Turkish intelligence service, Milli I?stihbarat Tes?kilat?. But even though his job required close collaboration with the MIT on issues of mutual Russian-Turkish concerns, that did not stop them from covertly following him everywhere he went.
He’d known Luka for three years, during which time the Russian officer had often passed Will secrets. Luka wasn’t a double agent; he was more complicated than that, and by his own admission he gave Will only information that he believed would foster better relations between West and East. Will knew that most of what Luka told him was lies, but occasionally he would produce a gold-dust truth that served both him and MI6.
Not that Luka knew he was talking to MI6. As far as he was concerned, Will was called Emile Villon and was an officer of France’s Direction Generale de la Securite Exterieure.
As the tram pulled away, Will turned to the man next to him.
Luka smiled, then spoke in fluent French. “My friends are in the carriage behind us.”
The MIT surveillance detail.
Will returned his gaze to the front of the tram and responded in the same language. “Problem?”
“I don’t think so. But you never know. They can be… nasty fellows when they want to be.”
The tram followed the Turkish coastline. The evening was picturesque, though Will barely registered his surroundings, instead visualizing the rear carriage, knowing they were out of sight of the MIT team but also knowing they could be reached within seconds. “What’s your view on current Russian-American relations?”
Luka answered with a trace of sarcasm in his voice, “You’ve come all this way to ask me that?”
“No, but I’ll benefit from your opinion.”
“Opinion?”
“Insight.”
Luka was silent for a moment. “Relations are shit.” He placed a hand on the back of the seat in front of him, exposing an expensive Cartier watch. “Read the papers.”
“I have, but they don’t tell me what you know.”
“And you think I will?”
“I think you’d like to.”
The tram stopped at Sirkeci station, alongside the Marmara Sea. Both men were silent as people got onto and off the carriage. Two elderly ladies sat in the seats in front of them.
Luka stared at them before muttering, “Tomorrow morning the U.S. ambassador to Moscow will be summoned to the Kremlin to explain why the United States has pulled out of the economic talks with Russia. No doubt the ambassador will counter that Russia is taking a provocative stance by attempting to aggressively position its oil pricing while at the same trying to obtain a lead role in the WTO.” As the tram pulled away, the noise within the carriage increased, but he kept his voice quiet. “The summons will have achieved nothing other than creating more paranoia, more anger, more distrust, more… shit.”
Will chose his next words carefully, constantly aware that he had to be very careful with Luka. The slightest wrong word would be fed back to the SVR and could cause untold damage. “What would happen if there was an incident in Russia-an act of violence, maybe a bomb or several bombs detonating?”
Luka was silent for ten seconds before asking, “Is that going to happen?”
Will shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. But America’s petrified that a terrorist act could prompt Russia to jump to the wrong conclusions-maybe think it was a U.S. strike.”
“America should be scared of that possibility. Russia’s the twitchiest it’s been in living memory.”
The tram pulled into Cankurtaran. More people got off than on, leaving the carriage a third full. Will desperately wanted to look over his shoulder to see who was behind him. Time was running out; he had to get off at the next stop. “I have a favor to ask.”
Luka laughed quietly. “Today’s agenda seems a little one-sided.”
Will ignored the comment. “I need a name-an arms dealer, preferably someone who specializes in military blueprints. Must be an SVR or FSB asset and currently active.” He added, “Can you do a bit of digging to see if someone pops up with that profile?”
“I don’t need to. I already have a name.”
Will waited.
But Luka said, “Why should I give you that information? You’ve given me nothing today.”
“What do you want?”
Luka placed a hand on Will’s forearm. When he spoke, it was as if he was thinking aloud. “It would be interesting to know the French government’s stance if tensions between my country and America were to increase.”
Will’s mind raced. He had absolutely no idea what the answer was. But Luka would expect Emile Villon of the DGSE to know. “You need this answer by-?”
“The same time you need the identity of the SVR asset.”
Shit.
The tram was slowing. Yenikap? station was in view.
If Will gave him an answer, his information would almost certainly influence Russia’s view of France. But he had to say something. “France is openly a staunch ally of America, though privately it’s neutral.”
“If a situation arose, France wouldn’t stand in our way?”
Will hesitated. “No.”
Luka nodded slowly. “And the rest of Europe?”
“That information’s above my pay grade.”
“I doubt that.” Luka removed his hand.
The tram stopped.
People started to get off.
Will remained motionless. His heart raced. “Please. It’s all I can give you.”
Luka sighed. “Otto von Schiller. German. Lives in Berlin.”
“How can I get to him?”
“That’s all I can give you.”
Will stood to leave but stopped as Luka raised a finger.
“Some of our generals would love those bombs to go off. It would give them the opportunity they’ve been waiting for.”
Chapter Eleven
The following afternoon, Will was in an executive suite within Prague’s Kempinski Hotel Hybernska, having arrived in the Czech Republic three hours before. Outside, snow was falling fast over heavy traffic and throngs of pedestrian shoppers, but inside the luxurious room it was warm and silent. Sitting at an ornate desk, he arranged some pens and papers before him and logged on to the room’s computer. He felt exhausted, but his mind was completely alert and he smiled as he thought through every move of the chess game that he was about to commence.
After thirty minutes of browsing company websites, he found one that suited his purpose-a large, well- known, London-based accounting firm. Looking at the profiles of the firm’s partners, he decided on one of them, noted the man’s contact details, and called him. Introducing himself as Thomas Eden, Will explained that he needed the firm to act on his behalf to secure an off-the-shelf limited company from Companies House, preferably one that had at least ten years of audited accounts and a background in consultancy. That, he was advised, could be obtained in under four hours. He told the partner that he was to be listed as the sole director of the company, that it needed to be renamed Thomas Eden Limited, and that the company’s function would be producing military research and analysis to defense contractors and specialist military journals. The partner asked some questions.
Company bank account?
Already set up in London with HSBC in the name of Thomas Eden, with a current balance of approximately? 90,000.
