Authors: Matthew Dunn
Sentinel (11 page)
Will held his gaze. “I’ll stay.”
“I hope it’s the right decision.” Borzaya lit another cigarette and gazed toward one of the hotel room windows. “There are tens of thousands of KGB files in the FSB and SVR archives. It would take years to read them all.”
Sentinel snapped, “But you didn’t need to read them all. I gave you a very specific task.”
“You did.” Borzaya looked mischievous. “ ‘Find me evidence of an MI6 security breach.’ Still, I was lucky.”
“Why?”
The FSB officer shrugged. “The files you asked me to read are still highly classified. I’d have needed to explain what my interest was in them to get permission to read them.”
“Why were you lucky?” Sentinel repeated.
Borzaya smiled. “One of the files was missing. I thought that was curious, so I checked the registers to see who’d last read the file.” He blew out smoke. “You remember that idiot Filip Chulkov?”
“I do.”
Will glanced at Sentinel. “Chulkov? Was he one of ours?”
Sentinel shook his head. “No. He was an FSB officer. Murdered two years ago. Case unsolved.” He looked back at Borzaya. “His name was in the register?”
Borzaya nodded. “The man was a moron, but he did have clearance to read the files.” He chuckled. “Senior management probably gave that clearance to him because they thought he was too stupid to understand anything he read.” His expression changed. “I spent the last two days checking lesser classified files to see if any of them cross-referenced to the missing file. Finally I found one. It contained a brief KGB report, dated 1987, saying that a young Moscow-based MI6 officer might be worth approaching. That report showed the MI6 officer’s name in full.”
Sentinel looked totally focused.
Borzaya eased back in his chair. “I looked into Chulkov’s death. The reports included a list of the officer’s cell phone records on the days preceding his death. All of the numbers dialed looked normal—calls made to FSB, SVR, and GRU colleagues, to senior military men, and certain politicians.” He smiled. “I can see why none of them were considered suspects.”
Will’s mind raced. “One of the calls was to Taras Khmelnytsky.”
“Correct, Mr. Bancroft.”
“And who was the junior MI6 officer?”
Borzaya looked at Sentinel. When he spoke, his words were measured and tense. “Everything must be kept in this room.”
“It will be.”
Borzaya looked away again, deep in thought. After twenty seconds, he nodded slightly and said, “In the late eighties he was undercover as second secretary in the British Embassy in Moscow. The KGB found out that he was having an illicit affair with a Soviet diplomat, something that was completely forbidden in those days.”
“Well, they obviously recruited him, or why would they have such a classified file on him?”
“Maybe.”
“You have doubts?”
Borzaya shook his head. “I think the KGB got
something
out of him. But I found out the officer short-posted. Why would he run back to London midway through his posting if he was a KGB agent? They would have encouraged him to stay in Moscow for a full tour so that they could get everything out of him.”
Sentinel said, “He ran away from them.”
“I agree.”
Sentinel lowered his head. “It’s a shame we don’t know what he told the KGB.”
“We do know. It was clear in the file I read. The officer was deemed of interest because the KGB thought he could tell them the location of the various MI6 safe houses in Moscow.”
“Safe houses?”
“Safe houses.”
Safe houses, like the one where Sentinel was caught before he was put in the Lubyanka for six years.
Sentinel stood and walked to the window. With his back to Will and Borzaya, he said, “I’d always thought it was an agent who’d betrayed me to the Soviets, not a serving MI6 officer.” He slowly turned and looked directly at Borzaya. “Who is he?”
Borzaya tapped his hand three times on his knee. “He’s—”
Tap, tap.
“Nothing must go to London. You’ve given me your word.”
Tap.
“I’m in enough danger without you using my name as part of an investigation.”
He lifted his hand up again but held it in midair.
“The traitor is the current MI6 Head of Moscow Station.”
B
orzaya had left the hotel room fifteen minutes before. Will and Sentinel were sitting in a different part of the suite facing each other, mugs of black coffee on the floor between them.
“Let’s think through the possibilities.” Sentinel took a swig of the drink; his expression remained one of anger but also of focus. “The MI6 officer gets approached by the KGB and is told that they’ll reveal his affair to British authorities unless he cooperates. He should have told them to go to hell, but he’s young and scared.”
“So he gives them the location of the houses and then flees to London before they get their hooks further into him.”
“Normally”—Sentinel placed his mug down—“the KGB would’ve pursued him and tried to run him out of London, but—”
“The Soviet Union collapses, the Russian element of the KGB is transformed into the SVR, agendas change, and somewhere during that process the MI6 officer falls through the cracks.”
Sentinel nodded. “Or a decision is made that he’s of no further use to the revamped Russia—too junior, too out of reach.”
“Either way, they went after you and got you at one of your safe houses.” Will tried to picture that moment. Even for a veteran like Sentinel, it would have been a terrifying experience.
Sentinel looked away for a moment; his next words were quiet. “I heard them come into the building, looked out the windows, saw that I was completely surrounded, and knew that all was lost. So I put—” He sighed.
“You put your handgun to your head but couldn’t pull the trigger.”
Sentinel kept staring at nothing. “To this day, I still can’t decide which of the two was the more cowardly.”
Will leaned forward. “You can’t think that way. It was an uncertain situation.” He had no idea what he’d have done in similar circumstances.
“The
situation
was very certain. I had too many secrets and the knowledge of too many Russian MI6 agents who would have been executed if I’d buckled under torture.”
“But you kept your mouth shut.”
“I knew that if I told them what they wanted to know, I’d be walked out into a courtyard and executed by firing squad.” Sentinel gripped his hands together. “The only reason I managed to keep my mouth shut was that I steadfastly refused to let the Russians do to me what I couldn’t do to myself.” He looked at Will; his demeanor changed. “Back to work. Let’s fast-forward to two years ago. Razin was now one of my agents and had decided that he must know the identity of my other agents.”
“Though he knew he’d never get that information from you, so he wondered if it was possible to get it from another MI6 officer.”
“A person who at some point in his career had betrayed secrets to the USSR or Russia.”
“He discreetly tasked his contacts in Russian intelligence to try to find out if such a person existed.”
Sentinel agreed. “One of those contacts was an FSB officer named Filip Chulkov. He had clearance to read the closed, top secret MI6 double-agent files.”
“And in one of those files he read about the junior MI6 officer.”
“Chulkov
was
a stupid man, but even he would have instantly recognized the name in the file.”
“Though it seems his stupidity ultimately got the better of him. Instead of taking the file and the MI6 name to his FSB superiors so that they could reopen the case, he took it straight to Razin.”
“Who thanked him and shot him in the head.”
Will took a sip of his coffee. “Razin approaches the Head of Moscow Station and—”
“Blackmails him to get the names of my agents.”
Though partly conjecture, their theory made sense to Will. But it didn’t help them beyond explaining how Razin had the names of the tier-1 agents. He felt overwhelming frustration. “We can’t warn off your agents.”
“I know that!” Sentinel sounded equally frustrated. “If we do, we take them out of the game. And if that happens, we’ll get the same result we would if they’re killed—a protracted war and all that will follow it.” He muttered, “Shit, shit, shit,” and looked at Will. “What’s the likely success of the operation you’re mounting?”
Will answered, “Provided I can get to the right people, I’m confident it will work, but I can’t guarantee that more of your agents won’t be killed.”
“I thought so.” Frustration was now replaced with a look of despair. “I can’t let any more of them die.”
“There’s nothing you can do right now.”
“There’s one possibility.”
Will waited.
Sentinel stared at the floor, clearly deep in thought. “Supposing we told Razin which agents I was going to next meet and when.”
Will frowned. “That would only help if you were a target.”
Sentinel smiled. “Maybe I am. He knows I’m after him and has already tried to kill me once. Plus, maybe my death would be the jewel in his crown. If he kills me, he’s killed the man who runs the tier-1 agents, the man who has the capability to recruit more agents to replace those Razin’s killed, the man the Russians stupidly released to carry on working against them.”
Will’s stomach muscles tensed. “We can’t use you and your agents as bait.”
“Why not? You’d be there to protect us.”
“I might fail!”
“You will if you think like that.”
“It’s too damn risky.”
For a moment, Sentinel seemed surprised by Will’s reaction. “You care?”
“Of course.” He pointed a finger at his colleague. “A huge number of people rely on you staying alive.”
“Conversely . . .”
“Yes,
conversely
—but we don’t need to play into that group’s hands.” Will shook his head. “How would you alert Razin to the meeting without him becoming suspicious?”
Sentinel looked up. “I’ll liaise with Kiev Station and get them to send a telegram to London, telling them to instruct the Moscow Station that I’m reactivating the Minsk DLB. It’s only ever cleared by Moscow Station—they have one officer who has official cover to travel in and out of Belarus. He gets my messages and takes them back into Russia in a diplomatic bag. Tomorrow, I’ll deposit a coded message there saying that I’m meeting Shashka in three days time.” Code name Shashka was a tier-1 agent and a general in Russia’s ground forces, based in the Western Operational Strategic Command in Saint Petersburg. “The message will be delivered to the head of station. Then I’m hoping he’ll give the details to Razin.”
“He might not do that.”
Sentinel stood up and poured himself more coffee. “Razin will be putting the squeeze on the head of station to find out anything he can about our plans. He’ll have the man in his grip. The message will be passed, I’m certain.”
Will said, “I’m strongly against using you as bait. I’m under orders to stop Razin, but I’ve also been instructed to protect you at all costs. Your idea feels wrong.”
“Then give me an idea that feels
right
and doesn’t allow more of my agents to be killed.”
Will was silent.
Sentinel sat at a table, grabbed a piece of paper and a fountain pen, and began to write. When he finished, he stood, walked to Will, and thrust the paper toward him, saying, “I’ll rewrite the message and encrypt it when I’m in Belarus.”
MEETING SHASHKA AT 1800HRS ON 24TH THIS MONTH AT ST PETERSBURG SAFE HOUSE. VITAL THAT I’M ALERTED TO ANY SOURCE INTEL RELATING TO SHASHKA OR ST PETERSBURG PRIOR TO MEETING. MY RUSSIAN ASSETS CAN’T BE TRUSTED. BREACH OF SECURITY. NEED TWO HANDGUNS AND A TWO-PERSON COMMS SYSTEM. RESPOND ON 23RD WITH COLLECTION DETAILS.
SENTINEL.
Will tossed the paper to one side. “The other major risk is to Shashka himself. He’s an extremely valuable agent.”
“He has to be there. We can’t use a stand-in.”
“I know.”
Shashka could have the ability to locate Razin. Meeting him to get that information would be vital. Moreover, it was possible that Razin would follow Shashka to the meeting. He’d easily spot a fake and would probably abort going to the meeting if he saw one.
But Will was still uncomfortable with the whole thing. “You’re playing with fire.”
“It’s been ever thus.”
Will looked at him. Over the last few days, Sentinel seemed to have aged. Will hesitated before quietly saying, “If we succeed in stopping Razin, you need to get out of the field. Make a home in England. You’ve done more than enough.”
“I’d never request that.”
“But by your own admission, you’ve thought about it.” He leaned forward. “Maybe you’d not object if the decision was taken out of your hands.”
Sentinel said nothing.
“Maybe . . . I could arrange for that to happen.”
Sentinel was clearly digesting Will’s idea. Then he beamed. “Get a wife, a nice house in the country, do some gardening, have an occasional pint at the local pub. And would I come to you to learn how to do all those things?”
Will laughed. “Fair point.”
Sentinel smiled. “I think so.” He sighed. “But still, it is a pleasant notion . . .” He folded his arms. “Tomorrow I
will
be in Minsk. I don’t need you for that, but I will need you for the Shashka meeting in Russia.” His eyes became cold. “I’m going to kill Razin. And when I’ve finished with him, I’m going to visit the Head of Moscow Station.”
T
he Russian intelligence officer drove his vehicle off the Moscow highway onto a minor road and headed north. Normally the journey to his home would take only thirty minutes, but it was dark and the snow was heavy. He hoped his wife wouldn’t be angry with his delay. Tonight they were hosting a dinner party with friends and were allowing their young children to stay up and eat with them. Nikita and Ivan had been so excited at the prospect and had promised not to fall asleep before the meal.
