Blind pursuit, p.22
Blind Pursuit, page 22
23
BRISTOL
Five weeks ago
Lea lay on the sofa in Callum’s arms, her body aligned with his, her back pressed up against him as he slowly breathed in, out. Asleep. He’d been asleep for at least the last ten minutes – she could just tell by the way he was breathing so softly, contentedly. That was fine, she was content there too.
Which was part of the problem. She was so content in moments like these that she wished there wasn’t anything else.
But today, tonight, wasn’t just any other night for the two of them. Today was the day.
Nine months since…
Of course, she had no idea if she would have given birth today, but it still held significance in her mind and even before she’d gone to the clinic on that horrible day several months ago, she’d mentally marked out this date. And then since the clinic, she’d dreaded this day arriving the closer and closer it got to reality.
At least she’d been home for it. She’d made sure of it, really. Not that Callum had any idea at all – not of the pregnancy, the termination or the turmoil that Lea had gone through before, during and after.
She should have told him. She wished she could have, but she just hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. Now… it was too late, even though she felt immensely cruel.
She sighed and Callum shuffled and she turned away from the TV to nuzzle further into him – it wasn’t as though she was paying attention to the TV, anyway.
She got a shock when she looked up to find his eyes were open and he was staring down at her.
‘You’re awake,’ she said, smiling and reaching up to kiss his chin.
‘I’ve been awake the whole time,’ he said, eyelids flickering as he battled to bring himself around.
She laughed at him, and he pulled away a little to sit up as though that was the only way he’d manage to stay awake.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just been a hell of a week.’
‘I know.’
‘No, you don’t,’ he said. ‘It’s not fair on you. You only get a day or two here and there and look at me? Tired out and snoring on the sofa like a bison at… Shit, it’s not even nine.’
‘Cal, it’s perfect. This… this is what I look forward to.’
He raised an eyebrow as though he really didn’t know if she was being serious or not.
‘You really should set higher expectations,’ he said. ‘For us, for me.’
And even though she knew he’d meant that as a light-hearted comment, the words still stung, for all sorts of reasons she couldn’t explain to him.
‘What is it?’ he asked, taking her hand, obviously reading the signs.
She felt tears welling but fought them back.
‘I’m just getting sick of it,’ she said.
‘Work?’
She nodded. ‘This is the last project. I promise you. Once I get through this… I’m done.’
‘It’s got that bad?’
She nodded again.
‘But you’ve worked so hard for it. There’s no pressure from me—’
‘So you don’t want me to be around more?’
This time she’d meant to be light-hearted, but her tone had been all wrong and Callum winced.
‘You know that isn’t true,’ he said. ‘But… your career—’
‘It’s just a job. My life is with you now. I’ll be done soon, I promise. I’ll be home all the time. We’ll start a family. Then you’ll never be able to get rid of me.’
He laughed but then just kind of sat there looking shocked. ‘You want to… A family? Like… kids?’
‘Yes, idiot,’ she said, slapping his arm but then had a wave of doubt as though perhaps she’d really misread the whole situation. ‘You… you do want that too, don’t you?’
He didn’t respond. At least, not in words. Instead, he kind of pounced on her, smothered her, wrapped her up in his big hulking arms and planted his lips on her lips, cheeks, neck, shoulders. ‘It’s what I want most in this world.’
She closed her eyes, causing a tear to fall from each, and in that moment, she had no idea whether it was from the sheer joy of the moment, the prospect of a happy future, or the utter distress of the potentially devastating uncertainty she knew still lay ahead.
Two days later
London
She sat on the bench in the warm morning sunshine, watching the throngs of walkers, joggers heading along the paths, the groups on the expansive grass fields doing yoga, playing football. So many people, all so seemingly carefree.
Carefree. Is that what others saw in her?
She spotted Denis when he was a couple of hundred yards away and kept an eye on him as he neared, noting his casual stride, the relaxed look on his face. She wanted so badly to trust this man, to still have him by her side in times of need.
She really wasn’t sure she could. At least, not like in the past.
‘You want a coffee?’ he asked when he reached her, nodding to the food van a few yards away.
‘I’m good,’ she said.
He shrugged and remained hovering.
‘Want to take a walk?’ he suggested.
‘Yeah, why not.’
So off they went, heading north, the sun beaming down on them.
‘Not heard from you much recently,’ he said.
‘I know. Nothing personal.’
‘I’m sensing given we’re meeting out here like this that you’ve got something to tell me. Or ask me. Something that couldn’t be done over the phone.’
‘Yeah.’
‘So spit it out.’
‘The Iranians—’
‘You’re still obsessing over that?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ she asked. ‘And why aren’t you?’
‘Because life’s too short. They’ll come back into our arena if there’s a reason.’
‘Well, how about I give you a reason.’
He stopped walking and turned to face her.
‘Ithaca,’ she said.
‘Ithaca?’
‘That was the code word I’d seen references to, over and over, remember?’
‘With the money trails from Iran? You said you thought it was a clandestine op that—’
‘I was wrong.’
His eyes pinched. He was doubtful. Perhaps a little suspicious too.
‘I don’t think it’s an operation, or the name of a company, or a group or anything like that.’
‘Then what?’
‘It’s a person.’
Even more suspicious now. ‘Who?’
‘That’s what I need to find out. But… I think… I think it’s someone who works for MI6.’
‘A mole?’
She nodded.
‘You have evidence?’
‘It fits a lot of what I know.’
‘Which is what, exactly?’
‘I think…’ She paused, looked around. Not because she was necessarily that concerned about being spied on, but because of the doubts swirling in her mind. Could she trust this man? ‘This isn’t about the Iranians. Or not… not only about the Iranians. It’s about a whole sphere of influence being built up in the UK, in the West, by outside powers.’
‘From the Middle East, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which is something we’ve been aware of for decades, and—’
‘I’m not talking about sovereign funds investing in real estate, sports teams, big businesses. This is something much more shadowy. Dirty.’
‘For what end?’
‘I don’t know. But what I do know is that people are getting rich from this. But people are dying too. Powerful people.’
‘Because of Ithaca?’
‘Yes.’
He tugged on her arm to get her moving again.
‘Explain.’
‘If I’m right… one thing I’ve found is that Ithaca is selling out assets to the Iranians, to others. Just over the last six months I’ve linked the deaths of three prominent Russians to Ithaca. Two oligarchs, one a powerful FSB figure. The official line from inside MI6 is that they were taken out by Russia. But I don’t think that’s the case.’
‘Why would the Iranians, Hadjam, whoever, be killing Russians? They’re allies.’
‘On the surface, perhaps. And it might not all make sense, but I’m just telling you what I’ve found.’
‘And this links back to Yousefi too?’ Denis asked.
A slight pause as she pondered how to answer. ‘I’ve found no direct link. But I think there’s a way we can get closer to the truth. Perhaps even identify Ithaca.’
‘OK?’
‘I think I might know someone who received money for a hit that was orchestrated by Ithaca. But it didn’t go to plan and…’
‘And what?’
‘It’s more the who than the what.’
‘Then who?’
‘Alexander Anderson.’
Denis didn’t say anything, but she knew he was clenching his jaw tightly at hearing that name. Anderson was a man they both had history with. But Denis more so. Anderson was an American, a former Marine who had the will, perhaps the physical ability, but not necessarily the mental stability to make it with any mainstream intelligence agency. Not officially, anyway. Still a very useful man though, and so he was an asset of the CIA, MI6 to name two agencies who were keen to outsource dirty work to someone at least one step removed from their regular agents. But rumours had circled for years that Anderson would, in fact, do pretty much anything for pretty much anyone if the money was there.
‘Anderson’s last known whereabouts were Romania, a month ago,’ Lea said. ‘The only vague intel anywhere within MI6 is that the CIA had sent him to Europe to despatch a Russian oligarch, Petr Ivanov, in Hungary. Except Ivanov survived the assassination attempt and Anderson went missing. The most common assumption was that he’d been picked up by the FSB, not just because of that attempted hit, but because… well, it’s Alexander Anderson.’
Denis still said nothing.
‘Did you know about any of that?’ she asked him.
‘I’d heard about the Hungary thing. That he’d gone missing. But if the Russians had him then they would have either tried to bargain a swap for his release by now, or he’d simply have turned up dead.’
‘Exactly. So I don’t think the whole of that story is true. Well, perhaps the part about him trying to kill Ivanov is, which is what we need to speak to him about. I want to know who really put him up to it, because I’m sure it wasn’t the CIA.’
‘How do you know this isn’t just something that our higher-ups instructed? Above board, but not for us to know about?’
‘Because… it doesn’t fit with everything else I’ve seen. Everything else that’s happened.’
‘Perhaps you’re only seeing what you want to see.’
‘And what if I’m not?’
Denis sighed and shook his head.
‘I don’t know, Lea. I feel like I’m only getting half a story from you.’
Probably not even a quarter, she thought but didn’t say.
‘Maybe if you showed me everything you have—’
‘I’m telling you what I know,’ Lea said. ‘And if you help me get Anderson back—’
‘From who? You said the FSB probably don’t really have him after all.’
‘But I think I know who might.’
Denis’s face soured further. ‘Right. So this is the reason you’ve come to me. Not as a sounding board or anything like that.’
‘The rumour is that Anderson never left Romania. That one person, specifically, was responsible for taking him. And still has him.’
‘And that is?’
‘Yuri Kozak.’
Denis stopped walking again. He turned to face Lea, his face all twisted in distaste, and she knew why. Yuri Kozak. Another name very familiar to them both. At the simplest level Kozak was a gang leader responsible for smuggling drugs, weapons and people across Europe. But he was also an FSB asset, whose activities were believed to be sponsored at least in part by the Russian government in order to help sow chaos in Western countries. Both Lea and Denis had crossed paths with him before, but Denis in a far more personal way. Two years ago, he’d spent several months befriending Kozak before eventually being sent to meet the man with a bag full of half a million euros – a ‘gift’ for Kozak in exchange for him providing intel on FSB activities.
He’d taken the cash and had his henchman put a gun to Denis’s head to encourage him out of there. Had never provided a thing of value to Denis or anyone else in MI6 since then.
But maybe they just hadn’t offered him enough in the first place. Kozak had no real loyalty to the Kremlin, only to whoever offered him the best deal, or at least who he could extort the most from.
‘You know Kozak better than I do,’ Lea said.
‘Know him? He screwed me. Led me along with promises, promises, until the day I showed up at his door with half a million euros. Which he stole, just like that. I was lucky to walk away without a bullet in my head.’
‘Or maybe he didn’t put a bullet in your head because he really does like you.’
Denis scoffed. ‘He doesn’t like anyone.’
‘I can find a way to reach out to him myself if I need to,’ Lea said. ‘Go and meet him myself to broker a deal, if I must… but… I was hoping you’d want in. That you’d help me.’
Denis took a few moments before answering. ‘Where and when?’
‘We should do it as soon as possible, because the information I already have on Ithaca… it’s only a matter of time before whoever it is realises how close I’m getting.’
‘You want to do a deal with Yuri Kozak? If you haven’t got a lot of cash, you better have a damn strong hand to play.’
Lea smiled. ‘I think I might just have exactly that.’
24
BUCHAREST
Present day
Callum never did figure out what transport Denis had used to get to the villa in Portugal, but the three of them crammed into Hinch’s rented Fiat for the long journey east, each of them taking shifts behind the wheel in a mammoth drive of over thirty-six hours – driving by far the safest option, even if it was also the most arduous. At least on the European continent traversing borders was simple as long as they stuck to Schengen countries, because between those countries there really was no border. A good thing, considering both Callum and Denis were being pursued by MI6 and others.
Was Hinch too?
The point was, the drive went by without incident, but the drawn-out time in the car also gave Callum way too much time to think, which only got his head all tied up in ever-increasing knots.
‘The last time I saw him was at my wedding,’ Callum said to Hinch, who sat alongside in the front as he took the latest stint behind the wheel, while Denis was in the back, his eyes closed. He’d been like that for more than an hour although Callum didn’t really know if he was actually asleep or not.
‘Yeah?’ Hinch said, a little unsure as though she didn’t know why Callum was bringing that up with her.
‘I have to say, I didn’t like the fact he turned up. Because I sensed Lea didn’t appreciate him being there either.’
‘You’d have to ask him about that.’
‘They were close?’ Callum asked.
‘You’d have to ask him about that.’
‘You weren’t at the wedding.’
‘And? Is this because you still don’t believe Lea and I were friends?’
‘Just saying.’
‘Her parents weren’t there either. Or any members of her real family. Doesn’t mean she didn’t care for them. Or vice versa.’
‘Did she ever talk to you much about me?’
No immediate answer.
‘That wasn’t our style,’ Hinch said.
‘Convenient.’
‘No. Just the way it is. Was. You might have figured by now that neither of us was… normal. And there was little normal about our relationship. We certainly weren’t girly types either. We didn’t see each other as friends to go out dancing with, to gossip with, to get our nails done with.’
‘Not cloak and dagger enough for either of you?’
‘Well… yeah.’
Callum sighed.
‘But yes, she did talk about you. I know she loved you, and I know she struggled trying to figure out a way to make you two work with her job. From what I understand… she very nearly quit after Toulouse.’
‘You know about Toulouse?’
‘The basics.’
‘Toulouse was how this all started,’ Denis said, and as Callum glanced into the rearview mirror Denis opened his eyes. So he had been pretending.
‘What started?’ Callum said.
‘With the Iranians. That was the first time we’d had them under watch. We didn’t even know why then. But even in the short time we were there they figured out we were on to them, and they tried to take Lea out.’
Callum gulped. ‘Those kids…’
‘Weren’t trying to rob her. They were trying to kill her.’
Should that make him feel better? Knowing he’d saved her life that day? Because it really didn’t. It only once again showed how little he understood her and her life.
‘It affected her badly,’ Denis said. ‘Mentally, more than physically. And meeting you really didn’t help matters. We nearly lost a very good agent because she found an easy, convenient way to escape reality.’
Callum gripped the steering wheel a little more tightly, Denis’s bitterness pretty damn clear, and surely intended to rile Callum.
‘She took months off work,’ he continued. ‘And maybe she would have never come back given she’d found a happy, simple life with you. But then I got kidnapped, chasing those same damn people while she was back in England screwing you. Not just me, another agent too. Naomi. Someone less experienced than Lea and… it was her fault. Lea would never have messed up like Naomi did. Unfortunately, she paid the ultimate price. Naomi was killed. I probably would have been too if Lea hadn’t agreed to return to help get me back.’
