he did to Shashka.”

“Even if it means that another agent loses his life?”

“No.” Sentinel looked toward the house. “We need expert help. Do you think you can get a team?”

“What about your Eastern European or Russian assets?”

“They’re gifted amateurs, no match for Razin.”

Will was still incredulous. “I’m not going to let you put your life and another agent’s life at risk again.”

“You’ve got to, because we’ve just been given another opportunity to capture Razin. Shashka didn’t know this, but one of the men he mentioned-Lieutenant General Ilya Barkov, the head of Central Operational Strategic Command-is one of my other tier-one agents. He’s the only other general I have on my books, but he’s just become a very important one.”

“You’re going to ask him to activate the beacons so that we can locate Razin?”

“Yes.”

“Will he do it?”

“I don’t know; he’s a difficult man to handle. I need to lure Razin to the meeting in case Barkov says no.”

Will could see that Sentinel was exhausted. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

Sentinel muttered, “What other choice do I have?”

“You could trust me to do my job.”

Sentinel folded his arms. “Get me a team. Either we’ll take down Razin at the Barkov meeting, or we’ll get a grid reference for his location and make an assault on him.”

Will awoke as the Lufthansa flight touched down in Slovenia. The aircraft slowed to a taxi, and Will looked out of his window but barely registered the snow-covered surroundings or the activities in the airport. Instead, his thoughts returned to his confrontation with Razin.

He tried to understand what he felt about his inability to defeat the Russian. Anger, frustration, perhaps even shame? Yes, maybe all of those things. But there was something else that was far more overwhelming.

It came to him.

More than anything else, his fight with Razin had brought into question everything he’d been trained to do and tasked on. He’d been prepared to make all of the mental and physical sacrifices to endure the Spartan Program because it had been drilled into him that if he successfully completed the course, he would be able to succeed in any mission.

Until yesterday, that had been true.

But now that he’d come up against someone who was his equal, he wondered if the hell he’d gone through for twelve months and the subsequent eight years of constant deployment had been worth it. For the first time in his life, he doubted not only himself but also those who had put their faith in him.

He thought about one of the Program’s tests. He’d had to do a HALO parachute insertion from 70,000 feet into Washington’s Olympic Mountains, carrying a communications and survival kit weighing eighty pounds. After landing, he’d trekked across harsh terrain for fifty miles in freezing conditions until he reached the isolated house where he’d been told to rendezvous with an instructor who would be role-playing an agent. Will had covertly watched the house for six hours and had seen no one. He hadn’t expected to. But as he carefully made his way toward the house he knew that the real test was about to begin. When he entered, men with guns grabbed him, put him in shackles, and covered his head with a hood. He was placed in a truck and driven two hours away before being dragged into a building, stripped naked, repeatedly punched, and forced into agonizing stress positions for hours at a time, throughout which white noise blared from speakers.

He estimated it was twelve hours before the noise stopped, his hood was removed, and he was kicked to the floor. An instructor crouched down next to him, patted him on the head, and said, “So far, so good. But that was just the warm-up. Now we’re going to put drugs into you to make you tell us the name of the man you were coming to meet. After one day, every thought and instinct in your body will be crying out to release the information. If you manage to hold out until day two, you’ll think you’ve lost your mind. By day three, you’ll want to kill yourself. But you’re going to need to last five days to stay in the Program.”

Will wondered why this particular memory had come into his mind. It wasn’t the worst test he’d had to endure.

Of course. It was what had come after that five-day ordeal that mattered.

When the drugs were out of his system, he’d been allowed to wash, shave, and change into clean clothes. But sleep was not yet permitted. Instead, he was guided into a classroom where an elderly gentleman was standing by a large blackboard. Will was told to sit at a desk and was left alone with the man.

He’d never seen this instructor before; he looked over retirement age. The man was dressed in a tweed suit and bow tie, was tall and thin, and was holding a piece of chalk. He drew two small circles on the board, one in the top left-hand corner, the other on the bottom right. Turning to face Will, he said in a well-spoken English accent, “I know from my experience in the field in the fifties that all of the physical stuff is nothing compared to what you can do with a brain.” He jabbed the chalk on the lower circle. “This is you.” Then he did the same on the higher circle. “And this is the man you want to capture.” He smiled. “Using intellect alone, we’re going to see which one can get to the other first.”

For the next four hours, the theoretical exercise was played out, with the instructor throwing obstacle after obstacle, new information, and unexpected events at Will, who was trying to formulate an ongoing plan to get to the other circle. Finally, the instructor put a cross through the highest circle and said, “Impressive. You got him.” He nodded. “I hope you’ve learnt more about yourself in the last few hours than you have in the last week.”

The Lufthansa flight came to a halt. People around Will started to stand up and extract their bags from the overhead lockers.

Will was motionless. He knew why the memory had come to him. Razin had matched him blow for blow. But he had not yet proven that he was Will’s intellectual equal.

But if he did, Will’s future in the Spartan Section was in doubt.

Will sat at a table and waited. The restaurant provided stunning views of Ljubljana and the snow-covered Slovenian mountains beyond the city. It was breakfast time, but the restaurant was nearly empty.

Krystof arrived and sat opposite him. The former Czech intelligence officer looked even worse than when Will had last seen him, and he stank of cigarettes and stale alcohol. He shook Will’s hand. “Hello, David.”

Will smiled. “You look well.”

“No, I don’t.” Krystof pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Let’s get a drink.”

“I’ve already ordered us some coffee.”

“Coffee? Okay.” He glanced out of the windows at the view. “Thanks for meeting me here. It saved me having to reroute my flights.” He looked back at Will. “I’ve got a name.”

“Excellent.”

Krystof smiled. “I’m not completely off the rails.”

“I never thought you were.”

“Liar.” Krystof tapped his cigarette over an ashtray. “Richard Baines. British. Operates out of the Cayman Islands.”

“He knows Otto von Schiller?”

“No doubt he’ll know of him. But they don’t do business together. Not directly, anyway.”