“Do we know anything about the man he was there to meet?” Procter asked.
“We had several clear shots of him arriving and leaving so we put him through facial recognition but didn’t get lucky. We did get some luck after enhancing other photos. We established the name of the rental-car company Stevenson’s employer used. I contacted the company and only one car of that particular make, model, and color was out when the meeting took place.”
“So who is he?” Procter asked.
“Sebastian Hoyt,” Alvarez said through the table’s speakerphone, “is a Dutch businessman and CEO of a small financial-consultancy firm located in Milan. I checked flights in and out of Brussels that day, and Hoyt arrived and returned the same day.”
“Great work,” Procter said. “What do we know about this Hoyt?”
“Not that much,” Alvarez answered. “But it’s early days. He’s a private businessman, that much is obvious. I’ve already spoken briefly to our people in Italy and asked them to start digging.”
“I’ll liaise with the Italians too,” Procter added. “I want to know everything there is to know about this individual, and I want to know fast.”
“He used to be one our assets, back in the eighties,” Ferguson said matter-of-factly.
Procter and Sykes looked at him.
“You’re sure?” Procter asked.
“I should hope so,” Ferguson replied. “He used to be one of my assets.”
“Tell me more.”
Ferguson nodded. “He’s a trained lawyer from a wealthy family, but he deals with some very unpleasant people. He was doing business with a corrupt Soviet army officer when I knew him. He supplied me information on the Red Army from this general-training techniques, armaments, that kind of thing. In return I let him get away with the arms brokering he was doing for the officer. Mainly shipping AKs and RPGs to Africa.”
“So what’s he been up to since?” Procter asked.
Ferguson shrugged. “I don’t know. After the Wall came down we didn’t have much use for him, not that I could’ve continued paying him with what was left of my budgets. I expect he’ll still be doing what he’s best at, trading in illicit commodities, arms, people, information. If he has his own firm, he’s come a long way; and if he’s still operating, then he’s either gone legitimate or has been clever enough not to get caught or tread on anyone’s toes.”
“Until now,” Procter added coldly. “Do we have a file on this clown?”
Ferguson nodded.
“What about your own personal files?”
“I’ll get them out for you.”
“And Alvarez,” Procter said.
“Yes, sir.”
“I heard about John Kennard. I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“I didn’t meet him, but I’m told he was a good man. What happened to him?”
“Wrong place at the wrong time. He was just unlucky.”
Ferguson and Sykes sat perfectly still.
In the corridor outside the briefing room, Sykes waited for Ferguson to come out. Sykes’s pulse was racing, and he was finding it difficult not to look like he was crapping himself. Ferguson had stayed behind to have a word with Procter. Sykes needed to consult with him immediately. Alvarez was only a step away from Hoyt. Things were going from bad to shit at warp ten.
It was about five minutes before Ferguson finally appeared a moment after the big guy, but to Sykes it could’ve been five hours. He’d wiped perspiration from his face at least three times.
When Procter was out of earshot Sykes moved closer to Ferguson.
“Before you say anything,” Ferguson began, “take a breath and compose yourself.”
Sykes took a breath, but even if he took a hundred more he didn’t think he would miraculously calm down. “We’re fucked,” he said.
“Is that your professional opinion?”
Sykes had never seen Ferguson truly rattled, and he didn’t look rattled now. “How can you remain calm at a time like this?”
“Because, unlike you, this isn’t my first extracurricular activity,” Ferguson said. “And I also have a pair of these.” He put a hand to his testicles.
“What the fuck happened in there?” Sykes whispered. “Since when do you have a relationship with Hoyt?”
“Since always.”
“Why in God’s name didn’t you tell me?”
“There was no need.”
“Bullshit. What happened to all that crap about making sure we weren’t connected with anyone else involved in this op?”
“We didn’t have a choice but to use Hoyt. We needed hitters who weren’t on CIA files, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not acquainted with too many of those. Hoyt, however, is connected in such circles. He was necessary to the success of our objectives. The fact that he was a previous asset of mine had no relevance to that.”
“Except that Alvarez is now onto him. And therefore onto us.”
“We couldn’t have known Hoyt would have delivered the money to Stevenson personally. I would have thought he’d have been more careful than that.”
Sykes stared at Ferguson. “Greed tends to make people forget to be careful.”
Ferguson ignored Sykes’s tone. “And we couldn’t have known that Stevenson would be so paranoid as to have their meeting photographed. It’s what in this business us grown-ups call bad luck.”
“Chance favors the prepared mind,” Sykes said with another hint of sarcasm.
“Indeed,” Ferguson said, and Sykes was unsure whether he didn’t notice the tone or was just ignoring it. “Which is why we have Reed. Have him get the next possible flight to Milan and deal with Hoyt.”
“He’s probably going after Rebecca Sumner again.”
“Hoyt is far more urgent.”
“But what about Alvarez?”
“He won’t move on Hoyt until he knows everything about him there is to know. There will be plenty of time for Reed to work his magic.”
“Okay, but why the hell did you have to tell them all that shit about Hoyt in there anyway? Surely you could have waited instead of putting them one step closer to unraveling this thing.”
“Listen to me carefully and learn. I told them about Hoyt because by tomorrow or the next day they would have found out he’d been an asset of mine regardless. The kind of asset one doesn’t forget in a hurry. How would it have looked if I had neglected to mention that? Mildly suspicious doesn’t quite cover it.”
“What if the girl doesn’t hang around? Reed missed her once in Marseilles already.”
“I’m well aware of that. After Reed has taken care of Hoyt he can deal with Sumner. You have another potential strike point?” Sykes nodded. “So don’t worry about it. Even if she doesn’t stay put, she’s not a field operative, she won’t stay alive for long.”
“I hope not.”
Sykes leaned against the wall and sighed heavily. He scratched the back of his neck.
“Pressure getting to you, Mr. Sykes?” Ferguson asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Sykes replied. “I didn’t count on all of this bullshit.”
“Welcome to the CIA,” Ferguson said bitterly.
THIRTY-FIVE
St. Petersburg, Russia
Saturday
16:23 MSK
It was minus fourteen degrees Fahrenheit when Victor landed, and the short wait for a taxi outside the airport was an excruciating one. He asked the driver to take him to the best hotel the driver knew and to turn the heater up. The driver mumbled it was hot enough, but Victor held out twenty dollars for him to see in the rearview and he flicked the switch up to maximum.
Some years had passed since Victor had last been to Russia. Though Russia and its neighbors were a huge marketplace for professional killings, Victor preferred not to travel to the region if he could help it. He had fulfilled several contracts in the region in his early years and had a reputation in that part of the world. Once that infamy had served him well, now it was a permanent crosshairs.