William
PART III
Nineteen
Will felt tense and uneasy. He’d received a call from Joanna, who’d relayed the contents of William’s latest letter to him and said that Betty and Alfie were immediately moving to a new location in the U.K. Now he was watching Suzy as she sat motionless at the Auguststrasse dining table with a cell phone against her head. Two hours ago he’d asked her to run the names Colonel Nikolai Dmitriev, Kurt Schreiber, Gerlache, Francois Gilliams, Simon Rubner, and Kronos through CIA databases. She’d telephoned Langley. Five minutes ago, someone had called her back.
Mark Oates handed him a mug of black coffee. “It’s shift change in thirty minutes.”
“How’s the Russian team?”
“The same.”
“Have they had any deliveries to the hotel?”
“Can’t be certain, but we think not.”
Will nodded. “And your team?”
Mark smiled. “We’re either sitting on our arses or freezing our nuts off. Couldn’t be better.”
“That’ll change soon.” He wondered if the team’s surveillance detail was taking its toll on them. But the paramilitary officer looked alert and energized. “It’s imperative you’re able to stick to the Russians the moment they move.”
Mark took a swig of his coffee. “We know.”
“How are your daughters?”
“What?”
“They’re at university, right?”
Mark beamed. “Yeah. One’s at Exeter, the other at Newcastle. They’re loving it.”
“Expensive these days.”
“Damn right.” Mark rubbed his face. “But they’re the first in my family to do higher education. If it keeps them from having to do all-night laps of a hotel then it’s worth every penny.”
“Are you managing to find time to check they’re okay?”
“Finding time’s half the battle; getting them to answer my calls is just as hard. They want to be all grown up now, don’t want Dad pestering them. Why do you ask?”
Will hesitated. “I’m the only one in the section who doesn’t have any ties. I don’t know how the rest of you cope.”
Suzy held a finger in the air. “Peter.”
Peter Rhodes moved to the whiteboard, a marker pen in his hand.
Keeping the phone to her ear, Suzy called out, “Nikolai Dmitriev. Confirmed that he was a colonel in the KGB and subsequently was the SVR’s Head of Directorate S. Retired ten years ago and since then he’s been running a vineyard in the south of France. The French kept their eyes on him for a while before concluding he was no threat.”
Peter wrote down his name and the information Suzy had given him.
“Nothing on the Gerlache company, nothing on Francois Gilliams.”
That didn’t surprise Will. He was certain the company was a cover for an intelligence unit, the same team who’d supplied his name and home address to Alina, and that anyone allegedly working for the company would be using an alias.
“Nothing on Kronos.”
Peter asked, “You’ve checked with DIA in case it’s a weapons system?”
“I know how to do my job. I’ve told Langley to check in all the right places, including DIA. Kronos has no meaning to us.”
“Except one.” Will smiled. “In Greek mythology, Kronos was a Titan who carried a scythe that could slice open the sky. He defeated his father, the ruler of the universe, and devoured most of his sons when they were babies so that they couldn’t grow up and depose him.”
Peter asked, “How on Earth do you know that?”
Will shrugged. “Peter Paul Rubens did a painting of him eating his child, Poseidon. I’ve seen the painting and read about Kronos on the plaque underneath it.”
Peter laughed. “It must be a blast hanging around you outside of work.” He turned, looked mischievous, and wrote, Kronos-the god who devoured his offspring.
Suzy said, “Kurt Schreiber. Former Stasi colonel.”
Peter spun around, his expression now serious. “Details of what he did in the Stasi?”
Suzy shook her head. “All we have is his rank. To have reached that level of seniority without his name appearing elsewhere means he must have kept his head down for most of his career.”
Peter looked at Will. “Or his identity was protected.”
Suzy frowned and said quietly to the caller, “You’re sure?” She looked at Peter. “Six months ago, Interpol sent out a flag to London, Langley, and most European agencies-if the name Kurt Schreiber emerges in the course of our work, we’re to alert Interpol immediately.”
Will said, “We need to understand Interpol’s interest in Schreiber.”
“It’s being followed up.”
Will nodded. “What else have you got, Suzy?”
She didn’t answer right away. Then she shut her cell phone, rubbed her tummy, and said, “Simon Rubner. Mossad intelligence officer. And for the last six months he’s also been a CIA agent.”
Will and Peter simultaneously exclaimed, “CIA!”
Suzy nodded.
Will’s mind raced. “Give me the details. Everything.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have the security clearance to read anything about Rubner.”
Impatience surged through Will. “Patrick can get that clearance!”
Suzy was unflustered. “It was Patrick on the end of the phone. He tried to get clearance, but was then hauled into the Director of Intelligence’s office and told to mind his own business. In fact, the director used far stronger language than that.”
“Then Patrick needs to go over his head and speak to the president!”
Peter shook his head. “Come on, Will. It’s a delicate time for us. Patrick and Alistair won’t want to risk a fight at that level. The section could lose, or worse could happen.”
Will banged a fist against the wall, recalling what Alistair had told him in London.
Things are changing. There are cries for transparency from the intelligence community, demands to do away with so-called shadowy task forces and the like. This is not just about you. If we get this wrong, some might grab this as an opportunity to shut us down.
Will asked Suzy, “Any reference to Mikhail in the double agent files?”
“I’m still searching. Nothing yet.”
Roger entered the room, checking the workings of his handgun. “Have I missed something?”
“Not a thing. We’ve hit a fucking roadblock!” Peter walked up to Will and asked in a near whisper, “Did you get these names at Yevtushenko’s house? How are they connected?”
“I found them among other stuff in Yevtushenko’s basement. I’ve got no idea if they’re connected and, given the delicacy of our situation, we’ll never find out.” Will looked at Roger and Mark. “Our only chance now is to follow the Russian team to the target.”
He tried to understand what had happened in the valley. The surveillance team should have killed him; instead it seemed that they were trying to drive him back toward the police so that he could be arrested or killed by them. That was the only reason he got out of there alive. One thing he was certain about was that knowledge of his intended break-in of Yevtushenko’s house was limited to the section, its coheads, and a handful of other senior officers in Langley and London. One of them had betrayed him, and that person had to be the same individual who’d leaked his name and address.
He wondered if that person was in the room with him.
Twenty
Kurt Schreiber was sitting at his desk in the farmstead’s study. In front of him were ledgers containing the accounts of his multiple companies, six files that he’d drawn up for potential new business associates, a folder containing a draft business plan to derail a major oil conglomerate’s bid to establish drilling rights in the South Pacific and to then charge the conglomerate a small fortune to get the bid back on track, a list of men and women who needed to be killed, and a file that had the letter K on the front. That file had nothing in it-committing anything to paper would be far too dangerous-but he kept it in front of him to focus his mind. After all, none of his other projects were as significant as activating Kronos.