Payback (4 page)

Several people in the room chuckled. Richter looked up at the CO19 officer. ‘Ever thought of a career on the stage, Inspector? Or are you hoping for another tour as senior dinosaur at
Jurassic Park?’ The chuckling suddenly stopped. ‘I know the jargon as well as you do, so you can dispense with the comedy routine. I think what you mean is that you’ve got two
unmarked Armed Response Vehicles, one of them a black cab, in place and ready to proceed as soon as you give the order. The horses – that’s Trojan Horses, derived from the
“Trojan” callsign that CO19 uses – are unmarked vehicles each carrying four officers. The target premises – Tango One – are occupied by six suspects and watched by
fifteen surveillance officers, eleven male and four female. And I’m quite sure all of us in the room will remember to put on our high visibility caps and quick-release vests when we assemble
at the forming-up point.’ He paused, then added, ‘After all, we wouldn’t want this turning into a clusterfuck, would we?’

For a few seconds the briefing room fell absolutely silent. The inspector smiled, then laughed out loud. ‘Thank Christ for that,’ he said, ‘a professional at last. I was
getting really pissed off with all these pimply-faced geeks Thames House keeps on sending us. Welcome aboard, Mr Smith, or whatever your real name is. I’m Jessup. You’re right about
everything. The only other thing you need to known is that SO15 – the CTC – is the lead agency on this excursion, because their patrol stumbled across the cell. So apart from the
spooks, it’s just them and CO19.’

Forty minutes later the inspector wound it up. ‘To recap, we’ve got surveillance groups in place at street level to take off any of the players who decide to walk. There are CO19
sniper teams covering all building entrances. There are known to be six targets using the flat, and once we’re certain that they’re all inside we’ll take them down.’

With a glance at Richter, Jessup added: ‘We would have been able to carry out the raid a couple of days ago, when we knew for sure they were all in the flat, if we hadn’t had
pressure from a certain organization not far from Vauxhall Bridge. Right, the last report was that two of the players were mobile, with footies in attendance. As soon as we’ve confirmed
they’re heading back to Tango One, we’ll get everything prepped and hit them five minutes after they get inside. We’ll be making broadcast calls to your pagers from the Special
Operations Room here, with the baseman using the callsign “Golf Tango”. As usual, all CO19 units will employ the callsign “Trojan” followed by their designated number. Any
comments or questions?’

‘I’ll need a pager,’ Richter said.

‘No problem. See me as soon as we’ve finished. Any other questions?’

Richter stood up with everybody else, and walked to the front of the briefing room.

‘Sorry about that,’ Jessup said. ‘I’ve been a bit pissed off the way Thames House and Vauxhall Cross have been trying to run this operation.’

‘And I happened to be in the firing line?’

‘Exactly.’ Jessup opened a briefcase and pulled out a pager. ‘I’d like that back, please, once the show’s over. You don’t need to do anything with it except
turn it on. It’s already pre-set to receive all the messages GT sends. Now, one question. What are you really supposed to be doing in this op?’

‘I’ve been tasked with observation, Inspector,’ Richter said, ‘but I have to get inside the flat as soon as possible. I need to identify one of the targets, because he
may have links to an operation we’re currently running.’

What Richter didn’t say was exactly
why
he needed to identify one of the suspects. But Jessup – and everyone else – would find out very soon after they kicked down the
door.

Kondal, Russia

Four minutes later, both Americans climbed down from the truck. Wilson closed and locked the door. The device was now safely in their hands, and the remainder of the
transaction could now be executed.

When they’d first conceived the plan, the Americans had intended to kill the three Russians as soon as they’d got their hands on the weapon, but caution prevailed. A third death
would have saved the Americans having to raise two million dollars, but that wasn’t the overriding factor, and Wilson had already worked out a way around the money.

But the unexplained death or disappearance of three PO Start personnel, on the same day, would be too much for any investigating officer to ignore, and that would lead to an in-depth
investigation at Zarechnyy. Which, in turn, could result in the discovery of the theft before the Americans had even cleared the area, and would render their documentation useless –
they’d be stopped and held at the first road-block.

Their second choice was to play it straight, shake hands with their co-conspirators, hand over the passbooks to the three Swiss bank accounts as promised, and then go their separate ways. But
that went totally against the grain, not least because the two million dollars they’d agreed to pay wasn’t actually theirs.

So they’d decided to go with what they’d taken to calling Option One Alpha, which had necessitated taking Borisov partially into their confidence almost from the start.

The two dead technicians would accompany the weapon – at least on the first stage of its journey from Kondal, until Wilson and Dawson could find a suitable spot to dispose of their bodies
– and Borisov’s documentation would specify that Nabov and Devenko were the driver and escort for a consignment of ‘machine tools’ in transit to Turkey. The two Americans
would wear the technicians’ jackets and carry their identification. There wasn’t a marked similarity in their appearance, but the pictures on Russian identity cards were usually small,
grainy and very poor quality and they were, in conjunction with the other documentation, probably adequate to allow them to pass through a routine checkpoint.

That way, the absence of the two men from the PO Start facility could be explained by reference to a copy of the transit documents, and they wouldn’t be missed for a few days.

The Russian hadn’t liked this idea at first, but when Wilson pointed out that, if he agreed, the two-million-dollar fee they’d promised to the two technicians would instead be paid
to him, he’d quickly changed his mind.

They walked back to where Borisov was standing, visibly nervous and now holding a Tokarev 7.62-millimetre semi-automatic pistol firmly in his right hand. Despite his reluctant agreement with
their actions in killing Nabov and Devenko, Borisov trusted the two Americans about as far as he could spit a rat, and he knew he was now outnumbered two to one by armed men with fresh blood on
their hands.

Wilson glanced around, checking they were still unobserved. The Russian handed him the docket containing the transit and export documentation. The American glanced at it, then passed it to
Dawson.

‘It was a pleasure doing business with you, Yuri,’ Wilson said, and reached into his jacket.

Immediately Borisov raised his pistol and aimed it straight at Wilson’s stomach, his eyes flicking watchfully between the two men, now alert for the first sign of hostile intent.

‘Your money, Yuri,’ the American said calmingly. ‘I’m just getting your money.’ He eased his jacket open with his left hand, revealing no shoulder or belt holster,
and reached into the inside pocket with his thumb and forefinger. He pulled out a dark blue booklet bearing what looked like an eagle insignia on the cover, and passed it across.

Borisov took a couple of steps backwards, his eyes dancing between the passbook and the two Americans, while still covering them with his pistol. He opened the book awkwardly, using his left
hand. He checked the name of the account holder printed inside the front cover, and the certified balance, before he nodded in satisfaction and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

Wilson extended his hand, but Borisov didn’t take it. He was still holding the Tokarev and had absolutely no intention of putting the weapon away.

‘Perhaps,’ he ventured, ‘I might be able to do business with you again.’

‘Perhaps you might,’ Wilson echoed, though he already knew there was no possibility of this ever occurring. This deal was essentially a one-shot operation that would generate more
money than any of them could hope to spend in several lifetimes.

Borisov retreated cautiously towards his car, almost walking backwards, still fearful of a double-cross even at that late stage. The Americans watched silently until he drove away.

They checked that all the doors on the truck were firmly locked, then returned to the hotel. Fifteen minutes later they were back outside in the car park, their trousers, brogues and sports
coats replaced by jeans, work boots and the heavy dark-blue jackets stripped from the bodies of the two dead technicians – their transformation into a pair of truck drivers now complete.

Dawson stashed their two large suitcases and the laptop bags behind the seats, and drove off, taking the road towards Saratov.

The problem they still had was one of trust, or more accurately the complete lack of it. Borisov now had his Swiss bank-account passbook holding a balance of two million dollars – not a
bad week’s work for anyone – and they had the weapon they needed.

But the Americans knew there was no reason why Borisov shouldn’t decide to make an anonymous call to the SVR or the FSB. And if their truck were to be stopped, the Russian would be more or
less fireproof. There was nothing, apart from his signature at the bottom of the correctly completed transit and export documentation, that could possibly link him to the theft of the device. There
was no record even of the opening of the secure storeroom which held the weapons, because he’d simply taken the keys from the office late one afternoon, met Nabov and Devenko at the storage
building concerned and inside twenty minutes they’d completed the substitution. Just fifteen minutes after that, Borisov had been sitting at his desk, the keys back in the safe, and the two
technicians were elsewhere on the site, filling the crate with the other items on the manifest he’d previously given them.

Every week, the administrator signed dozens of similar documents, and everybody in the office had ready access to the secure-storage keys, because the key safe remained unlocked during the
working day. Any investigation might initially focus on Borisov, but there would be no way to connect him directly to the theft.

The Americans hoped he would be satisfied with the money and keep silent, but hoping didn’t cut it.

Wilson had told the Russian that they’d be heading for the Turkish border at Leninakan in Azerbaijan, but they doubted he really believed them. And that, of course, was not the way they
were going to leave the country. Their route out would be fast, and far from obvious. The first leg, from Kondal to Saratov, was the shortest, just a few miles, and Dawson calculated they’d
get there late that afternoon, even after finding somewhere to dump the two bodies.

But first they had three small jobs to do. They had to repack the weapon, though that could wait until they found a secluded stretch of road. Dawson needed to make an international call to
confirm they’d got the device, but that, too, could wait. The fund transfer couldn’t, just in case Borisov decided to try accessing his Swiss bank account immediately.

The passbook that was tucked inside the Russian’s jacket pocket was not all it appeared to be. It
was
a genuine passbook, issued by a real Swiss bank, and the account actually did
contain two million American dollars. What Borisov didn’t know was that the account was in joint names, the other signatory being Richard Wilson – or rather an alias chosen by him.

Dawson stopped the truck in a lay-by just as Wilson pulled out his mobile phone and his diary. He checked the bank’s telephone number and called it. While he waited to be connected, he
opened another passbook that was almost identical to the one they’d given Borisov.

When a bank official picked up the call, Wilson gave him the account number and the name he had used to set it up, and answered three security questions before being allowed access. Then he
instructed that the entire balance, including accrued interest, be transferred at once to a bank in the Cayman Islands. There was no need for him to do anything else, because that finance house had
standing instructions to immediately send any such receipts directly to another bank in Gibraltar.

Within twenty-four hours, the money would have been bounced around the world half a dozen times, and would be effectively untraceable. Bizarrely, its resting place for the next few days would be
in Switzerland, at a bank two streets away from the first one in the chain, but in an account with a completely different name.

Wilson’s only regret was that he wouldn’t be able to see the expression on the Russian’s face when he tried to draw on his ‘investment’.

Monday
Manama, Bahrain

‘Here he is, at last. Fucking A-rabs got no sense of time,’ O’Hagan muttered.

‘You’re late,’ Petrucci snapped, as the two Americans climbed into the Mercedes.

The Arab shrugged as he pulled away. ‘We’ve plenty of time.’

O’Hagan slouched sideways in the back seat, looking out of the rear window of the taxi to check for any following vehicles. ‘I think we’re clean,’ he said, after a few
minutes.

‘I ran checks before I got to the Square. And even if we are being followed, you’re just two American tourists out seeing the sights. This afternoon we’re going to the
Qal’at Al-Bahrain, the Bahrain Fort.’

‘And are we?’ Petrucci asked.

‘No, but we’re certainly heading that way.’

After passing the Pearl Monument, the King Faisal Highway turns south, and Ahmed continued along it, swinging right at the next junction on to the west-bound highway that runs to Al-Budayyi,
over on the west coast of the island.

Just short of Jidd Hafa, he swung the taxi off the highway and down an unmarked and almost invisible unmade road towards a cluster of whitewashed buildings. Although he slowed down, the car
bounced and rattled, suspension creaking, as it lurched along the track, a plume of dust billowing out behind it.