The Kremlin Device (11 page)

‘Sergeant Major Sharp? I'm Anna Nikolayevna. Welcome to Moscow!'

‘Thanks.' I took her hand gently. Her English pronunciation was perfect – no trace of an accent – and it was refreshing to hear her sound British, rather than American, as most Russians do when speaking English. She smelled pretty good, too: I was getting traces of some scent that I knew but couldn't quite place.

In a few moments we were all sitting at a rectangular table and the secretary was getting a brew on. Allway sat at one end, on my left, Anna opposite me. She sat back in her chair with her arms folded, very composed, very still, as she listened.

Allway was courteous, brisk and efficient: without any faffing about, he went straight into confirming the details of our schedule.

‘You arrive all together next Saturday . . . the eighth,' he said, checking a sheet of notes.

‘That's right.'

‘Transport is by RAF C-130, which will fly direct into the strip at Balashika. Arrival at 0030 local time.'

‘Correct.'

‘The aircraft will depart as soon as unloading's finished.'

‘Correct. It's going to refuel in Berlin on the way here, so that it can turn straight round and be gone in the dark.'

‘Good. Now – your personnel.'

He began to run through the list of names – he had them all correct – and at the end I said, ‘I take it you have secure satellite comms with the UK?'

‘Of course. I'll give you a list of numbers in a minute. You can call me direct from Hereford – and from Balashika, when you get there.'

I looked across the table. ‘Colonel?'

‘Please call me Anna.'

‘Anna, then. Can you explain what our official status is going to be? I mean, what basis will we be here on?'

Her face, which had been set rather hard, softened into a smile. ‘Don't worry. It's all above board. You'll be here as guests of the Ministry of Defence and the Ministry of the Interior, jointly.'

‘Does anyone outside the armed forces know we're coming?'

‘No. There has been no official announcement. Our aim is to protect you from possible interference by criminal elements.'

‘You mean the Mafia?'

She nodded. ‘They would hardly welcome the idea of foreign experts coming to train the new unit.'

‘So it's important that we don't get seen or recognised coming and going, or outside the camp?'

‘Precisely.'

‘In that case, what about transport? One or two of us are going to have to liaise with the Embassy. I imagine we'll be coming in and out.'

‘That's no problem. We'll make a couple of civilian cars available. The only thing is, you'll need driving licences. If you give me your names and details, I'll arrange that.'

‘Thanks. What if we get stopped by the traffic police?'

‘The GAI? There will be no difficulty, provided your documents are in order. We'll fix you up with whatever you need for each vehicle – licence, insurance and so on. And I shall give you a number to ring in case any problem arises.'

‘What about your own involvement? Will you be available in the camp?'

‘Of course!' She gave another brief smile. ‘At your service.'

‘Will you sit in on training sessions?'

‘I don't know about
sitting
. I'm planning to take part pretty actively.'

‘Great. We're going to need you.'

The meeting went so smoothly that it lasted only half an hour. Soon after 4.30, Allway was ushering us out into the courtyard, where a gardener was sweeping up leaves.

‘Your English is fantastic,' I told Anna as she was departing. ‘Where did you learn it so well?'

‘I give you three guesses.'

‘University?'

‘Well – partly. But really in London. I worked for two years at the Intourist main office in Piccadilly.'

‘Ah! When were you there?'

‘Early eighties. Eighty-two to -three.'

A sudden thought came to me. ‘No chance of your having supper with us tonight?'

‘I'm sorry.' She gave a little shake of her head. ‘I have a date already.'

‘Oh well – I just thought you could fill us in on background.'

‘When you're over again, maybe.'

‘Definitely. I'll look forward to that.'

She made for the Fiat, shoe-horned herself neatly into the driving seat and set off.

‘Well,' said Allway. ‘So far, so good.'

‘Yes – thanks.'

I'd been looking at the old stables at the back of the yard, and they'd given me an idea. ‘There's one other thing . . .'

‘Yes?'

‘The security on our accommodation block is . . .' I was on the point of saying it was shite, but ended up saying, ‘dodgy. What I mean is, I wonder – is there a secure room here in the Embassy that we could use for storage? A garage or something?'

Allway looked up and said, ‘What would you want to store?'

‘Maybe some of our comms equipment. On these team tasks we generally have some fairly sensitive kit with us.'

‘Well – as it happens, we've just cleared out part of the cellar, over there.' He pointed into one corner. ‘It's a bit rough – really just a garage.'

‘As long as it can be locked up . . .'

‘Oh yes – it's got a steel door. I'll get the key and show you.'

He disappeared into the office, came out again, and took us across to a steep ramp leading down to an up-and-over door.

‘Ideal,' I said after a quick look. The cellar had no windows or other exit and, considering that it was below ground level, it felt remarkably dry. ‘This'll be perfect.'

‘OK then.' Allway grinned. ‘I'll do my best to keep it empty for you. People and things around here have a habit of expanding to fill any space that becomes available.'

We thanked him again and set off to tab back over the bridge to the hotel.

‘I give you lift,' said Sasha, pointing to his car.

‘Thanks,' I told him, ‘but I'd rather walk.'

‘Then I say goodbye.'

‘We'll see you on Sunday morning. And thanks for all you've done for us.'

‘It is nothing.'

With smiles all round, he got into his car and drove off.

As soon as we were clear of the Embassy gates I said to Whinger, ‘Anna. Former KGB, for sure. She must have been spying in London. Most of the Russians in England were on the KGB payroll. Certainly most of the diplomats were spies.'

Whinger didn't argue. ‘Nice try, Geordie,' he said.

‘What d'you mean?'

‘Your eyes were all over her like a rash.'

‘Piss off, mate,' I told him. But secretly I was annoyed with myself for having let my interest show.

Having scored a point, Whinger was relentless. ‘On yer bike,' he said with a sneer.

‘Come again?'

‘She's a dyke.'

‘Could be,' I agreed. ‘But I don't care
what
she is. I'm keeping this on a professional basis.'

FIVE

Two days later we were on the training range at LATA, the Langwern Army Training Area just inside Wales, when my bleeper went off.

Beep, beep, beep
. I immediately recognised the number that came up in the little window. It was Bill, the adjutant.

Mal might as well carry on,' I told Whinger. ‘I'll be back in a minute.'

As I walked away to the range hut, short bursts rattled out behind me, so I closed the door and dialled camp.

‘Hi, Geordie,' Bill said. ‘Where are you at?'

‘Down at LATA.'

‘OK. The boss wants an immediate meeting. How soon can you be back up here?'

‘Half an hour. Just me, is it?'

‘No – the whole team.'

‘Bill – is something wrong?'

‘No, no,' he went. ‘Everything's fine.'

‘Has the job been pulled?'

‘Not at all. It's definitely on. We'll talk when you get here.'

‘Where's the meeting, then?'

‘In your briefing room.'

‘OK. I'll see you in half an hour.'

The lads grumbled a bit at being dragged off the range, especially Pete Pascoe, whose feelings were always near the surface. I kept thinking there was something strange about the way Bill had said, ‘It's definitely on.' I got the impression that the job
was
on, but that it had changed.

Ever since our recce party landed back from Moscow, it had been all singing and dancing. I'd put in a positive report, saying that everybody in Moscow was on net, and that, although conditions in the camp at Balashika were primitive, we'd been given a really good hand by the Russians and by the Embassy. Since then we'd faxed across the names and details of the team, for driving licences and other documentation. We'd also lined up a load of extra stores, and everything seemed to be under control. Thanks to Whinger, Rick's reputation as an instant Russian legover specialist had gone all round the team: he'd had a lot of stick, but he'd taken it well.

Now what?

When I saw the line-up in the wing, I knew for certain that it was something heavy. The Regiment was represented not only by the CO and the ops officer, but also by the Director – a brigadier – who must have made a special trip down from London, leaving at dawn. From the Firm came Edgar, but with him was an older and evidently senior man who was introduced as Mr Laidlaw.

The CO – a small, spare man with a bony face and receding hair – spoke first, and I could tell from the pitch of his voice that he was tensed up. Normally he talked at a deliberate pace, but now he had gone up a gear.

He began with the usual spiel about the secrecy of our operation. ‘Until now, as you know, it's been classified Top Secret,' he said. ‘That classification was imposed primarily for the safety of the team going into Russia. I need hardly remind you, it's essential that Mafia elements don't get wind of your presence.'

He paused and looked down at his notes. Then he said, ‘The name of the operation has been changed. It is now Operation Nimrod. Further, it has become a black operation. I don't need to tell you what
that
means, but I will. It means that absolutely no further mention of it is to be made to anyone except members of the team. The reason will become obvious in a moment. Is that clearly understood?'

We were sitting facing the brass on two rows of chairs, three and five. When I glanced round, I saw everyone nod quickly. The CO's tension had communicated itself to the team.

‘Right, then.' The CO cleared his throat. ‘Another element has been added to the operation. The training of Tiger Force will go down as planned, but as from today that will serve as cover for a new main task. The first priority of Operation Nimrod is now to plant two compact nuclear devices in strategic positions, where they can be detonated by satellite signal if or when such action is deemed necessary.'

Silence. For several seconds nobody moved. I felt as if I'd been skewered to my seat. When the CO continued, I seemed to be hearing him from a distance.

‘We realise, of course, that this action is not in line with overt Western policy. The initiative has come from the United States Defense Department. For some time they've been looking at the concept of infiltrating nuclear devices into the former Soviet Union. Now Operation Nimrod is about to provide an opportunity. Any questions so far?'

‘You mean you're expecting
us
to plant nuclear devices?' I went.

‘Just that,' the CO replied.

‘What – under the bloody Kremlin, I suppose?'

‘Exactly. One of them, anyway.'

‘Boss – you can't be serious.'

‘I am, Geordie. It sounds outrageous, I know. But I am. Totally serious.'

I felt myself growing angry. ‘I thought we were supposed to be helping the poor bastards.'

‘We are. In the short term, we're on their side. We'll go through with the training programme as planned, and I hope we'll do them a service. The new phase of the operation is a long-term measure designed to keep the lid on things in the event of a take-over by criminal elements.'

‘That's one way of putting it,' I said. ‘You keep the lid on things by blowing the whole fucking place sky high.'

‘Geordie!' The CO's voice sharpened. ‘Get hold of yourself. The Regiment has received this request from the Pentagon, via the British Government. We've agreed to carry it out.'

Already I regarded Sasha as a friend, a comrade in arms, who needed all the help I could give him. Now I was going to have to double-cross him in everything I said or did. All my friendly actions were going to be undermined by treachery. Then there was Anna. Even though we'd only met once, I sensed that I could work with her. From day one I'd be deceiving her too.

I heard myself asking, ‘Does our embassy in Moscow know about this?'

‘No.' The Boss shook his head emphatically. ‘Not a thing. They'll never hear of it.'

Immediately I thought,
More
people to deceive: the Chargé d'Affaires, for a start. ‘Christ!' I glanced at Whinger and saw he was looking pretty sick. I looked on along the line of faces – Rick, Mal, Pavarotti, Dusty – hoping for back-up, but they all wore blank, puzzled expressions.

‘These devices,' I said. ‘Are you talking about suitcase bombs – the sort of things that were developed for taking out bridges or dams?'

‘A modern version,' the CO conceded. ‘Slightly bigger, and very much more powerful.'