Unless she had been just one of a handful of sleepers, her controllers playing the odds that at least one of them would succeed and find their way inside. If so, it spoke of people playing very long odds indeed. And that narrowed down the field considerably. Harry put that thought to one side. There was nothing he could do about it right now. Instead he had to concentrate on finding Tan. If she was a sleeper, the switch must have been made after leaving Cambridge and applying for the army. If so, that cut down the timeframe. But it still didn’t tell him who was running her.
And why would she drop out at such a crucial moment and position in her career? Had someone blown her cover? If so, Ballatyne would have been the first to know. Unless she’d simply lost her nerve and taken flight. She was thirty years old, still young, and the intense pressure of working in that kind of environment, storing away information while staying below the radar of constant security reviews, would have been enormous.
That raised another question: how did the people running her get the information out of her head? They couldn’t exactly download it like a stored computer file. Unless she took huge risks and put everything down in writing and passed it on by secure electronic means. He mentioned it to Rik, who looked doubtful.
‘It’s possible, but risky. Transmissions of any data going out from anywhere in Afghanistan would stand a high chance of being picked up, and an encrypted satellite phone would only be any good as long as nobody found it. Would she be allowed to carry one in her position?’
Harry had to agree. But if she didn’t pass the information online, it had to be by personal contact. That was also highly risky, but providing she was careful, she could have done it by booking into a hotel somewhere and having pre-arranged meetings with her controller in the next room.
He decided to call Ballatyne. The MI6 man came on within seconds.
‘Were there ever any doubts about Lieutenant Tan in the weeks leading up to her disappearance?’ Harry asked him.
Ballatyne hesitated, then said, ‘Not as far as I know.’ He sounded puzzled. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Her disappearance doesn’t fit. The whole set-up is odd.’
‘Odd?’
‘There’s no trace of her before or after she signed up. That’s not normal. Everyone leaves something, no matter how small.’
‘Are you suggesting she’s a sleeper?’ Ballatyne had caught on fast.
‘It’s possible. But if she is, why leave such a prime position if she didn’t have to? It’s a waste of an asset.’
There was another pause before Ballatyne said, ‘All I can say is, she had a spotless record, with exemplary conduct. But then,’ he continued, ‘if she was a sleeper, her controllers would have made sure of her legend, wouldn’t they?’
The legend — the cover story for operatives working undercover. It had to be good enough to stand up to rigorous examination, with enough strands of truth to sound convincing, yet not so many that a reasonable check would reveal unexplained holes. If Tan was a spy, her legend must have been exceptional, given the position she had achieved. Either she was genuinely clean and original or she was the cleverest insert anyone had ever put in place.
‘Whether original or a plant,’ Ballatyne pointed out, ‘we still have a problem: a person of importance has gone missing. What we don’t know is how much she has taken with her or how much she may have already passed on.’
He was right. If a foreign power had managed to strike gold by placing an asset in Tan’s position, they wouldn’t sit back for long without taking delivery of every nugget they could get their hands on. And neither would the Protectory.
‘There’s another point bugging me.’
‘Only one?’
‘How does the Protectory get a line on the deserters, and how do they identify who’s a talent and who isn’t?’
‘That’s been worrying us, too. So far I don’t like the answers we’re getting. I’ll keep you informed. Anything else?’
‘Yes. The American McCreath referred to as “Turp”. I’m guessing he’s a deserter like Deakin. There can’t be too many One-oh-One Airborne men out there on the run. Do you know who we can ask?’
‘You need to speak to the Army Deserter Information Point at Fort Knox. A Major Kenwin Dundas. He’s been cleared to help you.’ He gave Harry the relevant telephone and fax numbers to call. Harry was impressed. It showed Ballatyne had been listening carefully to McCreath and had already prepared the way for him to make contact.
‘There’s just one thing,’ Ballatyne continued. ‘If Tan is a sleeper, I think we can be fairly sure it isn’t the Guoanbu running her.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘We’ve had an interesting circular bulletin from German Counterintelligence. A “person of interest” named Wien Lu Chi has been staying at a luxury hotel in Bremen for a few days. The reason he was noticed was that a member of the German parliament was staying there with a young woman who is not his wife, and they were keeping a close watch to keep the press away. Wien Lu Chi happened to pop up on the radar. He’s a known middleman for the Chinese and a few select Middle Eastern clients, usually dealing in arms and weapons technology. Nobody knows why he was in the country, but it’s a safe bet he was up to no good. If the Chinese are running Tan, they wouldn’t need him to be involved — they’d deal direct.’
‘I take it there’s been no sighting of her in the area?’
‘No. They’ve interviewed the staff and bugged his room, but nothing has shown up yet.’ He paused, and Harry picked up on it.
‘There’s a but in there.’
‘There is. Wien Lu Chi received two visitors in the hotel before the Germans could get a bug in place. One American, one British. They left no names but the watchers got a look at the hotel’s CCTV system.’ Ballatyne’s voice contained a smile. ‘One of the men was Thomas Deakin.’
THIRTY-NINE
It was nearly eight in the evening before Harry was able to pin down Major Dundas at Fort Knox. When he finally came on, the officer sounded efficient and brisk, yet there was an undertone of reserve, as though he was not altogether pleased at having to assist a British subject about an American deserter. Harry put it down to pride and launched into his request.
‘Sorry to bother you with this, Major,’ he said smoothly, after an exchange of names and positions, ‘but we have reason to believe that one of yours is helping channel British deserters to new identities and lives in exchange for information.’
‘What kind of information?’
‘The sensitive kind: technology, security, intelligence, armaments. . anything they can sell.’
‘They?’
‘A group called the Protectory.’ Harry gave him a summary of what they knew without adding any names. ‘They approach deserters from strategic regiments or specialist units and offer a deaclass="underline" a new life in exchange for whatever information they will trade.’
‘Sounds quite a scheme, Mr Tate. And where do they sell this “strategic” information?’
‘To the highest bidder. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you who they are.’ Harry wondered if he was getting through to this man. Dundas sounded less than enthused. His next words confirmed why.
‘I guess you don’t at that. Thing is, these are British military personnel, right?’
‘That’s right, but-’
‘Selling British military data?’ The level of interest had dropped instantly and the implied focus for Dundas was clear: a British problem remained just that. British, not American.
‘We don’t know that for sure,’ said Harry, who understood his reasoning, ‘or how long it may last. One of their targets said he was introduced to an American working with the group. He was wearing a One-oh-One Airborne tattoo, eagle’s head and banner, and was referred to as “Turp”. We suspect this man is high up in the pecking order.’