Laith grabbed an empty mug and headed toward the safe-house kitchen. “I’ve just had a call from Roger. Will’s on his way back.”
Peter asked, “Did he get access to the Rubner files?”
Laith shrugged. “Didn’t say.” He called out, “Oh, and Peter. Will wants to meet you in one hour in the lobby of the Steigenberger Hotel. Alone.”
Laith called Will. “He’s on the move, on foot at the moment but looks like he might be trying to hail a taxi. Adam’s mobile. If he does get a cab, we’ll stick to him.”
Sixty minutes later, Will was in the departures section of Berlin Brandenburg Airport. The newly constructed international airport was bustling with travelers. Standing in the center of the concourse was Peter Rhodes, oblivious to the presence of Will, Adam, and Laith. He was motionless, staring at the flight departures board.
Will looked at his paramilitary colleagues. They were apart, fifty yards beyond Peter. He nodded at Laith, sighed, and navigated his way through the crowds. “Hello, Peter.”
The MI6 officer turned quickly, shock on his face. But then he smiled. “So many destinations to choose from.”
“I don’t envy you.”
Peter returned his gaze to the board. “I’ve got a passport, a credit card, and have no idea what I’m doing. But I did know that I didn’t fancy meeting you at the Steigenberger Hotel.”
Will was silent.
Peter muttered, “I suppose the choice of destination will be made for me. Saves me a lot of hassle.”
Will moved in front of him. “Why did you do it?”
Peter’s eyes flickered mischievously. “Because I’m a bastard.”
“No, you’re not.”
Peter lowered his head, seemed to be considering Will’s response. “I got a lot of brownie points for distributing the Rubner intelligence. It got me promoted, an increase in salary.” He looked up. “I’m getting married in a few months. My fiancee and I need every penny we can get.”
“So you decided that you couldn’t let anyone know that Rubner had tricked us and that your career had been accelerated on the basis of a lie?”
“That pretty much sums it all up.”
Will shook his head. “Peter, you could have just been honest. You’ve had a great career. You’d have been promoted anyway.”
“Maybe.” Peter’s smile faded. “Trouble is, one little lie follows another little lie and soon you suddenly realize you’ve created one big lie and there’s no way back. I should have distanced myself from them. But they were insistent. We gave Rubner the identity of Yevtushenko and the means to contact him, hoping that Yevtushenko would disappear and no one would be the wiser. We should have done so with SSCI approval, but we knew the Senate would never have given it to us. So my CIA friends made their own decision. I’d love to tell you that they did so without my knowledge, but that would be untrue.”
“You thought that if I got to Yevtushenko, he’d tell me that he’d been set up by the CIA team running Rubner, and that I’d quickly then link that person to you?”
Peter did not reply.
Will took a step closer. “Your treachery has put my sister’s life at risk.”
“What?”
“You gave the CIA team my name and home address. They gave that to the man who’s now in possession of the paper. He’s threatened to kill Sarah unless I back down.”
Peter looked confused. “They weren’t supposed to do that! They were just supposed to send you a message to your home, telling you to mind your own business.”
“Well, they decided to do much worse. And after you told them I was going to break into Yevtushenko’s house, they put a team in place to stop me escaping and to get me shot by the Russian cops.”
Peter shook his head. “No, no. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I told them in case there was stuff in there that you shouldn’t see-to give them the chance to get there first and sanitize the place.”
Will said between gritted teeth, “You played right into their hands. Who are they?”
Peter huffed. “I might have been played for a fool, but my mouth’s shut on that. You’re going to put me in a cell and throw away the key.” He looked around, his eyes locking on Adam, then Laith. Nodding, he looked back at Will. “It appears that you might do worse. I’ve no reason to speak to you.”
Will pointed at the flight departures board. “You can get on one of those flights. .”
Peter frowned.
“. . if you tell me who was running Rubner, the identity of the people you were working with to stop me getting closer to Yevtushenko.”
“You’d just let me walk away? I doubt that.”
“Where’s your fiancee?”
“England.” Peter rubbed a hand over his face. “Today she’s getting measured for her wedding dress.”
“You can never see her again.”
Peter lowered his hand. His face was now pale.
“You’ll be arrested if you try to set foot in the U.K.; you’ll be arrested if anyone spots you in Europe; the States aren’t an option; nor are any of the Commonwealth countries.” Will raised his voice to be heard over the din coming from the crowds around them. “It won’t be a case of just walking away. You’ll be on the run, by all accounts with very limited funds. What I’m offering you is a life of looking over your shoulder, of poverty, of living in some hellhole, petrified that at any moment your front door is going to be kicked in. But maybe that’s a better option than solitary confinement in a maximum security prison, or”-he glanced toward Laith and Adam-“a more absolute solution.”
Peter looked confused. “Why would you do that for me?”
“That question’s been plaguing me for the last twenty-four hours.” He pictured Luke’s head ripping open when he shot him in Gdansk. “Maybe I’m just sick of doing the dirty work.”
Peter opened his mouth to speak but said nothing.
“You need to make a decision!”
The crowds were getting thicker, and though travelers brushed against the two MI6 officers, they stayed still.
“Decision, Peter.”
Beads of sweat ran down Peter’s face, and he screwed his eyes up as if he were in pain.
“Time is running out!”
“Okay!” Peter’s breathing was fast. More quietly, he repeated, “Okay.”
“Who was running Rubner?”
Peter stared directly at Will, his expression imploring. “Somehow, can you get a message to my fiancee? Tell her I’m truly sorry.”
Will nodded.
“Thank you.” Peter looked at the flight schedules. “Can’t go anywhere West, nowhere first world, nowhere with a U.K. extradition treaty in place.” He smiled bitterly. “You’re right; it has to be a hellhole.” His breathing slowed. “Look after the section. They need you.”
“That’s not your concern anymore. You keep your mouth shut about everything you know. And if you warn off Rubner’s CIA handlers, I’ll personally come after you.”
Peter nodded. With resignation, he said, “I’ve no reason to speak to them now. After all, keeping their secret has got me to this place. There’s four of them. All are very senior Agency case officers, with a lot of power and autonomy.” He held out his hand.
Will hesitated, then shook it. “If ever you see me again, run.” He lowered his voice and said with genuine concern, “Look after yourself.”
Peter smiled. “I’ll try my best.” Glancing around, he laughed. “I don’t think the arrivals section of the country I’m headed to is going to look anything like this.” He looked at Will one last time. “Rubner’s CIA handlers have the code name Flintlock.”
PART IV
Kurt Schreiber walked along the corridor toward the door, which was flanked by two armed bodyguards. He entered a vast, sumptuous room containing leather sofas and armchairs, original paintings by Leopold Bode, Hans Durer, and Matthias Grunewald, a large log-burning fire that had been prepared by one of the twelve-bedroom property’s housekeepers, and walls clad in oak panels that had been taken from a nineteenth-century Prussian man-of-war. Extending down one side of the room was a forty-yard balcony where, during the summer months, he would frequently spend time eating or drinking with his numerous shady business associates while admiring southeast Germany’s Bavarian Alps and overlooking the valley two thousand yards beneath them. But today, the sliding glass doors were shut to prevent the icy mountain air and snow from entering the warm residence.