The Will Of The People (Conspiracy Trilogy Book 1) (10 page)

McDowell had a
sensible and full answer for all of Anderson’s questions, certainly
nothing to suggest he was lying. Even though Anderson was getting
impatient, he didn’t want to act out of character by asking
anything too unexpected, holding fire on any mention of Anne
Teacher’s complaints or George Saunders’ visit.

Next on the
guided tour came the southern block, the double doors opening onto
a large seminar area. Some team activity was in full swing, four to
a team, touch-screens replacing anything as basic as pen and paper.
Everyone was casually dressed, all under forty and judging by the
heated discussions fully involved in trying to win.

“It’s a form
of Monopoly,” McDowell explained, gently guiding Anderson to the
opposite door. “There’s also a bit of stock-market trading thrown
in; limited budget with various high risk options – team building
through problem solving. We use Psychometric Profiling to work out
how each person will react in different situations, and a good team
leader can then apply that data to get the very best out of his
team.”

McDowell
seemed in no hurry to move on, waiting until Anderson was ready
before leading him through into a small dining room and bar area,
the kitchen beyond; then it was back to reception and on up the
wide stairs.

The landing
opened out onto a computer Utopia with a bank of screens curving
along the front wall and a massive wall-mounted monitor along the
back; some twelve feet wide, the monitor was divided up into
multiple segments, four presently rotating through the various CCTV
images. In the centre of the room was a large circular table, its
silver sheen matching the rest of the ultra-modern decor; convex in
shape, the table’s outer edge was about two feet lower than its
centre, the domed surface one continuous touch-screen.

“Impressive,”
Anderson said, unsure how the nature of the training exercise
downstairs fitted in with what he was now seeing.

“A resource
second to none,” McDowell said, the pride obvious in his voice.
“And it gives us an edge over most of our competitors. We can offer
a unique set of management simulations and problems, either for
individuals or for a specialist team, and the computer can often
prove a more skilful adversary than that found in the real world.
Our emergency response simulation based around a train crashing
into a tanker is worth a week’s fees by itself.”

McDowell
continued to enthuse while Anderson took plenty of pictures. It had
been obvious for the last hour that this wasn’t some sort of
outrageous charade but that didn’t mean there were no secrets here.
He might have been mistaken about Darren Westrope but it would take
something more to convince him that he was also wrong about Pat
McDowell.

“82nd Airborne
to Graythorp?” Anderson asked curiously, “The attraction of
opposites?”

For a brief
instant the mask of amiability slipped before McDowell regained his
composure. “We all have to embrace new challenges, Mr Anderson ...
I look forward to reading your feature; by all means give me a call
if you have any more questions.”

Anderson drove slowly back to the
Farriers
, mind busy with what he had
seen and heard. ‘
We all have to embrace
new challenges
’ – was that a hint McDowell
knew of Anderson’s own career change? And if he had indeed checked
up on Anderson, was that necessarily a good sign?

The Mercedes’
driver gave a loud sigh of frustration as the traffic slowed to a
stop-start crawl, something all-too-common of late. It wasn’t just
a consequence of the security checks – every day saw some new
street protest against the Government’s impotence and its inability
to deal with the terrorist threat. Moscow’s citizens had been
patient long enough and it was time to force the Government into
adopting more effective measures. Even the revelation that the
security forces had arrested the terrorists responsible for
Domodedovo had barely stilled the demand for heads to roll,
Russia’s Prime Minister the main recipient of the protestors’
anger.

Rinat Nabiyev sat in the back seat of the Mercedes, listening
to the radio news as it detailed the latest of
August 14’s
attacks, a bomb blast
near the Kashirskaya metro station seriously injuring three
commuters. According to the news report, two bombs had been placed
in litter bins and timed to explode during the early-evening rush
hour; luckily only one had actually exploded, the other being
successfully defused by the police.

It bewildered Nabiyev how anyone could believe
August 14
responsible
for such an amateurish prank. He had seen at first-hand Eglitis’
work, discussed with him potential targets, and worked through the
specific role of each terrorist cell, and in everything Eglitis was
always the consummate professional. The police should have quickly
recognised that such an attack bore none of Eglitis’ hallmarks, and
even
August 14’s
younger conscripts had learnt enough in their months of
training to ensure something significantly more
impressive.

To Nabiyev’s knowledge, this was the third time
August 14
had been
falsely blamed for attacks by dissidents and copycats, all of them
wishing to exploit the crisis to their own advantage. Nabiyev cared
little as long as the pressure on the authorities was maintained,
and without the support of Russia’s ethnic minorities and the
various separatist groups,
August
14
had no chance of achieving its stated
aims, the crisis in Russia’s fragile government not yet
irreversible.

The capture of Baranovskiy and Nazarenko had been
August 14’s
first
serious setback but it would have been foolish not to anticipate
that someone would eventually be encouraged to talk. Hence, a high
degree of paranoia and none of
August
14’s
agents knew the location of any other
cell or their likely targets. Cell phones remained the only means
of communication, a coded text all that was generally needed, a
phone used just twice before being discarded.

Of the original four cells Eglitis had helped secrete in
Russia, three were still active; morale was excellent, belief
undiminished, the terrorists’ desire for vengeance unfulfilled. The
fragmentation of the Russian Federation might be an impossible
dream but
August 14
would do it’s very best to precipitate such a momentous
event, it the one chance in Nabiyev’s lifetime for his home nation
of Tatarstan to become a truly independent country. Few could have
forecast the dramatic collapse of the Soviet Union, and was it so
difficult to believe the same could happen to a brittle and diverse
Russian Federation of some two hundred ethnic groups.

Eglitis was a man who understood such dreams and despite his
concerns as to whether Nabiyev could be trusted, he had no reason
to regret their alliance, the terrorists the stronger because of
it. And
August 14
was so much more than just a lethal group of bombers and
assassins. A more subtle form of attack was ever present, ranging
from a dramatic rise in power outages across Moscow to media
articles either criticising the Government or carrying compromising
photographs of its representatives. Backed up by rumour and
downright lies, the steady drip of distrust was relentless. The
number of strikes – mostly independent of the unions and so
unofficial – was also increasing week on week, with major truck and
car factories in Moscow, Saint Petersburg, and Tatarstan amongst
the latest to be targeted.

Elsewhere, Poland led the way in cleverly managing to
condemn
August 14
while also censuring Russia for its policy on Eastern Europe.
New restrictions had come into force specifically targeting workers
from Poland, Ukraine and the Baltic States, the changes matching a
surge in assaults against foreigners in Moscow. Russian ambassadors
had in turn been summoned and argued with, and in a dozen European
cities security around Russian embassies and consulates had been
tightened; Latvia had even seen two Russian businesses fire-bombed,
a tour bus stoned.

The United States was slightly less ambivalent than its East
European allies, denouncing
August
14
and stating that there could be no
justification for the lives lost at Domodedovo. The U.S. Secretary
of State had offered America’s full support in the hunt for the
terrorists, in the same breath encouraging the Russian President
not to act without due consideration of the consequences – a
possible hint of the dangers implicit in extending the conflict
beyond Russia’s borders. Not that Nabiyev would be too concerned by
such an event, the risks to Russia far greater than for
August 14
and its
allies.

Nabiyev’s
musings were abruptly cut short as the line of traffic split apart,
a policeman directing the vehicles towards two adjacent
check-points. The Mercedes pulled to the left before stopping in
front of a metal barrier, Nabiyev’s driver opening the car window
to hold out the relevant photo-IDs.

A policeman,
gun resting at his hip, moved across to the car, taking the two
documents, before giving them and their respective owners a studied
glance.

“One moment.”
The policeman handed the IDs to a colleague, who casually swiped
each one across a mobile reader, the response from the FSB’s data
centre flashing almost instantly onto the screen.

Without
comment the second policeman passed the two documents back across
to his colleague. The latter in turn returned them to the driver, a
polite smile masking his real thoughts as to how Nabiyev at only
forty-four was already a full colonel in the FSB, with a plum job
in Grebeshkov’s new anti-corruption unit.

A moment later
and the car was waved through, turning right towards the
Lubyanka.

* * *

The Prime
Minister’s office offered a refreshing alternative to the
conference room: ornate wood, leather chairs, modern paintings,
technology aplenty. Grebeshkov’s own office would have comfortably
fitted in one corner but his mood wasn’t one of jealousy, more
curiosity as to why he and Arkady Valentin were the only ones so
honoured. The Prime Minister looked drawn and pensive, his fingers
tapping out an irregular beat on the desktop, the expectations of a
nation weighing heavily on his shoulders.

Yet there had been some good news, primarily the
identification of the apartment where Nazarenko and Baranovskiy had
been staying. The contents of its three rooms would keep the
forensic teams busy for some time, some in the media already
building up the discovery as the beginning of the end for
August 14
. Pressure on
the security forces remained intense, their targeting of East
European visitors and foreign workers becoming ever more
oppressive, people stopped and searched simply because of their
accent.

Baranovskiy’s
interrogators had similarly been encouraged to produce more,
whatever the risks, something his injuries and ultimately his heart
had failed to appreciate. Now Nazarenko was the FSB’s sole asset, a
resource whose value was fast diminishing. For the Prime Minister,
however, Nazarenko’s knowledge was a crucial guide as to their next
move.

“It is time
for more direct action,” the PM said, as though trying to convince
himself. “However, where Eastern Europe is concerned we must tread
carefully and Russia cannot be seen to act without just cause. I
need to be absolutely sure of complicity before I make any
recommendations to the President.” The Prime Minister looked
sharply at Grebeshkov, “Dmitry, I understand you have something
more from Nazarenko?”

“Yes, Sir.
It’s taken a little time but Nazarenko has confirmed he received
weapons training at a site in Lithuania. He was one of twelve
recruits, eight men, four women, who stayed there from September
until early December, and we should have names and descriptions of
Nazarenko’s remaining associates in a day or so. There were five
instructors, including Eglitis, all American or East European,
presumably ex-military. With luck, based on Nazarenko’s detailed
descriptions, we should be able to identify most of them.”

“Excellent,
Dmitry, we seem to be getting somewhere at last. “And you believe
his disclosures are generally reliable?”

“Yes, Sir; the
drugs can make him confused and so progress is relatively slow; if
we push him too hard then he will start to say whatever he thinks
we want to hear.”

“I understand
he’s confirmed the location of the training camp as the one in
Dzūkija?”

“He’s not sure
of the exact location, Sir, and I doubt he ever knew exactly where
in Lithuania he was; however, his description of the site is an
exact match to the satellite images.”

“Lithuania –
it’s hardly ideal. And I doubt NATO will react well to any
incursion.” The Prime Minister paused, thinking through their
options. “Arkady,” he asked finally, “I assume you have enough
assets in the area?”

“We will have shortly, Sir,” Valentin replied. “The site is
south-west of Vilnius, a small dacha settlement of four cottages on
the edge of the Dainava Forest. We have now identified a total of
sixteen residents, lightly armed, minimal security. However, it’s
impossible at the moment to guarantee they’re part of
August 14
.”

“Absolute
confirmation is not that easy to find,” Grebeshkov added. “There
might well be some documentary proof at the site but retrieving it
has its own dangers. Unfortunately, Sir, Director Valentin and I
are concerned that the number of terrorist cells introduced into
Russia could well be greater than Nazarenko’s suggested total of
just four.”