He stared at the Norwegian log cabins and gripped his walking stick.
The performance was about to begin.
And he was going to be its conductor.
Ellie Hallowes desperately wanted to cut to the chase and find out whether Herald had any useful intelligence for her, but knew that her Russian spy would consider it rude of her to do so. He was a showman, one who took pleasure in feeding her an hour or so of small talk before getting down to business. She was his audience, and he liked to keep her waiting for the good stuff.
During the third meeting she’d had with him after the start of their case officer — asset relationship, she’d tried to circumvent the crap to get to business, but had received a sharp rebuke from the Russian together with threats that if she did this again he’d come to the subsequent five meetings with zero of interest and plenty of lessons about how to be civil and conduct meetings in a manner befitting their respective countries’ officer classes.
As well as being a showman, Herald was a pompous ass.
He was already thirty minutes into the meeting, sitting cross-legged in a chair facing her, occasionally glancing at his manicured fingernails or checking that his bow tie was horizontal.
She moved to the sea-facing side of the cabin and gestured to a bench containing a half bottle of vodka and two tumblers, while trying not to yawn as Herald was telling her that he’d discovered a fine restaurant in Moscow where all the staff were only permitted to speak in French.
Something caught her eye as she casually looked out of the window while unscrewing the bottle.
Movement in the sea.
Men.
Seven of them expertly emerged from the sea in scuba gear, dumping some of their equipment on the thin beach, and moved silently on foot toward the log cabins while keeping their SIG Sauer handguns at eye level.
Spinning around, she barked, “Shut up! We’re compromised!”
Herald’s face went ashen. “What?”
“Compromised! We’ve got seconds!”
Herald jumped to his feet and looked around, confusion all over his face. He walked quickly to Ellie, glanced out the window, grabbed Ellie’s arms, and spoke fast and loud. “Listen to me! Trust no one. There’s a mole in the CIA. Works for the Russians. And he’s sitting at the very top!”
Will’s heart and brain were racing as he spoke into his throat mic. “I’m looking at a man who’s supposed to be dead.”
“Who is he?”
“High-ranking SVR officer. Code name Antaeus. I killed him three years ago.”
“Means nothing to me.”
Will kept the crosshairs of his scope on Antaeus’s head, placed his finger on the trigger, and made ready to put a bullet into the brain of a man who’d consistently outwitted the West’s attempts to counter his actions; a man Will had spent years hunting, an individual who’d thwarted every attempt to neutralize him, a brilliant spymaster who was one of Russia’s most influential and powerful men. Until Will had finally managed to track him down three years ago and detonated a bomb under the car that Antaeus was driving in a Moscow suburb.
Will pulled back on the trigger.
Then stopped as he heard the unmistakable sound of pistol fire near the log cabins.
Antaeus smiled as he watched his Russian team approach the log cabins. He removed a small rectangular box from his jacket and withdrew from it a cheroot cigar, which he lit with a gold Zippo lighter. The doctors had told him that he mustn’t smoke anymore, and for the most part he followed their instructions. But there were moments when a smoke made complete sense. Doctors didn’t understand that; spies did, and now was one such moment. He inhaled the rich tobacco and blew out a long stream of smoke, the volume of which was accentuated by the icy air. As he did so, four of his men kicked in the doors to the two smaller buildings and entered; the remaining three operatives forced entry into the larger cabin.
Then he heard two shots.
Though he’d permitted his men to shoot to wound their targets if necessary, the SVR spymaster wondered if the CIA officer had made the shots the moment she’d seen men burst into the cabin, or whether her Russian agent had done so. Still, if two of his men were now dead, it wouldn’t change anything. His other men would easily overpower the American woman and her asset. They’d dispose of their colleagues’ bodies in the sea, but even if they were later discovered, that wouldn’t matter, as Antaeus had instructed his men to use CIA SOG equipment and carry documentation showing they were residents of Virginia.
He tapped ash from his cigar, raised an old telescope to his good eye, and waited.
Will pointed his sniper rifle at the cabins and the ground around them. Two shots had been fired, but there were no signs of any assailants. He knew there could be only one possible explanation: men had assaulted the cabins from the one blind spot he had — the sea. Had he been complacent? He had considered the possibility that an assault on the meeting could take place from the coast, though had decided that at this time of year it would be done so with boats that would be easily visible to him from his position on the mountainside. Plus, he thought that no one in their right mind would swim in the icy waters to the coastline where the cabins sat. And yet, he of all people knew that Special Forces could operate in Arctic waters all year round. Yes, he had been complacent.
As a result, he’d probably failed a routine assignment that he’d believed was beneath someone of his capabilities. “Shots have been fired. Don’t know what’s going on. But I’ll make sure Antaeus and his men don’t leave here.”
“Negative.” The analyst sounded unsettled.
“What?”
“Repeat, negative. You have no authority to proceed.”
Will couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I can do what I like.”
The analyst sounded on the verge of panic. “I’ve checked our system. Don’t know what it means but the instructions are clear. It says, Antaeus must not be touched. Further inquiries require Project Ferryman clearance. My search on the system must have been flagged, because I just had a call from the duty officer asking me what’s going on. I told him. He told me to pull the plug. You’re under orders to withdraw.”
“No way.”
“Your orders are clear. Get out of there.”
“No fucking way!”
“I…” The analyst was breathing fast. “I… the DO told me it would be a breach of category one Agency protocols if you proceed. Please…”
Men emerged from the smaller cabins and a moment later the rest of them came out of the larger building. Two of them were dragging Herald, and it looked as though he’d been injured. The others were gripping Ellie’s arms and walking her to a clearing in front of the cabins. They stopped. The Russian was forced onto his knees and winced in pain as one of the men yanked his hair back to lift his head. Ellie was pushed to the ground next to her asset, and a man placed a boot on her back to keep her still. The men looked toward the distance. Will urgently swung his rifle toward Antaeus’s position. He was still there, calmly smoking his cigar.
What was happening?
Antaeus was motionless for a moment. Then he lifted his stick high in the air.
Of course.
Antaeus had told his men that he needed to be sure the Russian was the man he was after.
If he was, he’d give them a signal to proceed.
By lifting his stick.
“It’s an execution!” Will swung his weapon back at the man holding a pistol against the Russian. But he was too late. Two bullets were fired into the back of Herald’s head. His killer released his grip on the dead spy and let him slump face-first toward the ground.
“Our asset’s dead.” Will gripped his gun tightly as he saw the man who was pinning Ellie to the ground lean forward, yank up her head, and look in the direction of Antaeus.