David Becket. An MI6 officer whose profile deliberately approximated Krystof’s: passed over for promotion, in debt, weary, cynical, failed marriages, and adolescent children who no longer wanted to know him. The only difference between them was that David’s fictitious older daughter was prospering in high school, whereas six months ago, Krystof’s real daughter had been brutally gang-raped and strangled to death.
They sat just as the barman came to them and thumped a bottle of Becherovka liquor and two glasses onto the table. Krystof unscrewed the cap and poured the spirit into the glasses until they were nearly full. Stubbing out his cigarette and lifting his glass to his lips, he muttered, “Your health” and downed the drink.
“Your health.” Will took a small sip and placed the glass down.
Krystof refilled his glass to the top and gripped it while staring at Will. “You still in?”
Will shrugged. “I’m trying to last another ten years, until I can draw on my pension.”
Becket was forty-five; youthful looks were the only thing he had going for him. Krystof didn’t even have that. Age, stress, and depression had been less kind to his once handsome face.
Krystof drank some more and lit another cigarette. “I meant to thank you.”
“What for?”
“The flowers and the card.” He glanced away, his expression one of sadness and irritation. “Her mother wouldn’t let me go to the funeral.”
“I thought that might happen. That’s why I sent them to your house.”
Krystof looked back at him. “She said that no doubt I was now happy that I had one less child to pay alimony for.” He emptied the contents of his glass and topped it up.
Will sympathized with Krystof’s plight, though he worried that the man was losing his sanity. He twisted his glass on the table. “I have some work for you if you’d like it.”
Krystof blew out smoke. “They’re still giving you tasks?”
“A few.”
Krystof nodded. “It’s not a question of like, rather need.” He poured more drink down his throat. “What do you want?”
“Names.”
“Price?”
Will sighed. “The service wanted me to get you on the cheap.”
“Bastards.”
“Bastards indeed.” Will smiled. “It’s okay. I held my ground and got them to agree to normal rates.”
Krystof would know what that meant:?5,000 up front, and a further?5,000 upon successful delivery.
Extinguishing his cigarette and lighting another, Krystof asked, “Tell me.”
“Otto von Schiller. Heard of him?”
The former Czech intelligence officer rubbed his facial stubble. “Sounds familiar.” He narrowed his eyes. “Arms dealer?”
“Yes, lives in Berlin.”
Krystof drained the contents of his glass and poured more Becherovka into it. “I remember, few years ago”- his words were beginning to slur-“when I was still in BIS… we tried unsuccessfully to disrupt one of his Czech deals.”
Will yawned in an attempt to make David look bored. “The service wants to find out about von Schiller’s associates. Particularly if any of them are British or American.”
Krystof reached for the bottle, clearly forgetting that he’d already topped up his glass. “Sure. I’ll make some inquiries.”
Will handed the Czech a brown envelope containing the retainer and said, “Spend it on some food and new clothes”-he glanced at the bottle-“nothing else.”
The Czech investigator looked around the bunker. “She used to come here.” He smiled, but the look was bitter. “You’d have been shocked if you saw her. Pierced ears, nose… pierced everything. But I didn’t mind; she was always my girl.” Staring at the ceiling, he said through gritted teeth, “The men got her when she was walking home from here.” He looked at Will, his eyes moist. “I couldn’t come here on my own, but everyone I know stays away from me. When you asked to meet, I finally had the opportunity to come here to say my farewell to her.” He pushed the bottle away. “Was that wrong?”
Will stared at him with no thoughts of being David anymore. Even though he couldn’t tell Krystof so, he knew exactly how he felt. And that was the curse of running agents like Krystof. No matter how many layers of deceit there were, none of them could eradicate the real emotion in moments like this. Swallowing hard to control his voice, he placed his scarred hand over the Czech’s and replied, “It was the right thing to do.”
Krystof looked at the table; a tear fell into his glass. “The name you need-is it going to make a difference to anything?”
Will leaned forward and said quietly, “Look after yourself, my friend. What you’re doing for me is vital. The name is crucial to my plan. If you get it, you’ll have helped stopped the potential slaughter of millions.”
Chapter Twelve
Sentinel weighed his cell phone in one hand and stared at it. His face looked fatigued. “Borzaya’s got something for me. But this time I can’t afford to take the risk of meeting him without you present.”
Borzaya was the code name of the FSB officer Sentinel had met in Hungary three days before. He was one of the MI6 officer’s tier-1 agents.
Will nodded. Now that he was back in Odessa, there was nothing he could do until Krystof reported back. “Sure. I’m free for the next day or so.”
“How very gracious of you.”
Will frowned. “The chances of Razin being there are extremely remote. God knows what the odds are that he’ll make an attempt on his life during your meeting with him.”
Sentinel looked at Will and repeated, “I can’t afford to take any risks.”
“I understand.”
“I’m delighted that you do!” Sentinel strode quickly across the room, pulled open the fridge, grabbed a fruit juice carton, and tore it open. After taking a swig of the drink, his expression softened. Speaking quietly he said, “I’m sorry. I’m not used to working with other MI6 officers. Ignore my tone.”
The apology surprised Will. “For that matter, I normally work alone, too.”
Sentinel asked, “How’s it been for you-the nine years?”
Exhausting, dangerous, exhilarating, frustrating, and heartbreaking. But that wasn’t the answer Sentinel was looking for.
Instead, Will said, “You know the worst of it.”
The constant worry that one day he’d accept his isolated existence.
Sentinel understood. When he spoke, his voice held compassion. “That won’t happen.”
“It happened to you.”
Sentinel frowned. “It… it may seem like that to you, but I can assure you that the reverse is true. When they finally pull me out of the field…” His voice trailed off. “Well, I guess I dream about having the same things that all normal people want.” Sadness was now on his face. He nodded and seemed to speak to himself. “Yes, I want those things. Maybe more than most.”
“You can leave.”
Sentinel stared at him, shaking his head. “I volunteered to come back here after my imprisonment. I have to see this through.”
Will felt a moment of anger. “The service knows that’s how you think. It’s exploiting your sense of duty.”
“Of course.” He smiled, then his expression turned serious. “There’s a 1605 hours Malev flight to Budapest today, and we’re going to be on it.”
T he Gresham Palace royal suite was one of the most luxurious in Budapest and overlooked the Danube, the Chain Bridge, the Royal Castle, and the Buda Hills. The suite’s Art Deco lounge area contained two large sofas facing each other. Will and Sentinel were sitting on one, Borzaya was on the other. Between them was a glass
