Darke Mission (44 page)

Dannielle found an excellent hiding place for her phone. She attached it magnetically and left it on. Kruglov or anyone else at the SVR would not ring that phone. It was standard operating procedure that she alone made outgoing calls, no incoming ones were authorised. The technicians at the SVR might just pick up the signal. They would know whose phone it was and where the signal came from.

* * *

The SVR's headquarters are in Yasenevo, Moscow. It is an urban area, built up, and the most populous of the Russian capital's neighbourhoods. The SVR is effectively the successor to the foreign arm of the KGB. It is concerned with espionage and foreign counterintelligence work outside of Russia. The Director of the SVR reports directly to the President of Russia. Igor Kruglov was the senior one of two Deputy Directors and Dannielle Eagles' handler. Kruglov was promoted in late 2010. He was one of the few senior SVR officers who survived a cull after the disastrous break-up of the Illegals Program. This plan was to place deep-cover spy operatives in the United States, primarily targeting positions in US government and policy-making circles. At least ten of the Illegals were captured by the FBI after their undercover identities and positions were revealed by Alexander Poteyev who defected from his position as Deputy Head of Illegal Spies. The capture of ten Illegals was a major coup for the FBI. The Illegals covert activities had penetrated several key areas of the US government and, now, in one fell swoop the SVR program had more or less collapsed. More or less was an appropriate description. Relying on the defector Poteyev's information the FBI thought that at least two Illegals had evaded capture. Poteyev revealed that two of the Illegals did not report to him, they were handled solely by Kruglov and he did not have any information on their identity, position or location. Dannielle Eagles or, Anyata Ivanovna, to use her patronymic name was one of the two Illegals who reported to Kruglov and to Kruglov alone.

“Deputy Director, may I speak with you?” asked Yuri Menkov, head of the SVR's intelligence systems department.

“Of course, Menkov, come in.”

The Deputy Director's office was significantly less austere than would have been the case with his KGB predecessor of a decade ago. Russia's oil wealth had percolated down to several areas of Soviet life, including its counter-intelligence services. Kruglov sat in a deep maroon leather chair behind a modern desk with an array of computer screens, keyboards and laptops. Menkov was regarded as an AI genius in the SVR. He was only twenty-six years old, had graduated from the University of Moscow in Mathematics and Computer Science, and was studying for his PhD in Artificial Intelligence in his spare time. He didn't really have much of that given his function within the SVR, but a glance at his 5ft 11in, skinny frame suggested he saved more than a few hours in a week by not eating much.

“Do you have something for me?” Kruglov asked, keen to get on with it.

“Yes Sir,” replied Menkov. “Our dedicated tracking systems have picked up a faint electronic signal from one of our GPS enabled satellite phones. The strength of the signal is variable, and as far as we can tell the emitting device is not stationary.”

“Whose phone is it, Menkov?” asked Kruglov.

“Agent Ivanovna's, Deputy Director,” replied Menkov. Kruglov pondered this information for a moment. If Anyata was sure of her cover and certain that she was undetectable then she would simply have called, as she had done a few days earlier from Seoul.

“Where is the signal coming from?” asked Kruglov.

“It seems to be coming from the Korean Strait, Sir, at the last count, about 20km off the coast of Jejudo Island.”

“Thank you, Yuri. Keep me in touch if you can with the signal's whereabouts. I'll get back to you if I need anything more than that.”

“I will, thank you Deputy Director,” responded Menkov on his way out of Kruglov's office.

When Menkov exited his office, Deputy Director Kruglov sat back in his chair and began to disseminate the intel from the analyst. Anyata Ivanovna was his top Illegal. Her path through the CIA and now the NGA was as deep undercover as you can get and she had already relayed several very useful pieces of intelligence back to the SVR in recent years. Ivanovna was not careless. She would not have just dropped or misplaced her dedicated SVR phone.
This was a definite attempt to contact me
, he concluded. The signal was coming from off the coast of South Korea according to Menkov and it was moving, so she's on a vessel of some sort. But why? As far as he knew, the SVR had no particular interest in that region at the present time. Igor Kruglov dialled an internal number.

“Vedemin,” said the voice on the other end. Boris Vedemin was the SVR's chief analyst on Asia. If anything was afoot in the region he would know about it.

“Boris,” replied Kruglov having just checked the analyst's first name on his computer. “This is Deputy Director Kruglov, have you a minute?”

“Certainly, Sir, however long you need,” replied Vedemin. The analyst did not get many direct calls from one of the SVR's Deputy Directors, usually the North American and European desks were busier, more in the limelight. Today, he had now received two phone calls from a Deputy Director.

“Is there anything going on in Korea that is of interest to us?” asked Kruglov.

“Yes, Sir,” replied Vedemin. “I have already this morning reported my information to Deputy Director Gretchko.”

Vladimir Gretchko was a dim witted asshole as far as Kruglov was concerned, he never seemed to know anything of any use and was only in that position because he was a distant relative of President Putin. Still, he was Vedemin's boss so it was reasonable that the analyst reported any intel to him.

“I have not been able to talk with Deputy Director Gretchko this morning Boris, kindly tell me what you told him.”

While Boris Vedemin knew he had done the right thing in reporting directly to Gretchko and nobody else, he also knew that it was in his best interests to relay that information to Kruglov. He was not someone to mess about by all accounts.

“Of course,” replied Vedemin. “Last night it appears that a submarine was stolen from Haeju docks on the west coast of North Korea. The attackers are not known. The DPRK authorities are trying to keep it quiet. They have ‘mislaid' submarines before, but not like this one.”

“Why is this of interest to us?” asked Kruglov curtly, and fearing that he already knew the answer.

“It's one of our submarines, Deputy Director, a Borei class nuclear one,” replied Vedemin.

Igor Kruglov replaced his phone on its cradle without bothering to thank Boris Vedemin or even end the call with some normal pleasantry or other. Kruglov was sitting upright in his chair, silently livid. Russia had only a handful of these nuclear submarines. They cost around US $1 billion each for god's sake. They were like a schoolboy's SBD fart in class, silent but deadly. Now some bunch of fucking unknown asshole thieves had stolen a Russian submarine from under the noses of those mental case deviants in the DPRK. Kruglov was not full of the joys of spring. Just as Kruglov was in the midst of another burst of the red mist, it clicked. Agent Ivanovna must be on board the submarine! Her signal was off the coast of South Korea, near Jejudo Island according to Menkov. The submarine could easily have travelled that far since it was stolen. Kruglov had now exited the red mist, was becoming his more usual, calculating self, figuring out what to do next. If he could recover US $1 billion worth of top-notch Russian hardware then he would surely be in pole position to take over from SVR Director Fredkov when he retired.
Oh yes
he thought,
I will take this on
. Igor Kruglov was now out of his office and headed for that of the Director. He was going to make absolutely certain that this rescue or destroy operation was totally under his command.

* * *

“Look, you're ex-MI5 and Financial Secretary to the Treasury. Get the fucking plane down here or your package stays put. They don't accept vans full of stolen gold and cash as hand luggage on normal flights you know!” bawled JJ into his smartphone.

“OK, OK,” responded Neil Robson. “Keep your fucking hair on. It's all in hand. Don't get all uppity with me either you fucking Jock. Remember, I've got your arse over a barrel as well as that of your insider trading cohorts. Be more respectful!” Robson yelled back. There was no part of JJ's mind or body that wanted to be respectful to Neil Robson. JJ and his team had gone to a lot of trouble to relieve the DPRK of most of its gold hoard. Even if, as Robson claimed, it was legitimate recompense for North Korea's default on its bonds held by the UK, it was a dangerous mission and not one without casualties. Still, a bawling match wasn't going to get either of them anywhere, and JJ knew that Robson had him, Toby and Yves-Jacques by the short and curlies. He calmed down.

“OK. I'll make a few phone calls, get back to you as soon as I can. In the meantime keep the package safe,” Robson said, then hung up. The Financial Secretary to the Treasury was a little relieved but not yet wholly satisfied. At least Darke had possession of the gold; that would keep Chancellor Walker happy. It would also keep Vladimir Babikov happy as he would be paid handsomely for the nominal £2.5m debt owed by Robson. The Fin Sec himself would also be happy because he was intent on skimming off a few hundred million pounds for his own piggy bank. Now that he knew that Darke had acquired the booty, he could go about tying up some loose ends. First, thought Robson, he would contact the Secretary of Defence, William Clark. He could authorise the Royal Air Force or, indeed, the Army's airborne division to supply a suitable aircraft to get the package from Seoul to London. Robson would run it by Chancellor Walker but that was a formality, the old fellow was getting desperate to fill the gargantuan gap in the UK's finances. Walker would convince Clark that it was an essential operation for national security and well-being. It would be done.

Once that was underway, Robson had the urgent problem of Joel Gordon. The accountant had evaded Babikov's hit man, indeed he was totally oblivious as to how near death he had been. Gordon's boss, Craig Wilson, would be back in the office in a day or so and Gordon was keen to blab his findings about the government's shaky, nigh disastrous, finances. The Jamrock yardie would need to be out of the equation within the next forty-eight hours, concluded Robson, so he had better get on that lickety-split.

After Gordon was silenced, Robson needed to ensure that JJ Darke and his colleagues were never in a position to reveal his role in acquiring the gold. The insider trading stick was good leverage and one of Babikov's men was shadowing young Cyrus Darke, just in case even more leverage was needed. That might be enough and it might not thought Robson, he'd return to that issue once the gold had been delivered and Joel Gordon was out of the picture.

A few hours later, JJ received a text message from Neil Robson, regarding the plane that Robson had organised. The next day an RAF Hercules C-5 fortified transport plane would fly to Incheon airport in Seoul and transport JJ and ‘the package' back to RAF Lyneham in the UK. Lyneham was around ten miles south of Swindon, recalled JJ, so it would take him roughly two hours to drive the loaded van back to London. At least Robson had come through on the transportation. The new C-5s had enough fuel and payload capacity to do the trip in one hop. Then the fun of selling the precious metal would be next on the agenda.

“Hey Jim, how's it hanging?” asked JJ as he came through PAU Travel's front door. This may be the last time he saw his good friend for quite a while, so he had better say his goodbyes.

“Fine JJ, all is well. I'm just back from seeing Ethel. She seems in good form. Victor was there – he brought her some chocolate and the pair of them were stuffing their faces when I went in,” laughed the KLO.

“That's great, Jim. They're a bit of an odd couple but they do seem to genuinely care about each other.”

“Also on the news front, Kwon got Ji-hun across the border. We picked him up a few hours ago. He's inside getting processed, his papers and his cash. He seems very content.”

“He did a good job for us. I don't know if we would have been successful at the central bank if we didn't have his intel. Good call by Lily and the Iceman to kidnap him in the first place,” said JJ.

“Look Jim, I'm heading out of here tomorrow, back to London. Transportation for me and the van has been organised. You've got your team's bonus. Unofficial, but thoroughly deserved. I can't thank you enough. This mission would have gone nowhere without you and the boys. If I can ever repay you, just ask.” JJ and Jim gave each other a firm man-hug. Their friendship was already strong after JJ had saved Jim's life in Bosnia, now it was even stronger.

“I owed you anyway,” said Jim. Take good care of yourself and be careful with all that gold, some bad asses may try to get it before the limey government does!”

It was the bad asses in the British government that were more worrying, JJ thought to himself.

“I will,” said JJ on the way out of PAU Travel. A quick visit to Ethel may be in order, then dinner, a good night's sleep and back to the UK in the morning.

“Jim,” called JJ. “If you see Carolyn, ask her to keep in touch.”

“Sure will, chief, sure will.”

* * *

“Chirkov!” yelled Igor Kruglov. “I know you are the Commander in Chief and I don't care! I am asking you a simple question. Do you have any battleships remotely close to South Korea? This is a question of the highest national importance. If you do not answer me immediately then you will be answering to President Putin in the next five minutes. Do you understand?”

Admiral Viktor Chirkov was not used to being yelled at by anyone, nor questioned by anyone for that matter. This jumped-up little shit on the other end of the phone wasn't even the Director of the SVR, just one of two Deputy Directors. Still, Kruglov had a reputation and, unfortunately, not one that even the C in C of the Russian navy could easily ignore.