Steve Abbott - Devil's Gambit

“Well, you and Weston both did the right thing. Has he returned yet?”

“Not yet.” Evans watched one of the monitors. Lights started to go off on the ship, degrading the picture quality as the lenses struggled to adjust to the low light. Hawsers were being thrown onto the dock. It was clear the ship was leaving. “Damn!” Evans’s frustration was clear.

“What?”

“The Korean freighter … it’s putting out to sea.”

The crate size rang alarm bells in Gene’s head. “You’re absolutely sure about the size of those crates? It’s all on tape, right?”

“As sure as I can be, sir, and yes, we got it on tape. Sorry I can’t be more specific.”

“Not much we could do about that, I’m afraid. So, Mr. Verkatt is still in the business. I’ll send out some relief immediately. Get yourself, Weston and whatever tapes you have out to the usual place at the airport as soon as you can. Oh, and good work, the two of you.”

“Will do, sir, and thank you.” The line went dead.

Gene Anthony, A4’s section leader, sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed. He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and rubbed at the sleep in his eyes.

His wife stirred in her sleep, woken by her husband’s movement. She reached out a slender arm and touched his back. “Trouble at work?”

Gene nodded, still rubbing at his eyes. They had been married long enough that they had few secrets between them. What he did for a living was not one of them. “Couple of the lads out at Cape Town just confirmed something the Chief briefed me on this afternoon.” He deserted the warmth and security of the bed and began rummaging through the piles of clothes that marked his side of the room, trying to find some clothes that were not wrinkled. “It’s going to be a bit of a crisis. I probably won’t be back for a few days. If you need to get me, just call the office.”

His wife rolled onto one elbow and watched her husband struggle into his pants. “Timothy is going to be disappointed. You told him you would go fishing this week.”

“I know, but defense of the realm and all that.”

“Is it as serious as that?”

Gene looked back at his wife from the head of the stairs. “This time, I’m afraid, it looks like it is.” Once he was in his Range Rover and on his way to the “office,” he attached a small scrambler unit to the side of his smartphone and dialed the station head’s number along with his personal four-digit code. The code verified who he was and a small box in the basement of the director’s house activated a similar scrambler. Now anybody trying to listen in would just get electronic garbage for a signal.

The phone was picked up almost immediately. “Yes?”

“Gene Anthony, sir. There has been a development in what we discussed this afternoon. I would prefer to brief you at the office as soon as possible.”

“Are you sure?”

“It comes from good sources.”

“Very well. At the office then.” The line went dead.

Gene made another scrambled call to the night officer’s desk.

“Night desk. Barnes.”

“Anthony 7942. Send the two watchers on call to the Cape Town operation. They are to relieve the team there. Get Vic Holst in K branch to go with them, just in case. This is important. They are all to be armed and are authorized to use deadly force if necessary. I want Travis out of bed and down to the office pronto. If he moans, tell him it’s on the Chief’s orders. Oh and Barnes, any luck with our friend’s mail?”

Barnes checked the confirmation code before answering. “A few phrases. Nothing really substantial yet, but I’m getting close.”

“Good man. I’ll need you to bring what you have to me as soon as I get in. Get the watchers on their way, put some coffee on and get cracking on the rest of their mail. It’s serious now.”

Fifteen minutes later, Gene sat in the conference room of the communications company MI6 used as a front for its Pretoria operation. At least Barnes could follow orders. He took another sip from his cup, and he made a pretty good cup of coffee. Five minutes later, the Station Head arrived, briefcase in hand, with a rumpled-looking Travis in tow.

Hamilton Smythe sat his briefcase in one of the conference chairs. The Chief was not one to beat around the bush with subordinates. “All right Anthony, what do we have on the Koreans that can’t wait until nine?”

“Verkatt. Two of our watchers in Cape Town spotted him at three am this morning dropping off some crates.” Gene looked down at his notes. “The crates were three feet by five feet by eighteen inches high. They were loaded into the hold of a waiting freighter of North Korean registry. It put to sea shortly after our watchers alerted us. I’ve got two watchers en route to Cape Town and the two there on their way back with everything they have on this.” This was the tough part. “I’ve authorized the use of deadly force if necessary.”

Hamilton Smythe raised his eyebrows at the last statement, but kept his silence.

Gene took that as a good sign.

Travis sat sprawled in a chair. He had been present at the afternoon briefing on the Russian situation, and put little stock in the human surveillance Gene’s watcher section provided. Travis preferred to rely on the ELINT his section was responsible for. His voice was nasal and grating. “So you drag us down here in the middle of the night over a mysterious phone call from Cape Town?”

Gene looked down at Travis. No wonder the people under him despised the man. Gene deliberately used Travis’s first name. “Don’t forget Edward. If it wasn’t for my section doing the bugging, wiretaps and exotic stuff, you would have a very hard time doing your job at all.”

Smythe lit his pipe and cut off the argument before Travis made a total fool of himself. “Who was on station?” Smythe was old-fashioned. He liked to think that he knew all of the men under his command. Travis, cut off from any support from Smythe, lapsed into sullen silence.

Gene chose to ignore the communications head and turned back to the station Chief. “Evans and Weston. They’re two of our best.”

“Quite. So you think it has something to do with our little problem in Georgia?”

“I think there is a good chance.” Before Gene had a chance to elaborate, Barnes came running into the room, a sheet of fax paper in his hand.

“Sorry, sirs. Flash Traffic from London.” Barnes handed the flimsy to Hamilton Smythe.

“Thank you, Barnes.” The young man left the room. Smythe scanned the sheet before looking at Gene. “Well Gene, looks like your men have just been vindicated.” He held the sheet out. On it was a copy of a satellite photo with the crates on the deck of a boat. Underneath were possible dimensions. They matched the crate sizes given by the Cape Town crew. “That, gentlemen, is enough evidence to board that freighter. I had better put a call into the Royal Navy and hope they can interdict the ship before we lose it completely.” The station head sucked hard at his pipe, trying to keep the tobacco burning. “What I want from A4 right now is absolute confirmation that this freighter has those crates on board.”

Gene nodded. “Well the size is right. Evans and Weston are bringing the video tapes in for analysis. They should be in by this afternoon.”

Smythe took another heavy drag on his pipe, but it had gone out. “Damn.” He pointed the stub of his pipe at Gene. “The Americans will have to be notified at the same time as London.”