more than that to try to spark a war. Any ideas what he might do?”
“Yes.”
“I’m listening.”
Silence.
Will put a finger against the tip of Sentinel’s gun and yanked it sideways so that the gun was pointing away from him.
But Sentinel’s hand remained over the weapon. “You shouldn’t have come here. And you need to leave right now because there’s nothing more I’m going to say to you.”
Will pulled out his cell phone. “We thought you might say that.” He punched some buttons, pressed SPEAKERPHONE, and placed the phone on the table between them.
A man answered. “Hold while we route the call.”
Thirty seconds later, the same man said, “Okay, you’re through to the chief.”
The chief of MI6.
Sentinel’s expression remained hostile as he glanced at Will, then the cell. “Your messenger boy’s asking too many questions. I’ve ordered him to leave.”
The chief answered, his voice measured and deep. “He has my authority to stay.”
Sentinel shook his head. “You have no authority over me.”
“You can’t speak to me like that.”
“I can. Since I’ve been in the field, I’ve worked with six chiefs. They all come and go. But I’ve stayed.”
“You’ll do what you’re told!”
Sentinel leaned closer to the phone. “I’ll do what I damn well like. And if I like, I’ll go above your head and speak directly to the prime minister. I’ll tell him that you’re interfering in my business and I don’t like it. Our premiers have always done what I’ve told them to do.” He leaned back. “You know that I have that power. Tell your messenger boy to leave, or things will get unpleasant for you.”
The chief was silent for five seconds before saying, “I’m not interfering. I’m giving you help.”
“Help that I didn’t request. You don’t make decisions like that without consulting with me first.”
More silence. Then, “The man I sent is run by a controller who was on your intake when you joined MI6.”
Sentinel’s eyes narrowed. “Name?”
“Alistair McCulloch.”
A thin smile emerged on Sentinel’s face. “I’d heard he got promoted. I’d also heard that he’d been put in charge of a trivial administrative department.”
“That’s what you and everyone else were supposed to have heard.”
The smile vanished. “The service doesn’t withhold information from people like me.”
“When did you last see Alistair?”
Sentinel answered through gritted teeth, “Nine years ago.”
“It must have been an awkward meeting. After all, that’s when you were stripped of your Spartan code name.”
The mention of the code name clearly surprised Sentinel. “They were closing down the Spartan Section.”
“Why?”
“Read the files.”
“I wonder why my predecessor sent Alistair to break the news to you.”
“Probably because the former chief was too scared to do it in person.”
“I’ve read the files. You were stripped of your title because events had moved on since your imprisonment. Russia was no longer the only major threat. For the Spartan Section to have any relevance, its officer had to be globally deployable. They couldn’t do that with you because you were too vital to the Russian operations.”
Sentinel slid the gun close to his body, away from Will’s reach.
“You’d become too… specialized.”
“Their loss.”
“Their gain. MI6 couldn’t afford to underestimate your im- portance.”
“You’d damn well better have a reason to be talking about this.”
“Oh, I do. Alistair was sent to you for a very specific reason. It had to be him, because he’d just been given command of the revamped Spartan Section.”
Sentinel stared at the phone, and his expression changed. He seemed to be deep in thought. Eventually, he brought his gaze up to Will and asked, “Is this him?”
“It is.”
Sentinel nodded slowly, looked away, and muttered, “They kept it going.”
“It wasn’t easy. Eight recruits before him… failed. The future of the section was entirely reliant on someone passing the Program. I sent him to you out of respect for who you are.” He paused. “I’d like you to work with him. But I concede that I can’t order you to make that happen.”
The room was silent. Will kept his eyes locked on Sentinel.
Sentinel picked the phone up. “Okay, I’ll do it. But no more surprises. Understood?”
“I understand very well.”
Sentinel ended the call and tossed the phone at Will. He spoke in a quiet, measured voice. “Razin and his men have been instructed by Russian high command to covertly train with twenty prototype weapons. These devices are about the size of small suitcases and are highly sophisticated. There’s a view that the devices can be used in conventional battlefields and unconventional theaters of war and peace. Alpha’s task is to prove this view correct and to also prove that the weapons can be smuggled into heavily defended areas. Over the last few months, Razin and his men have been secretly entering Russian air bases, navy installations, army depots, and government buildings to plant these devices. Every infiltration so far has been successful. The devices have since been removed by Razin’s men and kept by them. The training exercise is due to be complete in the next few weeks, at which point the devices will be handed back to the army.”
“This is how he’ll spark a war?”
“It must be.” Sentinel looked at the prone cartridges again and shook his head. “I’ll send an urgent message to Razin that we need to meet in a safe house on the Russian border. We’ve used it before, so it shouldn’t seem suspicious. The message will also say that people are being killed, I’m concerned for his safety, and I need to brief him on new security protocols.”
Will’s stomach muscles tightened. “The devices?”
Gun in hand, Sentinel rose and walked to the window. Outside, snow was falling faster and was being whipped up by a strong wind. Their surroundings no longer looked eerily serene; instead they appeared harsh and violent. Sentinel slowly turned to face Will. When he spoke, his voice was deep, and somber.
“The devices are nuclear bombs.”
Chapter Seven
Will stood naked in his room in the Hotel Otrada, staring at his belongings laid out on the bed. He selected some clothes, carefully checked each item to ensure that none of them contained any compromising items such as receipts, and dressed. He examined himself in a mirror and decided that he looked as though he were about to embark on a winter hike. Stuffing cash into a jacket pocket, he repacked all of the remaining items, including his wallet and passport, into his case. The case he would leave with the concierge. He could see lunchtime traffic from the window, moving slowly below him through thick snow. There was no fog now. In the distance the Black Sea was easily visible.
He flicked on a kettle, tore open three tea bags, and emptied their contents into a mug. He poured boiling water slowly over the loose tea, carefully stirring the brew. Grabbing the mug and looking at the sumptuous sofa and two armchairs in the room, he ignored them and sat instead on the floor with his back leaning against a wall. After waiting a few minutes for the tea leaves to settle to the base of the mug, he took a delicate sip of his drink
