A Colder War (42 page)

Kleckner interrupted him. “I had no idea that Shakhouri would be killed,” he said, looking at Kell as though he alone had misconstrued his involvement in the HITCHCOCK debacle. Kell was mesmerized by the intensity of Kleckner’s self-delusion. A sociopath dressing up betrayal as a moral position.

“You didn’t consider that Moscow would pass on that information to Tehran?” Amelia asked, walking back down the plane. “By the way, did you know that Alexander Minasian was lying to you in the safe house? Cecilia Sandor was murdered on the orders of the SVR. Luka Zigic has gone missing. Were you aware of that?”

Kleckner did not reply. Chater muttered something under his breath and stared at the man who had betrayed him. There was a fold-down seat behind him. He lowered himself into it, tetchily adjusting his ill-fitting suit, as though he had borrowed it for the meeting. Amelia looked out of a starboard porthole. Kell remained standing. Kleckner’s motives for betrayal were as prosaic as they were predictable. Sophomoric arguments from a first-class mind. Almost everybody in the intelligence community with whom Kell had discussed droning had expressed doubts about the long-term consequences in the battle for hearts and minds. But nobody—from Amelia Levene to Jim Chater to Thomas Kell—was in any doubt about its political expedience and military efficacy. Kleckner was talking like an activist but it was no more than a pose. Treachery was treachery. Kleckner could dress it up all he liked, but he no more cared about a villager in Waziristan than he cared about Rachel Wallinger. He had been motivated solely by self-aggrandizement. For such men it was not enough to affect events collectively; the narcissist had to put himself center stage. The moral and philosophical arguments for Kleckner’s behavior could be all too easily made; it was just a question of self-persuasion.

“How much did they pay you?” Chater asked, but before Kleckner had a chance to react, Kell’s phone began to ring. He glanced at the screen, saw that it was a Ukraine number. Harold, perhaps, or one of the team back in Odessa. He ignored the call, but whoever was trying to reach him immediately rang again.

“Give me a couple of minutes,” he said, going into the cockpit. Amelia and Chater nodded. Kell closed the door, sat in the starboard pilot’s seat, and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Thomas Kell?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Alexander Minasian.”

70

There were no pleasantries. Minasian said that he was speaking from the Russian consulate in Odessa. He knew that Ryan Kleckner was “now in the hands of the United States government.” He said that he wanted to offer a trade.

“A trade,” said Kell.

“We have a woman. In Istanbul. Rachel Wallinger. I believe that you know her.”

Kell felt an inversion inside himself, a fear of loss so great that he struggled to respond.

“I know her,” he replied.

Minasian waited. Perhaps he had expected Kell to sound more shocked. “She is being held at an address in Istanbul. If Mr. Kleckner is taken to my embassy in Kiev within the next six hours and handed to the Russian diplomatic staff, we will convey Rachel to your embassy in Istanbul. I can be reached on this number if you wish to inform me of your decision. You have six hours.”

The line went dead.

Kell placed the phone on the seat beside him and stared out at the black night. Fewer lights on the apron now, the runway quiet. He picked up the phone and dialed Rachel’s number. The line failed to connect. Not even a voice mail. Not even a chance to hear her voice.

“Tom?”

It was Amelia. She had come into the cockpit, closing the door behind her. She saw the look on Kell’s face as he turned around.

“What’s wrong?”

“I told you Rachel needed protecting. I told you she wasn’t safe.”

“What’s happened?”

Kell indicated the phone. “That was Minasian. They’ve got her. They want to trade her for Kleckner.”

The confidence seemed to go out of Amelia, all of her experience and strength gusted away by what Kell had said.

“Oh, God. I am so sorry.”

Kell could not tell whether or not she would countenance the idea of trading Kleckner. He pictured the scene in which Rachel was being held. Her terror, her isolation. He felt the same rage against Minasian that he had felt toward Kleckner, moments after seeing Rachel in the hotel room.

“Where did they get her?”

“I don’t know,” Kell replied.

“Have Station been in touch?”

“You tell me.”

Amelia took out a phone, began to scroll for a number.

“When was the last time you heard from Rachel?” Kell asked her.

Amelia appeared not to have heard the question. “What?”

“When did you last have confirmation that Rachel was safe?”

“Sunday,” she replied uncertainly. “Sunday, I think.”

More than thirty-six hours had passed since then. Amelia Levene had been more worried about pacifying Jim Chater than she had been concerned about protecting Paul’s daughter.

“I’m calling Istanbul,” she said. “I’ll find out what’s gone wrong.”

Kell looked out of the plane. He could see the driver of the Mercedes smoking beneath the Gulfstream. Not a care in the world. He knew that it would be only a matter of time before Amelia told the Americans. After that, Rachel’s life would be in Chater’s hands.

“Let me deal with this,” Amelia said, flicking her eyes in the direction of the cabin. “Keep talking to Kleckner. Find out whatever you can about other operations.” It irked Kell that Amelia was not solely focused on Rachel’s safety, even as he acknowledged that the Service’s opportunity to interview Kleckner had now been even more severely curtailed. “Give me five minutes,” she said.

Kell pocketed his phone, opened the cockpit door, and went out into the cabin. Chater was coming out of the bathroom at the far end of the plane, adjusting the collar of his shirt. Kleckner looked up and popped his eyebrows.

“Problem?” he said.

Kell felt the impotent fury of a man without choices. Rachel’s fate was now out of his hands. Every effort he had made—to recover from her betrayal, to track and capture Kleckner—had been rendered meaningless by the counterplay from Minasian.

“Tell me about Ebru Eldem,” he said.

He wanted to silence Kleckner, to wipe the sneering, unapologetic look from his face, to skewer him on his own hypocrisy. Chater caught his eye, coming back to the front of the aircraft.

“What about her?” Kleckner replied.

Kell took a step toward him. “I just want to hear about her. What she meant to you.”

“What she
meant
to me?”

“Isn’t it the case that she shared some of your political views, as you’ve expressed them? On droning? On Abu Ghraib and Iraq as well? Isn’t it the case that you two had a lot in common?”

Chater sat down and hunched forward, staring at Kell, wondering where he was going. Kell could sense that Kleckner was wary of a trap. The American seemed determined not to reply.

“My understanding of Miss Eldem’s personality, having read her newspaper articles, her blog, her journal, suggests that she was outraged by the hounding of Bradley Manning, the targeted killing of bin Laden, the invasion of Iraq.” Kell was looking at Kleckner but thinking of Rachel. He took a beat, trying to control his anxiety, and said: “Where do you stand on those issues?”

“We didn’t talk about stuff like that,” Kleckner replied.

It was a lie. Chater saw it too. Kleckner was folding up inside his own hypocrisy.

“Well that’s not true, is it, Ryan?” Kell paced to the side of the aircraft, his mind spinning with ideas on how to deal with Chater when the moment came. Would Langley agree to the swap? Would Chater try to buy time? Kell wanted to be in a separate aircraft taking off for Istanbul, helping in the search for Rachel. Kleckner and his false idealism was now just an object in his path, something to distract him while Amelia made her calls. “You exchanged e-mails about bin Laden on the anniversary of his death.” Kell could feel how easily Kleckner was going to fold. “You agreed with her that he should have been captured and brought to trial. Did you believe that or was it just your cover?”

“Yes, I believed that.”

Chater shook his head and muttered: “Jesus Christ” as Amelia came out of the cockpit. Kell turned quickly, trying to disguise his desperation for news. She passed him a note on which she had written: “Uncertain where or when R was taken. London investigating. Istanbul going to the yali.” Chater seemed irritated to have been denied eyes on the message. He frowned and looked at Amelia. Kell, certain that Rachel had been seized in Istanbul, remained impassive. He did not want Kleckner to know that he had a shot at safety. Instead, he turned to him and said: “Ebru didn’t know that you worked for the American government.”

“Is that a statement or a question?” Kleckner replied.

“It’s a fact.”

Kleckner seemed shocked by Kell’s response. It was as though he knew that he was cornered. He began to reply but swallowed his words.

“I’m sorry?” Kell said, urging him to speak up. “I missed that.”

“I said that she thought I worked in pharma. They all did.”

“‘They’ meaning the women you slept with? Your girlfriends? Did Rachel think that?”

“Yes, she did,” Kleckner replied, and looked pleased that Kell had mentioned her name.

“And yet you betrayed Ebru,” Kell said. He hoped to his soul that Rachel was not frightened. That she had not been physically harmed. That London was already in negotiation with Moscow to secure her safe release. He wanted Kleckner out of the plane and in the car. “You gave Ebru up. You allowed the Turkish government to know that she was an asset. Why did you do that, Ryan? Why would somebody like you, who believes what you profess to believe, send someone who shares your political outlook, someone whose views you respect and admire, to certain imprisonment?”

“I didn’t give her up. That’s a lie.”

“We have the evidence,” said Amelia quietly. “We’ve spoken to the Turkish authorities.”

Kell was grateful for the interruption but not surprised that Amelia had so quickly picked up on what he was trying to do. Her response cleared away the last of Kleckner’s hypocrisy.

“I was
bored
of her, okay?” he said, and the ruthlessness at the center of Kleckner’s personality was finally visible, like an open wound. “She was needy. She kept telling me she was in love. She was always taking offense at the smallest things, pissing me off. And she was working for you.” A glance at Chater. Kleckner sounded like a spoiled child. “That was the position I was in. I had a relationship with Moscow. The larger responsibility was toward maintaining the balance of power.”

“Total bullshit,” said Chater and stood up, shaking his head. Amelia knew what Kell knew: that an extraordinarily bright young man had been corrupted not by a system, not by events, but by himself. Sensing their mood, Kleckner tried to press his point, as though he still held out some slim chance of winning the argument.

“I believed that I was doing important work that could still—”

Kell had heard enough. He wanted to start talking about Rachel face-to-face with Chater. The debrief could surely wait. “Let it go, Ryan,” he said. “You’re talking to people who see through you. This was about pleasure. The pleasure of manipulation. The joy of thumbing your nose at the state. The sadism of control over those whom you consider to be lesser mortals. You degrade the suffering and the complexity of the issues about which you profess to care by using them to validate your treachery. You slept with Ebru Eldem and you sent Ebru Eldem to prison. That is all that anyone will ever need to know about Ryan Kleckner.”

“Let’s put him back in the car,” Amelia said, indicating to both men that SIS had no further interest in continuing with the interview. Chater looked stunned. Kell felt a burst of gratitude toward her. He opened the door of the aircraft, walked halfway down the steps and signaled to Danny. Then he returned to the cabin.

“Danny can take him,” he said to Chater.

The American, who had been in the process of putting on his suit jacket, had sensed that something was wrong. He quietly nodded his consent. Kleckner’s hollowed-out expression barely changed. The wind was funneling into the cabin, but the airport was now almost entirely silent. Danny came to the top of the steps holding a pair of plastic cuffs.

“I’ll do it,” Chater told him.

He took the cuffs and turned to Kleckner. “On your feet.”

Kleckner stood up, held his hands together in front of his stomach. Chater looped the cuffs over his wrists and pulled them tight, with a fast upright jerk of the arm. As Kleckner winced in pain, Kell felt the nausea of losing Rachel. He wondered how long it would take Station in Istanbul to get over to the
yali
. Ten minutes? Fifteen?

“Hold him in the car,” said Chater.

As he spoke, Amelia’s phone began to ring. She nodded at Kell, handing him the responsibility of the primary negotiation with Chater. Moments later, Danny had taken Kleckner outside and Kell had sealed the door. He could hear Amelia in the cockpit, but could not make out what she was saying.

“So what’s going on?” Chater asked. “Talk to me.”

He sat in Kleckner’s seat and folded his arms, smiling in a way that reminded Kell of the meeting in Ankara. It was the first glimpse of Chater’s smooth, natural arrogance. In Kleckner’s presence, Chater had seemed angry, even humbled.

“Minasian’s people have kidnapped one of our officers in Istanbul. He wants to trade Kleckner.”

Chater tipped his head back in disbelief.

“How the fuck did that happen?” he said to the ceiling. “Which officer?”

“Does it matter?” Kell replied.

“Who is it, Tom?”

He was reluctant to give up Rachel’s name. He did not yet trust Chater to keep her alive. “Paul Wallinger’s daughter. Rachel.”

The American’s reaction surprised him. Chater looked at Kell and smiled admiringly.

“Jesus. You got her working for you? Rachel is on your books?” It was as though he was more impressed by the sleight of hand than he was troubled by Rachel’s capture. “How’d that happen?”