‘So from what you’ve said, this job doesn’t appear to be high priority.’
Abbott remained non-committal. ‘At this stage, no.’
Sean began to weigh up the pros and cons. On the plus side, the Section was happy to give him a free hand. Although Sean understood the requirement for an Executive, he hated assignments with multiple agents. In his experience it was possible to end up shooting one of your own team. He was damn lucky he hadn’t encountered anyone in Vienna. The new task looked like a simple operation, and it would be over soon. But no matter how easy it appeared, complications invariably arose.
Abbott passed a thin folder across the table. Inside were half a dozen photographs of a man in his late forties. He had a round face, dark hair and wore spectacles. Judging by the suit he looked to be slightly overweight.
‘You’re looking at Nic Tyler,’ continued Abbott. He’s American, married to a British wife. They have a home in Kent.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘He was in Russia, working for an American company called US Shale.’
‘Was?’
‘He was reported dead three days ago.’
Sean gave Abbott a puzzled glance. ‘So what’s the job?’
‘I’m coming to that,’ he replied irritably. ‘The point is he died in mysterious circumstances in Siberia. He was discovered frozen to death, miles away from civilisation — or whatever passes for civilisation there.’
‘Murder?’
Abbott nodded. ‘It’s a distinct possibility. US Shale joined forces with a Russian company called GazArtic, and we’ve known for a few weeks all is not well at the partnership. We’ve caught rumours of back-handers, inflated prices being set, fudged company accounts — the usual stuff. So far though, nothing concrete has come to light.’
Sean passed the file back as he continued to speak.
‘Then Tyler went missing. At first they assumed there was some communication problem with that part of the country. Several days later his wife received a text message from her husband. We understand it arrived two days after he was found.’ Abbott pushed a single piece of paper over to Sean.
sorry i cheated
always loved u
am dying
CHAPTER FOUR
Sean studied the text message. ‘You’re sure it arrived after he died?’
‘Positive.’
‘And it was definitely sent from Tyler’s mobile?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where is his phone?’
‘It was found on him.’
‘So — we have a bit of a mystery, but hardly worth assigning me.’
‘You’d think so, but there are other reasons for involving you.’ Abbott ticked off the items on his fingers. ‘One. Tyler was working closely with his opposite number at GazArctic. His name is Alexei Khostov, a leading nuclear physicist. He might be able to confirm details on the allegations of corruption at GazArctic.’
Abbott ticked a second finger. ‘Two. Khostov is rumoured to be managing a top secret project to deliver nuclear reactors for a new type of floating platform. We’re interested in any moves Russia makes in developing its energy reserves.’
Abbott ticked another finger. ‘Three. Past Intel indicates he is friendly to the west. If there’s the slightest possibility he would like to come and work in the UK, we want you to be with him to provide the necessary encouragement.’
‘Right, I understand’ replied Sean. ‘What’s my way in?’
‘Nic Tyler’s widow. Help Kellie Tyler to repatriate her husband’s body. Find out whatever you can when you’re over there. Make contact with Khostov if possible, without alerting the Russian authorities.’
Sean looked sceptical. ‘That’s all?’
‘Yes. You stay with Kellie, there and back. We’ll give you some cover for the Foreign Office.’
‘I won’t have much time to do anything in Moscow. I imagine the process wouldn’t take more than a couple of days.’
‘Not even that — 24 hours at the most.’ Abbott faced Sean. ‘No heroics. You must accompany the widow back.’
‘Bloody hell, you don’t want much do you?
‘Perhaps now you understand why we need to send an old hand.’
‘Thanks. Old hand or not, we’ll be watched at every step. The only way I could get that kind of Intel is by going to ground.’
Abbott understood Sean to mean disappearing from the authorities and operating in the shadows until he had collected the information they had asked for. ‘No, I don’t want you to do that. Just see what you can pick up.’
‘And when I return?’
‘A quick debrief and that’s it.’
‘Then I’m free to return to Italy?’
Abbott pulled a face. ‘You know how these things go.’
‘That’s the problem. I have to get back to Italy before the end of the week.’
‘Girlfriend over there, is she?’
‘That’s information you don’t need to know.’
Abbott shifted in his chair. ‘Can we decide after the debrief?’
For the second time Sean shook his head. ‘No. I can turn this mission down for any reason, and I’m not required to tell you why.’
Abbott sighed. ‘Very well then. When you get back you can go wherever you want.’
Sean paused, weighing up the odds. He had Abbott’s word, but he knew from bitter experience the department could overrule him if they chose to. Despite the alarm bells, he felt obliged. After all, he would be leaving the service in six months. What could go wrong? He took a deep breath.
‘OK. I’ll do it.’
For every operation he accepted, Sean had to sign a stack of forms; the Section were sticklers for procedure. He went down the stairs to the ground floor where the admin department tried to keep on top of the paperwork. A pretty girl from Finance peered over the counter and gave him a pile of papers. Sean flicked through, pausing near the end. The form required his signature and a witness, confirming he wanted no changes to his Will.
‘Is there something the matter?’
They were unfailingly polite to agents who were about to embark on a mission; some never made it back. He hesitated. Previously he had always signed the slip without thinking, but this occasion was different.
‘I want to change the Will.’ He would still remember Katherine and leave in the clause about the flowers for her grave. But now he had to consider Natasha. ‘Here, I’ll jot down what I’d like. Would you see to it?’
‘Of course sir.’
He wrote out the directive with mixed feelings. Katherine had died fifteen years ago and he would never forget her, but this marked a turning point.
He signed, dated the form, and passed it back to the girl.
Yakov Petrovich held the notice high above his head. He judged the passengers arriving at Heathrow’s terminal 5 would be able to see it over the heads of the waiting crowd. The sign said Vassily Maskhadov, though Yakov expected to greet Alexei Khostov. A small crowd came through the gate, and Yakov craned his neck, anxious to get a first glimpse of Alexei. The man he had come to meet was tall, thin and distinguished. Yakov had known him on and off for the last thirty years.
Yakov waved the sign when he spotted Alexei in the next group to emerge. He was even thinner than when they had last met, and his face more lined. He had a stubble turning into the start of a beard, but the brown eyes possessed the same watchful air as before. His hair, once dark, was going grey at the temples.
Alexei Khostov recognised Petrovich and walked over with quick precise movements. ‘Yakov! It’s so good to see you again!’
The two men embraced. Petrovich slapped him on the back and they broke apart, each regarding at the other.
Khostov spoke first. ‘You look more like an oligarch now than when I last saw you in Moscow!’