them about GCHQ’s internal IT support unit, and then do what he could to help.
‘Paul Myers,’ he said, as casually as possible.
Fielding detected the tension in his voice at once.
‘It’s Marcus Fielding. Is everything OK?’
‘Fine, all fine,’ Myers said, swapping the phone to his other hand and glancing at Grushko. Fielding always made his palms sweat. The added presence of the Russians was almost too much.
‘Is it convenient to talk?’ Fielding asked. Grushko nodded. ‘I wanted to ask you about — ’
‘Could you hold on a moment?’ Myers pressed the privacy button and turned to Grushko. ‘He’s going to suspect something. I’m sorry, I’m trying to act normally but this guy always makes me nervous. And he just knows when someone’s lying. It’s his job.’
‘Then keep it brief. Does the Chief of MI6 ring you often?’
‘Yes, no, I mean…I was seconded to Six for a few months, I worked directly for him.’
‘He is an important man,’ Grushko said, waving his gun at the handset. ‘Talk to him.’
‘Sorry,’ Myers said, speaking to Fielding again. ‘There was someone at the door.’
‘Are you at home?’ Fielding asked. He had expected him to be at work. If he was about to help the Russians again, he would be preparing to do it now. He sounded even more nervous than usual, under duress. Fielding couldn’t risk asking what Marchant had requested him to do, but he still needed to give his call some purpose, a reason for Myers to be rung by a security Chief, in case he was being monitored.
‘Yeah, got the weekend off.’
‘I wanted to ask you about Daniel Marchant.’
Myers glanced up at Grushko, who leaned in towards him, listening intently.
‘Dan? Is there any news? Was he definitely the one who was taken in London?’
‘Yes. I was wondering when you saw him last, if he’d discussed anything out of the ordinary with you.’
‘Is he OK?’
‘We don’t know. How did he seem when you last met him?’
Myers thought back to the pub, when Marchant had asked him about the MiGs. He glanced up at Grushko, who shook his head. Why did Fielding suddenly want to know? Last time they spoke he had hung up on him.
‘Fine. I don’t remember anything unusual. We drank too much beer and talked a lot about Leila.’
‘We’re working on the theory that he might have defected rather than been taken.’
‘Defected? Dan?’ Myers had never been good with people, but one thing in life he was certain of was Daniel Marchant’s loyalty. He was about to say as much to Fielding when he saw that Grushko had sat back and was more relaxed. Myers had no idea what game Fielding was playing, but he did know when to keep his mouth shut.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Fielding replied. ‘Listen, if you do remember anything, give me a call, will you?’
‘Sure.’
In the lay-by outside Fairford, Fielding put down his phone. His rash impulse to find out more had nearly jeopardised everything. Myers was evidently about to repeat whatever he had done before for the Russians, and it sounded as if he was being babysat. If they were listening, he hoped he had said enough to confirm Marchant’s defection story.
Myers placed the phone back on his desk. ‘I can’t believe it,’ he said, as if to himself. ‘Daniel Marchant defecting?’
‘Is it really such a big leap for him to make?’ Grushko asked. ‘I am only surprised that he did not come across earlier, given the way he has been treated.’
Myers checked himself. He wanted to clear Marchant’s name, tell the Russians how much his friend loved his country, but he had to shut up. Whatever was going on, Fielding and Marchant were in it together, and he didn’t want to do or say anything that might compromise them. Marchant’s defection had to be a cover story, otherwise Myers might as well pack his bags and emigrate.
‘We have ten minutes before they reach the edge of the UK’s Air Defence Identification Zone,’ Grushko said, looking at his watch. ‘Are you ready?’
97
The American Raptor took off before the Russian SU-25, accelerating down the runway to the thumping soundtrack of ‘I Don’t Want to Stop’, by Ozzy Osbourne. It lifted off the ground and flew past the private enclosure at twenty feet, before pulling up into a vertical climb that had the crowds gasping. A pugnacious American had taken over the commentary box, his wild WWF style of delivery in stark contrast to the clipped tones of the ex-RAF pilot who had introduced the earlier aircraft.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I present the most feared combat aircraft in the world, the fifth-generation F-22 Raptor,’ the commentator said, rolling out the Rs. ‘This awesome aircraft enjoys superiority in every conceivable dogfight scenario. It has no rivals. There is no battlefield that the Raptor cannot dominate. There is no battlefield that the Raptor
The Georgian delegation had been joined by a posse of US military top brass and senior executives from the global arms industry. Acting against the CIA’s advice, the US Secretary of Defense had also flown in to join the celebrations. Not everyone was pleased to see him, as he had halted future production of the $155-million Raptor, but his presence was a sign of the strategic importance of the Georgian deal.
After the Raptor came the SU-25, taking off without a soundtrack and eliciting barely disguised disdain from the American commentator.
‘Ladies and gentleman, a plane from another era, a mudfighter from the past, a relic of the Cold War, the SU-25, known without affection in the West as the Frogfoot. In a moment, the two planes will pass from left to right along the display line, where the quantum difference in technology will be plain for all to see.’
‘Frogfoot One, time for your farewell tour,’ Major Bandon, the American pilot, announced over the r/t as both planes banked at the far end of the runway.
‘Copy that, Raptor One,’ the young Georgian pilot replied, peeling away. The plan was to put the Raptor through its paces, while the SU-25 took a sanctioned tour of southern Britain before returning for the mock dogfight. ‘Good luck.’
‘Thank you, Frogfoot. Only sorry you won’t be here to see the fun and games.’
‘Doing anything special while I’m away? To please our generals?’
‘A few tail slides, paddle turns and muscle climbs, the usual. Maybe a power loop or two. If you take your time, I might even pull a Pugachev cobra at the finish. There’s been too much talk in your neck of the woods that we Americans can’t get it up.’
‘Dream on, Raptor One. Out.’
‘And go to hell,’ the American said to himself as he watched the SU-25 head off to the east. He knew the pilot was from Georgia, one of America’s new allies, but the plane was Russian, and old habits died hard.
98
Marchant no longer thought that he had a strong stomach. He had been sick shortly after take-off, when Dhar over-corrected a sudden lurch to the right and put the plane into a 3-G turn. For a painful few seconds, in which he had nearly blacked out, he had wondered if they might not get further than Finland, but he was starting to relax as they flew low and fast over the North Sea towards the east coast of Britain. It was the speed of their progress that he found the most disorientating. At first, it had felt as if he was being dragged along behind the aircraft, like a waterskier. Dhar had told him to look far ahead, to anticipate. Marchant was impressed by how much Sergei must have taught him. He was flying well, untroubled by the G-forces. His only concern appeared to be their ETA.
