Betrayal (16 page)

Drake said nothing to that. Instead he surveyed the small room, taking in each of the teammates that had agreed to help him, had agreed to put themselves at risk for him. They might each have done it for different reasons, but they were all here, all willing to follow him.

Never had he felt that responsibility more keenly.

‘Thank you,’ he said, not knowing how else to sum up his thoughts. ‘All of you. I know this one isn’t exactly on the books, but we work by the same rules as any other job. We go into this as a team, we work as a team and we come home as a team. And nobody puts the rest of the team at risk by trying to be a hero,’ he added, giving Mason a brief glance. ‘Everyone clear?’

He was met by a round of affirmative nods.

‘All right. Then let’s have a talk with our Russian friends.’

Located on Wisconsin Avenue in north-west DC, the embassy of the Russian Federation was only a few miles from Drake’s house, and therefore an easy drive on the quiet Saturday-morning roads. The embassy compound itself was dominated by a massive white cube-shaped building that served as the administrative centre of the diplomatic mission here. With luck, Miranova was somewhere inside.

Security was tightened, as was to be expected in the wake of the freeway attack yesterday, with armed guards in Russian army overcoats patrolling the extensive grounds and high perimeter fences.

Pulling to a halt at the main checkpoint, Drake rolled down his window as the duty officer approached. He was a serious-looking customer; mid-forties and heavily built, with the kind of eyes that suggested his career hadn’t always consisted of standing guard at diplomatic missions. A quick glance at the licence plates confirmed that Drake was not a Russian official.

‘What is your business here?’ the officer asked without exchanging pleasantries.

‘I’m here to see Anika Miranova. She’s an FSB agent involved in the attack yesterday,’ Drake explained. ‘My name is Ryan Drake. I work for the CIA.’

This prompted a frown. ‘You have identification?’

‘Of course.’ Drake handed over his card, and waited while the officer retreated to the armoured booth that controlled the security gates. He watched as the man radioed the situation in and requested instructions, his facial expression giving nothing away.

Finally he nodded, returned to the car and handed Drake’s ID back.

‘Bring your car inside and park by the main building,’ he instructed. ‘An officer will search you and escort you inside.’

‘Thank you.’

Following the instructions, Drake found himself in a world of immaculate green lawns, carefully maintained trees and shrubs, and even an elaborate fountain in the courtyard in front of the embassy building. The place was very much emblematic of the new Russia – modern, efficient and above all, conspicuously friendly to Western eyes.

Parking, he killed the engine and stepped out. He’d barely closed his door before he was approached by a younger man in a dark suit. From his crew-cut hair and thick muscular neck, it was clear he was some kind of security officer.

‘Please hold your arms outstretched,’ he said, speaking perfect English, though his tone made it clear this wasn’t a request.

Drake did as commanded, seeing no need to provoke him. A quick and efficient search was soon conducted, during which his wallet, cellphone and car keys were removed, with the promise they would be returned to him when he left the embassy grounds. He wasn’t pleased by this, and was glad he’d brought only a prepaid phone with no sensitive information on it, but nonetheless he complied.

Satisfied at last that Drake posed no obvious threat, the agent handed him a blue security badge to pin to his jacket. It was written in both Cyrillic and English:
Visitor – Escorted At All Times
.

‘Do not lose this,’ he instructed Drake, then gestured towards the main building. ‘Follow me, please. I will take you upstairs.’

Drake did as he asked, eager both to find Miranova and to escape the miserable winter weather. She was waiting for him in one of the embassy’s conference rooms on the upper floor, his escort explained as he was conducted through the main lobby and up several flights of stairs, the younger man taking the steps with the ease born from strenuous daily exercise.

Even Drake was a little out of breath by the time they halted outside a room on the top floor. The security agent glanced at him, a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he swiped his card through the electronic reader. The doors clicked once as the locks disengaged, and swung inwards to reveal an expansive conference suite.

With thick carpeted floors, a polished wooden conference table surrounded by expensive leather chairs and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a fine view of the city, it was clearly the kind of room reserved for high-level briefings and important visitors. Drake should have felt honoured, but his mind was on other matters at that moment.

The room’s only occupant was standing by the reinforced windows, staring pensively out at the buildings of central DC beyond. Hearing the buzz of the door’s electronic locks disengaging, she turned to face him. For the first time since he’d met her, Drake took a moment to really look at Miranova.

She was in her mid-to-late thirties, he guessed. No longer young and inexperienced, either as an operative or as a woman, but still with a certain vitality and energy about her that only youth could impart. She was of pale complexion, in stark contrast to the dark, almost black hair that he suspected was dyed. He could see the slightly artificial glint of it in the electric lights overhead.

Her features stopped short of beautiful, at least by classic standards. Her nose was a little too long, her mouth a little too wide, her cheekbones a little too prominent. A thin scar, long since healed and faded to silvery grey, traced its way along her jawline on the left side, suggesting she’d been glassed or knifed at some point. She could have used make-up to conceal it, but hadn’t.

And yet despite this, there was something undeniably attractive about her. Perhaps it was that same lack of perfection that made her more human, that somehow made the whole greater than the sum of its parts. Or perhaps it was the unselfconscious manner in which she bore the facial scar, knowing it was nothing to be ashamed of.

In either case, he sensed in Miranova a tough, resourceful and confident personality. The kind of traits Drake normally found appealing.

Like himself, she’d showered and changed into fresh clothes since last night. All in all, her appearance was much improved from the bruised, bloodied and bedraggled figure Drake had first encountered in that dimly lit storage lock-up the previous evening. Still, he was surprised to see her back on duty so soon after an ordeal like that. Clearly she hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said FSB agents were expected to keep going no matter what the circumstances.

‘Agent Drake,’ she said, looking both surprised and relieved to see him. ‘I did not expect to see you again.’

‘I didn’t expect to be seen,’ he said as the door was closed behind him. ‘But things have taken a different turn since last night. I came here because I wanted to speak to you face to face.’

She folded her arms, regarding him warily from the other side of the room. ‘About what, exactly?’

Drake helped himself to a seat at the conference table, taking his time about it. He had to play this one cool, had to make Miranova believe he was holding all the cards.

Once he was comfortable, he looked up at her. ‘Over the past few hours we’ve been running our own investigation into the attack,’ he said, beginning his gambit. ‘I can’t go into details yet for obvious reasons, but we’ve found evidence linking the explosives at the storage lock-up to a mining operation in Norilsk.’

At this, her eyes opened wider. ‘In Siberia?’

‘That’s right. Our working theory is that they were stolen or smuggled from a storage warehouse out there. Finding the person who supplied those explosives might just give us a lead on the group behind the attack. We also have reason to believe at least one of the men behind the attack may have boarded a flight to Chechnya a short time ago. You don’t need me to tell you that both of these places are inside Russian sovereign territory. The CIA can’t send people in without the permission of your government.’

‘Of course you can’t.’ Apparently her command of English was sufficient to convey her sarcasm.

‘All right, let’s be honest with each other. Things are … delicate between Russia and America after this attack. The last thing the Agency needs right now is to be caught sending covert teams into Russian territory.’ He sighed and drummed his fingers on the table, feigning frustration with the politicians who were holding him back from doing what he knew to be right. ‘The upshot is, we’re stuck. They won’t go near this thing, even though we’ve got credible intelligence to act on.’

Miranova was neither stupid nor naive. It was obvious enough to her where this conversation was leading. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but you are suggesting a joint investigation, Agent Drake.’

Drake made eye contact with her. ‘You’re not wrong.’

Miranova said nothing to that, though he could sense her pondering the implications, the difficulties, the dangers and the possible rewards of what he was proposing.

‘Look, we have a team standing by and ready to go,’ he said. ‘They’re good people, and I’ve worked with all of them before. If there’s anything at all to be found, they’ll find it. All we need is your cooperation. Get us permission to enter Russia, let us do what we do best, and we’ll find these men for you.’

‘And what would you do with them, if you found them?’

He shrugged. ‘Our goal is to see them punished. Who does the punishing doesn’t make much difference to us.’

Watching him for a long moment in silence, Miranova walked away from the window, took a chair and sat down opposite him. ‘Tell me, Agent Drake, do you speak for the whole of the CIA on this?’

She was testing him, trying to make him sweat. This was where he had to concede something, had to make her think she’d rumbled him. If he tried to present her with a deal that sounded too good to be true, she’d never buy it.

‘Like I said, the Agency’s not prepared to make a move on this. Not officially, at least. The truth is they’d prefer to distance themselves entirely from this whole mess.’

She cocked an eyebrow. ‘And you?’

‘It seems to me that stepping back isn’t helping anyone. I prefer to act, and I told my bosses as much. They’ll support me in the sense that they won’t actively stop me, but they also won’t officially acknowledge what I’m doing.’

‘Unless you succeed.’

He smiled a little. ‘Exactly. Then they’ll take the credit, so it’s win-win for them.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘That’s the deal I’m offering. Let me and my team in. We’ll share our intelligence with you, work to follow up leads, and if we happen to take these men down at the end of it all, they’re all yours.’

It seemed like a good deal on the surface, but clearly Miranova was no stranger to such games. ‘And what do you get out of this, Agent Drake?’ she asked. ‘It seems you are offering us much, and asking nothing in return.’

He smiled, playing the part of the ruthlessly ambitious opportunist. ‘The Agency might take the credit on the surface, but behind closed doors it’ll be a different story. Especially if you make sure they understand how invaluable my help was.’

He saw a knowing look in her eye. Taking risks to advance one’s career was apparently not a concept unique to the CIA. Now they were talking the same language.

‘I’m offering you my help, Agent Miranova. If I fail, you lose nothing. If I succeed, it’ll cost you nothing. You’re not likely to get a better deal, but it’s your choice.’

For the next few seconds she was silent, her natural caution and pragmatism vying with her desire for vengeance. Then gradually he saw her expression change as one emotion began to gain control. He saw her jaw tighten, saw her chin raised a little, and in that moment he knew that he had her.

‘I will make some calls,’ she finally said.

Like all of the secure conference rooms at the Russian embassy, the one now occupied by Drake and Miranova featured a sophisticated communications suite, allowing them to create high-speed encrypted data links to any computer or satellite comms array that was willing to receive them. In this case, that meant setting up a teleconference with the FSB’s central office in Moscow. Miranova’s job was to convince them that Drake’s offer was legitimate and had a reasonable chance of success.

Drake was no expert on the Russian language, but it was obvious from the tone of her voice and the expression on her face that she was dealing with a situation of both gravity and sensitivity.

Still, after several minutes she finally relaxed a little. Cupping a hand over her cellphone, she turned to Drake. ‘We are being transferred to the office of Viktor Surovsky, the FSB’s director. He wants to speak with us personally,’ she explained, seemingly in some doubt as to whether or not that was a good thing. ‘They are setting up the satellite link now.’

Sure enough, the big flat-screen television mounted on the wall at the far end of the room flickered into life, displaying a test screen for several seconds while a secure link was established. And then, just like that, Drake found himself staring at the grim, unsmiling face of the FSB’s Director of Operations.

Drake knew little of Viktor Surovsky’s history beyond the fact that he’d served in the KGB during the Cold War, but he’d seen file photographs of the man and had even watched a couple of videos of him at public events. However, the reality confronting him on the TV screen was quite different from the carefully managed public image.

The first thing that stood out was his age. He couldn’t tell if Surovsky’s public appearances had been recorded under more forgiving lighting conditions or if he’d been wearing stage make-up, but the face on the video link clearly belonged to a man whose life had been neither short nor easy.

His skin was lined and weathered, pockmarked and sagging visibly under his jaw. His cheeks and eyes were hollow as if he’d lost a lot of weight in a short time, his hair grey and thinning. His lips were compressed into a thin line as he stared back at them, his dark eyes surveying the almost-empty conference room.