Spycatcher (9 page)

Alistair nodded. “It has, and it continues to suit me. After all, it was I who spotted you when you joined MI6. It was I who identified your extreme and peculiar potential. It was I who took you away from the normal corridors of MI6 and put you on the highly classified Spartan Program. No man of your generation had ever done the yearlong program and lived. However, you not only survived but excelled in the program, and as a result you became our most deadly and effective operative. There is never allowed to be more than one of you, so while you live you are the only man who has our most distinguished code name: Spartan.”

A memory came to Will. It was the first day of the Spartan Program. He was standing barefooted in the Scottish Highlands wearing blue overalls. It was winter, snowing heavily and well below freezing. An instructor walked up to him, pointed north, and quietly gave him his first task:

You've got two days to cover one hundred miles on foot across the mountains. Armed men with dogs will be trying to hunt you down. If they succeed, you fail. If you don't get to the objective within the time allocated, you fail. If you try to get help from anyone you might meet on the route, you fail. And know this, if you succeed we're going to take you away and put you in a prison cell for two weeks. There you're going to receive your first taste of intense torture and total sleep deprivation. We will make you wish that you were dead. With every frozen step you take over these mountains, remember that.

Will pushed the memory away.

Alistair's eyes narrowed. “As Spartan you have provided exceptional results in the field. But one day I am going to have to look in the mirror and ask myself some hard questions.”

“One day, but not yet?”

Alistair leaned farther forward. His words were hushed and rapid. “Right now the Qods Force Head of Western Directorate is the West's most dangerous opponent. He is not a fanatic or an ideologist or a martyr. Instead, and from the little we know of the person, he is an exceptional strategist and an intellectual who also happens to be a killer. He plans to massacre thousands of people in one of our cities in Europe or the States. And I need you to stop him. But I cannot allow your desire for vengeance against the world's evil to cloud your judgment.” Alistair reached across the table and gripped a hand over Will's muscular forearm. Despite his age and thin frame, Alistair's grip was surprisingly strong. “Whatever happens, whatever you subsequently hear, can you assure me of that?”

Will looked down at Alistair's hand and then back up at the Controller's face. “My judgment has always been absolute and unclouded.”

Alistair nodded once and released his grip as he leaned back. He took a sip of his Margaux and then replaced the glass on the table. “Tomorrow you will fly to CIA headquarters in Virginia. There you will meet Patrick, who will brief you on our Qods Force commander. He will also be on hand to help you throughout the mission.”

“This is to be a joint operation between the CIA and MI6?”

Alistair smiled crookedly. “Technically, yes. But you would do better to view this as a joint operation between Patrick and me.”

“I see.”

“No, you don't, but Patrick will ensure that you do.”

Will considered this. He looked away, frowning in thought before turning back to face Alistair. “I presume you must have been the MI6 officer in that car outside of Bandar-e 'Abbās. Would I be right in saying that the CIA man who escaped with you was Patrick?”

“You would.” Alistair was motionless while watching Will.

Will frowned as he recalled Patrick's words to him in the New York room:

Alistair and I share the same debt of gratitude to another man. And that debt brought me to this room today.

Will's frown increased. “Who was the other CIA officer?”

Alistair nodded slowly. His eyes glistened. “He was a private man who kept his work completely secret. Even his small family believed that he was an American diplomat whose death was a tragic accident.” Alistair was very still now. “I think about him every day. I think about how calm he looked when he took the decision to save me and Patrick. I think about how defiant he looked when he held the revolutionary man against his body and shoved the handgun's muzzle to the man's head. I think about how resolute he looked as the soldiers rushed toward him while we escaped.” Alistair placed his fingers again over Will's forearm, but this time the grip felt tender. “Every day . . . every day I never fail to think about your father.”

Part II

Twelve

“S
o Alistair's given me the great hunter.” Patrick was standing in the corner of the room beside a small table. He lifted a jug of hot water and poured liquid into a bone china cup. He stirred the cup's contents before bringing the drink over to the room's main table. He looked at Will. “There is no doubt in my mind that you're the right officer for this job. But there's also no doubt in my mind that you're an extremely dangerous and unpredictable individual.” He pointed a finger at Will. “How can I be assured that you will do what you're told?”

Will inspected the cup and saucer before him. “How can I be assured that what you tell me to do will be the correct course of action?” He smiled and changed his tone. “Thank you for the tea. It's been worth the wait.”

Patrick stared at him for a moment and seated himself at the opposite side of the table. The two men were alone in an anonymous room within the headquarters of the Central Intelligence Agency in Langley, Virginia.

Between them were several loose papers and some files. Patrick brushed a hand over some of the papers and picked up a single sheet. He glanced at it and then tossed it across the table to Will. “It all started with this.”

Will read the report before him. It was dated two weeks earlier and had been produced by the United States National Security Agency.

OVERVIEW

1. Iran intends to attack a location within the United States or the United Kingdom.

2. The location and timing of this attack are unknown, but it is assessed that the attack is imminent.

3. The scale of the attack is unknown, but it is assessed that the attack may produce significant casualties.

DETAIL

1. The Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps' Qods Force has been given authority by the Supreme Leadership of Iran to plan a terrorist strike against a location within one of the cities of the United States of America or the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. The reason for the attack is unknown.

2. The Qods Force Head of Western Directorate has overall responsibility for the planning and execution of this attack. He has completed the planning phase of his operation, and it is therefore anticipated that he intends to execute his attack within an imminent time frame.

3. The Qods Force Head of Western Directorate has been given authority to choose the location and victims of the attack. He has ensured that no information relating to his plans is released to any other individuals within the IRGC. It is therefore assessed that only the Qods Force Head of Western Directorate has details of the location and timing of the attack.

COMMENT

1. The Qods Force Head of Western Directorate is Iran's most active intelligence-operations officer. He holds the rank of general. While he nominally reports to the Head of Qods Force, it is known that in practice the Head of Western Directorate receives his orders directly from the Supreme Leader of Iran.

2. The Head of Western Directorate's name is kept secret from all other members of the Qods Force and IRGC. While separate NSA reporting provides some details on the man, his identity remains unknown [NSA/SIGINT/8861/09 refers].

3. It is assessed that, due to the Head of Western Directorate's command of this operation, the planned attack must have significant strategic importance to Iran. It is therefore further assessed that the attack will be on a very large scale.

SOURCE

1. The source of this report is HUBBLE. This report is therefore assessed to be highly reliable.

2. Any enquiries relating to HUBBLE must be directed to this report's distributing department.

Will placed the report on the table. “I presume that Hubble is a technical attack against certain Iranian communications systems?”

Patrick held up a hand. “I've just broken a thousand NSA security protocols by showing you this unsanitized report, and NSA could try to put me in prison for doing just that. Heaven only knows what would happen if I told you about Hubble itself.”

Will tapped a finger on the document. “I understand, but I need to hear what you think about this report. Do you assess Hubble reporting to be accurate?”

Patrick leaned forward, took the report away from Will, and placed it within a file. “Hubble reporting is pure gold. There is no doubt that this report is accurate.” He looked down at the paper and frowned slightly.

“But?”

Patrick picked up another paper. “We'll come back to the ‘but.' ” He went quiet for a moment, reading the contents of the new paper. “We know next to nothing about our man. The little that we do know about him has come from a variety of our Iranian sources, although by those agents' own admission much of that is hearsay, because it seems that the Head of Western Directorate is deliberately shrouded in secrecy. However, for what it's worth, the hearsay is consistent with the following: He's been groomed for great things within Iran's regime since young adulthood, he has a brilliant mind, he excels at intelligence work, he is revered within not only the IRGC but also the Ministry of Intelligence and Security, and he's a loner who has no family or friends.”

“Because he has no need for them. He lives to please his masters.”

Patrick angled his head a little. “Well, that's the odd thing. The rumors are also consistent in saying that the man has no religious beliefs, no loyalty to the Iranian regime, no personal political agendas or persuasions.” Patrick set the new paper down on the table. “He's tolerated by the Iranian leadership because he's so good at what he does. And he tolerates them because they allow him to do what he does best. But he serves no one.”

Will nodded. “He sounds like my kind of person.”

Patrick looked stern. “For all his brilliance, he's a murderer.” He flicked a finger against the report. “We rarely ever see his hand—he's too astute for that to happen—but I can confidently say that he's had involvement in every major terrorist action against the West during the last five years, as well as numerous actions against Arab and South Asian countries.”

“Impossible.”

“If I were in your position, I'd probably draw the same conclusion. But I'm not in your position, I'm in my position. And I know that not one major terror act against Western or Western-allied targets can take place without his implicit or explicit authorization. Even groups that are the sworn enemy of the regime of Iran find themselves working for him, usually without knowing they're doing so. We can't name him Public Enemy Number One, as to do so would declare our intentions toward him, but privately we all agree that there's no other man on this planet we would rather see dead or behind bars.” Patrick nodded. “He's the mastermind. My position allows me to know this.”

Will observed Patrick for a while before speaking slowly. “What
is
your position within the CIA?”

Patrick stared out over Will's head. “I have no rank, title, or designation. I work for no definable office or department. I have no specific remit or function.” He smiled a little. “Even my budget is vague.” He looked back at Will. “Alistair told you about Bandar-e 'Abbsā?”

Will felt an immediate sense of unease. Since his departure from Simpson's the previous day, he'd thought about little else. “He did.”

“How does that make you feel?”

Will rubbed a hand against his face and said quietly, “I have very few memories of my father, because I was just a young boy when he was taken from me. But I have many memories of what happened afterward.” He shook his head slowly and cast his eyes down. “My mother struggling alone with me and my sister, trying her best and giving us more than she had until she was—” He looked up and spoke with stronger and more deliberate words. “Everything changed after my father died. And to know that his death was not a tragic accident but rather intentional and premeditated makes everything that happened even more abhorrent and unnecessary.”

Patrick said sharply, “It was completely unnecessary. After we escaped and subsequently learned that your father had been brutally killed, Alistair and I felt enormous guilt. We told ourselves that your father was right to tell us to run. We told ourselves that if we, too, had been captured, then the impending revolutionary regime would have achieved a potentially catastrophic victory against Western intelligence capabilities in their region.” He frowned. “We told ourselves lots of things. But none of those things could negate the guilt we both lived with. So we decided that from within our respective organizations we would do everything we could to track down and ruin the lives of anyone involved in that trap on the Bandar-e 'Abbās road.

“Our task had become a vendetta, and over seven years Alistair and I abused our positions within the CIA and MI6 to seek our revenge. It worked, and by the end of our vendetta we had punished nearly everyone involved in your father's death, punishments meted out by my hand and by Alistair's.”

“Nearly
everyone?”

Patrick narrowed his eyes. “The person we wanted the most was the young man who had clearly planned the whole thing, the man who had approached us at the embassy. We never got him. But we did not fail with his associates.

“And even though our successes were driven by vengeance, both Alistair and I produced significant results, which came to the attention of our bosses in Langley and London.” Patrick nodded once. “We were promoted rapidly, although in slightly different ways. Alistair was fast-tracked to the Controller position he now holds, and no doubt he will soon be Chief of MI6. I on the other hand was promoted toward the position I now hold, a position that is in equal measure powerful and invisible. The former is good. The latter means I will never be able to take the post as head of the Agency.”

Patrick shrugged. “What's my position in the CIA? I can't give you a clear answer. But I can say I'm used on extreme matters.” He gestured in a way that seemed to take in more than just the single room they occupied. “And I can also say that I answer to nobody in this building.”

Will's fingers did their habitual drumming on the table. “So why do you need me?” He stopped drumming. “And please say that it's not to do with some debt of honor to my father.”

“I'll say that it is nothing of the sort.” Patrick's voice was quick, loud, and stern. “I'll say that the man you know as Megiddo is the Head of Western Directorate, because I know that the director was given his first major overseas challenge during the wars in the former Yugoslavia. I'll say that you therefore have the start of something with this man Harry and this woman Lana. I'll say that the man you have in your sights is the man I want.”

Will frowned. “Why do you think he calls himself Megiddo?”

“I don't know if he chose that name or if the name was chosen
for
him. But I do know that the name refers to the ancient Palestinian site of terrible battles, battles that came to symbolize the wars of Armageddon.” Patrick's gaze intensified. “He is called Megiddo because he is a man who exacts ultimate judgment and destruction.” He paused. “Just like you.”

Will breathed deeply. “Who else has seen the Hubble report?”

“NSA has shown it to everyone they think may care about its contents.”

Will looked surprised. “Everyone?”

“Oh, yes.” Patrick's eyes flashed red. “The self-important fools have thrown a sanitized version of the report to all our European allies.”

“But that will create a feeding frenzy,” Will protested. “Even though the report only references Britain and America, every European country will assume that it could be the target for the attack. They'll all deploy their intelligence and security services to try to counter the assault.”

Patrick nodded. “They have.”

“In that case there can be no operation against Megiddo. To try to conduct a precise mission against him while in competition with multiple other agencies will produce nothing but chaos.”

Patrick shook his head quickly. “The United States and its allies are completely within their rights to deploy every tool they have to stop this attack. And maybe some of these other operations will succeed. But no one else knows about Megiddo.”

“How on earth have you managed to keep that”—Will paused—“shall I say private?”

“Private? That's a delicate word.” Patrick gathered up most of his files and papers. He stilled his hands and looked directly at Will. “We have the Hubble report, and you have the Megiddo lead. Therefore this has to be a joint operation. But Alistair and I have made certain that nobody else in the CIA or MI6 or any other organization can muddy our waters. And we've done that by very privately obtaining an Imperative Status for this operation.”

Will narrowed his eyes. “All normal chains of command,” he said slowly, “are circumvented?”

Patrick nodded. “As soon as the Imperative Status was granted, I was instructed that there was only one Western intelligence officer sufficiently experienced and capable to conduct an operation with such status.” He pointed at Will. “I understand that you are the ultimate resort for extreme operations such as this. And as much as your presence in this room gives me significant unease, I have accepted that there is no alternative to your deployment.” He huffed. “I cannot afford for our mission to be distracted or damaged by others. I need it to be completely autonomous. The Imperative Status means that only five officials currently know about your lead to Megiddo: me, Alistair, you, the prime minister of the United Kingdom, and the president of the United States.”

Will clasped his hands. “We don't yet know if we even have a starting point to this mission. Harry and Lana have given us our target, but we still have no means to get to him.”

“You know we do.”

Will stared at Patrick. “I cannot do that.”