Betrayal (17 page)

‘Director Surovsky,’ Drake began, feeling as though he had to say something to break the uneasy silence. ‘It’s an honour to speak with you, sir. I’d like to say how sorry I am for the loss—’

‘Spare me your apologies,’ Surovsky replied impatiently. ‘Apologies will not bring dead men back to life.’

Not one for small talk then, Drake concluded, though he couldn’t exactly blame him for being abrupt. With the death of several agents and one of his senior executive officers, Viktor Surovsky’s day had hardly got off to a good start.

The old man’s piercing gaze switched to Miranova. At least, Drake assumed he was looking at Miranova on his own video feed. The different positions of camera and screen meant that he was staring at a point somewhere over her left shoulder.

What followed was a minute or two of dialogue in Russian, with Surovsky doing most of the talking and Miranova somehow managing to squeeze in the odd sentence here and there. He couldn’t be sure, but Drake got the impression she was slowly starting to win the director round to whatever she was proposing. Her face remained a mask of stoic self-control throughout the discussion. Somehow Drake doubted that emotional outpourings would cut much ice with a man like Surovsky.

Still, with some agreement apparently reached, the old man turned his attention back to Drake, as if he were a tiresome task that had been put off as long as possible. ‘Who are you?’

‘My name’s Ryan Drake, sir. I’m a search-and-rescue specialist with the CIA.’ He certainly wasn’t going to go into details about the highly classified Shepherd programme with this man. The term ‘search-and-rescue’ seemed a lot less threatening.

‘Agent Miranova tells me you were useful in tracking down Deputy Director Demochev,’ he said, with the faintest nod of acknowledgement. ‘You have my thanks for this.’

If expression and body language were anything to go by, that was a complete lie. Surovsky’s words had no more meaning than if he’d been reading from a teleprompter. Still, it was a gesture of recognition, even if it was a fake one.

‘I’m only sorry we couldn’t recover him alive,’ Drake replied.

‘As am I,’ the director confirmed, his voice heavy with implied threat. ‘Mr Drake, you can assume I was not pleased to learn that one of my best men, along with his protective detail that I sent to
your country
on a peaceful mission, was attacked and killed just minutes after touching down. You can also assume that I want the cowards responsible for this to answer for what they did.’

If Drake had been wearing a tie at that moment, he’d have been sorely tempted to reach up and loosen it. ‘We’re already pursuing a number of leads, sir.’

‘Of course you are.’ His contempt was thinly veiled at best. ‘But you will pardon me if I don’t entrust the entire investigation to the CIA. I have already dispatched an investigative team of my own. Once they land at Andrews Air Force Base I will expect you to turn over to them all information relating to this attack.’

Drake knew right away that such a proposal wasn’t going to wash. The idea of allowing a Russian intelligence group free rein to operate in central DC was absurd. The idea of turning the entire investigation over to them was even worse. Surovsky was pushing, seeing how far he would go before he drew the line. He had to bring this man around to his way of thinking, and he had to do it fast.

‘You’ve spoken very candidly, sir. So I’ll do the same,’ he said, going on the assumption that Surovsky wasn’t one for diplomatic bullshit. ‘It’s no coincidence that this attack was launched on American soil, while your people were on their way to broker a deal between our two agencies. It seems logical to assume at least part of the goal was to split us apart and make us waste time throwing blame around. If we start fighting over who has jurisdiction here, we’re giving them exactly what they want.’

‘I assume you have an alternative?’ the FSB director prompted.

‘We’ve both lost people. We both know the CIA has to conduct its own investigation, regardless of what the FSB does. The question you have to ask yourself is what you want to do now. You want to sit on your hands for the next ten hours while your own team flies here? Fine. You want our two agencies to be working against each other and duplicating each other’s efforts? I can’t stop you. But it seems to me it would make a lot more sense for us to work together.’

Surovsky said nothing. He just sat there waiting for Drake to go on. At least he hadn’t shouted him down, or even worse, killed the video link right away. The older man’s lack of objection encouraged him to go on.

‘Our evidence trail seems to be leading us back to Russia, and if we follow it quickly then we might have a chance of stopping the group behind this, but we can’t do it without you. My proposal is a joint operation, using my investigative team and overseen by Agent Miranova. You’ll be kept in the loop on everything we’re doing, and you’ll have equal access to any intel we recover.’ He kept his eyes locked with Surovsky’s, trying not to let his nerves show. ‘We both want to find the men who did this, so let’s go after them together.’

Surovsky leaned back in his chair, surveying Drake for a long moment in thoughtful silence. Drake said nothing further. He’d made his case as best he could; now it was up to the FSB director to decide whether he was prepared to buy what Drake was selling.

‘Assuming I agreed to this, I would want your guarantee that if we catch these criminals, they will be remanded to FSB custody,’ he said after a long moment.

As far as Drake was concerned, Surovsky could do whatever the hell he wanted with Demochev’s killers – he had no sympathy for them. Anya, however, was another matter. No way was he letting this man get his hands on her.

Somehow he had to get to her before the FSB did, had to find a way to reach out to her, to work out why she was involved in this and what she was trying to achieve. And more important than that, he had to stop her before she made the situation even worse.

He had no idea how he was going to accomplish any of those things at that moment, but he would cross those bridges when he came to them. Right now the priority was getting the FSB on his side, and convincing them he was on theirs.

‘You have it,’ he said without hesitation.

The FSB director nodded slowly, his expression one of grudging agreement. ‘Then I accept your proposal. For now.’

Whatever rush of relief Drake felt was soon dispelled as the FSB director’s expression darkened and he leaned forward, staring right into the camera.

‘But consider yourself warned. If you withhold information from us, if you try to manipulate this arrangement for your own benefit, or if I or Agent Miranova suspect you are serving another agenda, there will be serious repercussions between our two countries. And for you, Mr Drake. Do I make myself clear?’

It didn’t take a genius to see what he was hinting at. If Drake tried to play games with them, they had a game of their own –
How many years must you spend in a gulag before you learn not to play games?

‘You do,’ Drake assured him.

Surovsky nodded. ‘Agent Miranova, I will expect daily reports from you on this investigation. I also expect to see some tangible progress within forty-eight hours. Good luck.’

Reaching out, he pressed a button to kill the link. The screen went blank, and for several seconds the conference room was silent. It felt like the aftermath of a hurricane; stunned survivors crawling out of their basements to survey the damage.

‘Must be a great guy to work for,’ Drake remarked.

Miranova gave him a disapproving look. ‘Director Surovsky has had much to deal with since yesterday. You should be grateful he even agreed to speak with you.’

Drake didn’t feel particularly grateful at that moment. An awful lot of things had to go right for him to achieve the result he desired. And all it took to ruin everything was for a single thing to go wrong.

Still, they were on their way. They had taken the first step. The next step would lead them to Russia, to Demochev’s killers, and hopefully to Anya.

‘I’ll be grateful when this is over,’ he said, meaning every word. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make a few phone calls myself.’

Drake waited until he was outside in the embassy courtyard before firing up his cellphone. It had been returned to him, along with his other possessions, by the security staff at the gate. He wouldn’t put it past the FSB to fit a listening device within the phone’s casing, though in this case he’d left a ‘tell’ – a tiny piece of red plastic inside that would fall out the moment anyone opened it.

Satisfied that all was well, he dialled Frost’s number. Miranova might have shown a little faith in him, but he doubted the same could be said of her FSB masters.

As he’d expected, Frost picked up right away. ‘How’s it going?’

‘We’re in business,’ he replied simply.

‘Great. Not sure if I should be celebrating or shitting bricks.’

‘A little of both, I suspect,’ Drake advised. ‘Listen, I need something else from you. I need you to do some digging on two people – Viktor Surovsky and Anika Miranova.’

‘Ryan, I’m shocked. You telling me you don’t trust our Russian comrades?’

Drake glanced over his shoulder. The security agent who had escorted him into the building was watching him through the plate-glass windows of the reception area, his face impassive. ‘I don’t trust anyone, least of all the FSB. But if someone’s got you by the balls, you want to know if they’re going to squeeze.’

‘What a lovely image. Okay, I’ll see what I can dig up on them.’

‘Thanks. Tell the others to meet me at the Russian embassy when you’re done. We’ve got a flight to catch.’

‘Can’t wait,’ she said, her sarcasm obvious.

Of the thirty-two hostage-takers at Beslan, the majority had been remanded to FSB custody for suspected terrorist activity in the months leading up to the massacre. All were subsequently released without explanation.

Russian airspace, eight hours later

One thing Drake had to commend the FSB on – when it came to getting from place to place, they did it in style. No expense had been spared in the Ilyushin IL-96M executive airliner that had ferried Demochev and his team to DC only the previous day, from the luxury leather seating to the cutting-edge workstations to the fully equipped communications centre just aft of the cockpit. There was even a small drinks bar at the rear of the plane, though Drake had opted to steer clear of it so far. He had enough problems without adding alcohol to the mix.

So far at least, things seemed to be going to plan. Frost had duly produced her doctored image of the tattooed man, choosing one of the passengers on Anya’s flight to become their fake suspect. On the face of it they seemed to have a pretty solid case, and Drake’s photographic evidence combined with the revelation that another attack could be imminent had been enough to convince Miranova to split the investigation into two subgroups.

Frost and McKnight had duly been dispatched to Norilsk to follow up on the stolen explosives, while Drake and Mason, accompanied by Miranova and several other FSB agents, were en route to Grozny. All things being equal, they expected to land there about an hour ahead of Anya’s flight, giving them plenty of time to set their trap.

Drake felt a twinge of sympathy for the innocent man they had chosen, knowing he was likely to be in for a rough time when the FSB caught up with him. Still, they would hopefully realise their mistake sooner or later and send him on his way. Drake himself would be left with some serious explaining to do; he only hoped he’d accomplished his real mission by the time that happened.

He was disturbed from this dark contemplation when Miranova, seated at a small workstation near the front of the aircraft, beckoned him over. Gripping the headrests to steady himself as they hit some light turbulence, he made his way forwards and sat down opposite her, easing himself into one of the padded leather chairs. Mason joined them a moment or two later.

‘I have been going over the deployment plan at Grozny airport. You should familiarise yourselves with it,’ she began. ‘In addition to myself and the operatives on this flight, we have six agents from our regional bureau situated at various points throughout the arrivals area, ready to move in on my signal. Our best chance to find our target will be in the disembarkation area, where the terminal creates a natural choke point. Once we have a confirmed sighting, we will move in, surround the target and subdue him.’

‘And where are we supposed to be in all this?’ Drake couldn’t help asking.

‘The two of you will keep your distance,’ she said. ‘I do not want either of you directly involved in the takedown. This is to be an FSB-only operation.’

Mason frowned. ‘You realise you might learn more by tailing this guy instead of arresting him?’

‘My superiors feel it is too dangerous. If we try to follow him then we risk being compromised,’ she explained. ‘This way we guarantee a prisoner that we can question. Believe me, we will find out everything he knows.’

‘And if he doesn’t feel like talking?’ Mason asked.

Her dark eyes held a dangerous glint. ‘We can be very persuasive.’

Drake didn’t doubt it. The FSB didn’t exactly have a good track record when it came to human-rights abuses. Then again, neither did the CIA. Both sides tacitly recognised that ‘coercive interrogation’, better known as torture, was a vital weapon in the arsenal. They just preferred not to talk about it.

‘I bet you can,’ Mason added in a faintly derogatory tone.

Miranova was quick to pick up on it, and cocked her head. ‘Do you have a problem with this, Agent Mason?’

‘Let’s just call it what it is. We’re talking about torture here, based on circumstantial evidence at best.’ Mason folded his arms and met Miranova’s gaze without flinching. ‘You know this guy might actually be innocent?’

‘Five of my fellow agents are dead, plus a senior director of the FSB. Men with families, children, people who will never see them again. The group responsible didn’t have any reservations about what they did, and our evidence suggests they are planning another attack. If one man has to suffer some discomfort to put a stop to this, I can live with it.’