Chapter 9
Stratton heard the creak, opened his eyes and
focused all his senses outside of the room. He was a light sleeper
at home, but abroad he was overly sensitive to any change around
him. He felt certain the sound came from within the house but was
not completely sure. The creak came again - the stairs - and he sat
up in the bed. It was getting lighter outside but dawn had not yet
reached the island. He checked his watch. The time was a few
minutes after six. It could be Gabriel looking for the toilet,
which was the last door on the landing, or perhaps he was heading
out of the house for some reason.
Stratton climbed out of the bed and quickly pulled
on his trousers and shirt.The creak came again, closer, further up
the stairs. He pulled on his boots and tied up the laces.
As he stepped to the door, he could feel someone on
the other side of it. It was bred in him not to overreact and in
situations like this, if a threat was on the cards, his actions
would always take the form of a counterattack.
The door handle moved, then began to turn.
Stratton stepped behind the door as it slowly
opened and the tip of a head came into view, peering at the
bed.
‘Mr Stratton?’ It was the Greek army captain.
‘Morning,’ Stratton said.
The captain looked around the door as Stratton
stepped into view. ‘Oh,’ he exclaimed in a most apologetic manner.
‘I am sorry to disturb you.’
‘That’s okay. What can I do for you?’
‘I have come to collect you,’ the captain said,
looking as humble as he sounded, a stark contrast to his superior
attitude of the night before.
‘Collect me?’
‘Yes, you and your friend Mr Stockton.’
Stratton did not remember Gabriel giving anyone his
last name during dinner.
‘It is very urgent. I have a vehicle waiting for
us.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Stratton said.
‘I am simply obeying orders. I received a call a
short while ago from my divisional commander, General Stanopis. I
have never personally spoken to him before. In fact, I have only
ever seen him once. He instructed me to tell you that a British air
force plane has been granted permission to land on the island and
that I am to personally escort you both to it.’
Stratton’s mind raced. His eyes flicked to the
satellite phone on the small table beside his bed. He had checked
the signal before going to sleep and it was weak but workable. It
was close to the French windows, which were open, and should have
been able to receive a call. But then, why would the captain
lie?
‘I am told to tell you that a Mr Sumners will be
meeting you on the aircraft.’
That instantly gave the captain full credibility
and Stratton finished getting dressed, tucking in his shirt and
pulling his jacket off the bedpost. ‘Is there anything else?’
Stratton asked, as he stuffed his ablutions bag into his small
holdall, put the sat. phone in his pocket and scanned around in
case there was anything he had forgotten.
‘Nothing,’ the captain said. ‘I take it you know
what it’s all about,’ he said, more in hope that it might be
revealed to him. He had been completely overcome by the request.
Nothing like it had ever happened to him in his career. It was
obvious that this Englishman and his friend were of great
importance for the general to call him personally. Not only that,
the general was insistent that this small but important task was
carried out with the utmost efficiency and safety.
Stratton went to Gabriel’s door and knocked once
before opening it.
To his surprise, Gabriel was fully dressed and sat
on the edge of his bed looking out of the window. He turned to look
at Stratton long enough to see who it was and then went back to
contemplating his view.
‘We have to go,’ Stratton said to him.
‘I know,’ Gabriel said.
Stratton glanced around at the captain knowing he
had not stopped at Gabriel’s room before coming to his. ‘You know
about the plane coming to pick us up?’
‘No,’ Gabriel said, without any change in his voice
or reaction. He remained still, without urgency, as if nothing else
mattered in the world.
‘I’ve seen how it ends,’ Gabriel said.
Stratton walked into the room to where he could see
Gabriel’s face. He seemed the same, older perhaps, and tired as
always.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The end. You know what the end means, don’t
you?’
‘How does it end?’ Stratton asked, wondering if
Gabriel had flipped.
‘My end . . . My death.’
The urgency left Stratton as he focused on the
situation. Whatever was going on, it had to be dealt with calmly.
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
‘I saw it. A bright flash, like the sun itself. A
loud boom. A rush of violent air. Everything tearing apart, ripped
to pieces . . . But I’m not alone. The air is filled with souls.’
Gabriel looked at Stratton. ‘Do you really expect me to be
enthusiastic about going anywhere?’
Stratton stared at Gabriel, wondering if he had
indeed gone mad. ‘I didn’t know remote viewing was also about
seeing into the future.’
‘I’ve been telling myself that all night, but the
image won’t go away . . . Perhaps I’m going insane.’
Gabriel got to his feet and took a deep breath.
‘You’re right though. We must go . . . No one can escape their
destiny.’
He picked up his bag, turned away from the window
and walked to the door. Stratton followed him, past the captain who
looked somewhat bewildered, and they headed down the stairs and out
of the house.
The captain led the way along a street, away from
the harbour and up an incline. A minute later they stepped out on
to a gravel track where a Greek army Land Rover was waiting for
them, a driver behind the wheel and two armed soldiers in the
back.
Gabriel, still looking as if in a daze, climbed
into the back, Stratton behind him, and the captain got in beside
the driver. He barked an order and the vehicle moved off, circling
the back of the town before leaving it behind to climb a steep
hill.
The sound of an aircraft penetrated the noise of
the Land Rover’s engine and a second later Stratton saw a Hercules
C130 transport aircraft turning low over the water before
disappearing behind them.
The Land Rover crossed the island, the sea to the
south coming into view, and followed the winding track back inland.
A few minutes later they reached the top of an incline and the road
levelled out. A few hundred yards further and the road quickly
widened and a runway appeared in front of them. Up ahead, coming
towards them, was the C130 having touched down and making its way
to the end of the runway.
The Land Rover stopped and waited for the aircraft
to come to a stop, whereupon the rear ramp began to slowly
open.
The captain said something to the driver and the
vehicle moved off and pulled to a halt under the tail. Stratton
climbed out amid the feverishly loud engines and acrid exhaust
fumes clotting the air and helped Gabriel to step down on to the
tarmac.
The captain climbed out and straightened his
uniform, his task at an end but hoping to be of further use if
possible.
‘Thanks, Captain,’ Stratton said, as he led Gabriel
up the ramp.The captain came to attention and threw up a smart
salute, holding it until the two men were aboard.
The loadmaster, in full green air suit, stood at
the top of the ramp, his hand hovering over a button in a box
mounted on the bulkhead, and as Stratton and Gabriel stepped into
the cabin, he said something into his headset while at the same
time pushing the button. A high-pitched whine filled the back of
the plane as the end of the ramp began to rise off the tarmac,
while at the same time an opposing section of roof, hinged beneath
the tail, lowered to meet the end of the ramp and close off the
Greek captain and his soldiers from any further view inside the
mysterious aircraft.
The engines gradually increased power but the pilot
kept the brakes applied and the plane still, an indication the
runway was short and that they wanted to catapult the craft off its
blocks. The two sections of ramp met and locked into place, fitting
seamlessly to seal off the tail section, and much of the engine
noise was immediately muffled.
There were several rows of aircraft seats halfway
along the cabin, and at the front, against the bulkhead that sealed
off the cockpit, was a desk with three swivel seats fitted around
it, all occupied. On the desk were several communication systems
and three flat-screen monitors.
Gabriel was invited by a crewman to sit in the
regular seats while Stratton headed to the front where he
recognised two of the men: Sumners was sat on one side of the
table, and on the other, talking into a phone, was Sumners’ boss,
the man from the Grenadier pub. In the middle seat was a young,
nerdy assistant in an inexpensive black suit. The type was familiar
enough, recruited young, usually straight out of university,
because of either their family connections or their brilliance, and
put to work in an administrative capacity to learn the ropes. This
youngster was obviously one of the smart ones since his cheap suit
suggested he did not come from wealth.
Stratton’s first introduction to MI6 many years
ago, and where he first met Sumners, was during an operational
training session. He had been sent to the secret Military
Intelligence training school in Portsmouth to teach a batch of
young MI6 agents, all quite brilliant academically, most of them
able to speak several languages, how to climb the side of a
three-storey building using a caving ladder. It seemed basic stuff
but it had to be technically sound so as to be adaptable to a
variety of structures and conditions. Stratton discovered two of
them were later selected for an espionage job in Eastern Europe
from which one never returned, rumoured to have been killed in
action. Stratton found the differences between Special Forces
operatives and these types interesting. MI6 operatives’ idea of
light conversation was quantum physics, and sometimes for fun they
would discuss topics in Latin or a mixture of several different
languages at once. But practical things, such as instantly
recognising the difference between a pull and tension-release booby
trap, or how to quickly turn a semi-automatic pistol into a fully
automatic machine gun, appeared to be beyond most of them.
‘Take a seat, please,’ the loadmaster said to
Stratton in a perfunctory manner, as he headed into the
cockpit.
Stratton dropped into one of the hammock seats
against the bulkhead behind Sumners who appeared to be deliberately
ignoring him as he scrolled through data on a computer
monitor.
The engines screamed in a chorus of painfully
high-pitched tones and the aircraft vibrated so strongly it seemed
the rivets holding the skin together might pop. The brakes were
suddenly released, and the bulky craft lunged forward and lumbered
down the runway, quickly building in speed. Had it been carrying
its full capacity it would have needed a far longer runway or a set
of rocket boosters to achieve take-off velocity. Being relatively
empty, a few hundred yards later the nose tilted up as the pilot
eased back on the stick, the wings bit into the air and the craft
rose gracefully off the tarmac. The ground dropped away as the
wheels retracted and within seconds there was nothing below but sea
and the island was a colourful mound in the green-blue water
getting ever further behind.
The cabin tilted as the pilot banked the aircraft
steeply on to its heading and Sumners’ boss put down his phone and
swivelled in his chair to face Stratton, wearing what looked like
the same immaculate dark suit he had worn in the Grenadier. If the
suit was a different one, the cold, empty smile he wore was
not.
‘Stratton. Are you well?’ he asked.
‘Fine, sir,’ Stratton replied.
Sumners turned in his seat to face Stratton wearing
his own stock smile.
‘Good,’ Sumners’ boss said. ‘Fine job, young man.
Fine job.’Then, as if he’d had an idea, he leaned close to Sumners
to say something privately into his ear. Sumners gave him an
equally private and short reply and the boss picked up a phone,
punched in a number and concentrated on his call.
Stratton could only wonder what he had done so well
that resulted in the boss himself requisitioning such an expensive
trip to pick him and Gabriel up from the island, and so rapidly
too. They must have left the UK only a few hours after his call to
Sumners.
Sumners got out of his swivel chair and sat in the
hammock seat beside Stratton. ‘Well,’ he said, as if he had a lot
to say and did not know where to start. ‘Are you wondering why
we’re here, the boss included, and at great expense to the
taxpayer?’ He sounded like a children’s talk-show host.
Stratton did not want to take part in Sumners’
little panto and offered him only a smile. The man was evidently in
a good mood about something and would no doubt reveal why in due
course.
Sumners took Stratton’s lack of interest as his
usual, cold standoffish self. If he did not want to be chummy when
the opportunity was offered, then that was his loss.
‘The name Mikhail Zhilev mean anything to you?’
Sumners asked, getting down to business.
Stratton wondered why the name had a familiar ring
but could not place it. He shook his head.
‘What about Vladimir Zhilev?’
An image suddenly popped into Stratton’s head. ‘The
tanker engineer?’ he asked, not entirely sure.
‘Correct,’ Sumners said like a schoolteacher.
‘Mikhail Zhilev is Vladimir’s brother. Your hunch
about checking the tanker was a good one.Vladimir was the only
Russian on board. Latvian to be precise. I immediately put the name
through to our good friends in the FSB,’ Sumners said, emphasising
the words ‘good friends’ for its irony. ‘They were surprisingly
forthcoming, although I must say they have been recently . . . I
made my inquiry sound as if it was nothing more than a next-of-kin
search, of course. They provided a profile almost immediately but
it only covered his youth and the last seven years or so, which
immediately suggested something else - when the FSB omit large
blocks of years in an adult’s life it usually indicates those years
were spent in some sort of government service.We made another more
urgent request, this time suggesting Zhilev had some vague
connection to terrorism, fictitious, of course, which produced a
more detailed coverage showing his military postings. Judging by
the department and locations Zhilev served, we could ascertain he
was in a Special Forces unit or at least attached to one. The FSB
did not confirm that but it’s pretty obvious Zhilev was in this
special unit from the mid-seventies. As expected, our interest
sparked the FSB into doing some checking of their own and they
offered to share some of their information with us. It seems Zhilev
recently left his home in Riga and took a trip to England, arriving
the same day Gabriel was attacked in Thetford Forest. The Russian
lettering Gabriel saw prompted us to look at all of the recent
viewings more closely. The big question was if this mysterious
person - assuming that person was Zhilev - was indeed a serious
threat and in some way linked to the tanker, and that it was him
who attacked Gabriel, then what was he doing in Thetford Forest and
at that precise location?’
Stratton hoped Sumners was not expecting him to
come up with an answer because he did not have a clue.
‘It was Chalmers who cracked that one,’ Sumners
said, indicating the nerdy assistant pecking away at a computer
terminal. ‘He reads everything. MI archives mostly. File after
file. Packing his mental database, so he says. Has a photographic
memory.There are different types of photographic memory. Most just
see an image they can recall instantly as if looking at an actual
photograph in front of them. Then there are those who can compare
relationships between different images - cut and paste between
them, if you like. Chalmers has that ability. Ever heard of
Operation Kraken?’ he asked.
Stratton had, but after so many years and so many
operations, he had to think about it for a moment. ‘Norway,’ he
finally said. ‘The Russians coming into Europe and the UK through
Norway and Sweden.’
‘That’s right,’ Sumners said, again the
ever-complimentary tutor. ‘Spetsnaz. Your chaps once chased a
couple of ’em who’d been flushed from their submarine in a
Norwegian fjord. Remember that?’ Sumners said, obviously aware
Stratton had been on that operation.
Stratton nodded anyway.
‘Didn’t catch them though,’ Sumners said, scoffing.
‘Must’ve been fit chaps to outrun you lot, eh?’
Stratton couldn’t be bothered telling him the poor
bastards had much more to lose if they were caught than the SBS had
to gain by capturing them. Sumners was a desk spy and would never
understand ground operatives and their complex, unwritten rules of
survival.
‘Kraken,’ Sumners mused. ‘A Scandinavian sea
monster. Did you know that? “Then once by man and angels to be
seen, in roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.” Tennyson.
Expecting the Russians to die so easily was more wishful thinking
than optimism, especially in those days ...Those were the days,
though, eh, Stratton? The Russian was an adversary to be sure . . .
in some things. Toe-to-toe, compared to this terrorist malarkey
these days . . .
‘But OP Kraken was far bigger than merely observing
the Russian infiltration of Europe and the UK,’ Sumners went on.
‘It’s what they were doing when they got to the UK that was of
greater interest. It turned out the buggers were busy setting up
sabotage teams near military targets up and down the country. It
wasn’t until after the Cold War we learned they had at least
twenty-two sabotage hides placed in various locations in England
and Scotland, though we don’t know where. We found one in the late
seventies in Portsmouth in a public park - a children’s playground,
no less. Clever bastards used an abandoned sewage system. They were
ingenious at concealing these hides. We have only ever found one
other . . .
‘Chalmers was the one who came up with a sabotage
hide being the relationship between Zhilev and Thetford Forest, or,
to put it another way, Russian Special Forces and the Mildenhall
and Lakenheath air bases. The thought that Gabriel had managed to
stumble upon Zhilev as he was actually looking for a hide was far
too irresistible to ignore.The RAF has a piece of equipment called
Gronar or ground sonar, designed to find underground pipes and
communication cables, et cetera. Pretty useful at finding certain
types of landmines too, so I hear. We found the hide close to the
spot Gabriel was attacked. Unfortunately, when Gabriel disturbed
Zhilev, he was on his way out of the hide, not going in and he had
already taken what he wanted. We believe he’s carrying a nuclear
device. In fact, we’re certain of it. Simple reason is there should
have been three such devices in the hide but there were only
two.’
Stratton could feel the words ‘nuclear device’
coming before Sumners said them. He knew about the hide in
Portsmouth, or cache as the SBS called it. Stratton didn’t see it
for himself but one of the older SBS lads at the time had been on
the operation to secure and recover the cache and its contents. The
fear was that there might have been Spetsnatz in the area so it was
prudent to take a few operatives along, just in case. There was no
interference from the Russians and the rumour was that three atomic
weapons had been lifted from the cache along with an assortment of
biological and chemical weapons.
So this Russian had a nuke, Stratton pondered. That
changed everything. Suddenly the many things Gabriel had talked
about over the past few weeks dropped into entirely different
slots, the most troubling of all being his comment that he had seen
his own death at the hands of whatever it was the man in his
viewings possessed.
‘We haven’t told the Russians about the nuclear
device, but we’ve created enough suspicion around Zhilev’s
suspected terrorist connections that they’re doing all they can to
track him down,’ Sumners said. ‘We haven’t told them about
Kastellorizo either. If we can find him on our own we will.’
Stratton could guess the reasoning behind that. If
they could produce a former Russian Spetsnaz with a nuke the
Russians had planted in Britain, it would be an immense bartering
tool.
‘Any ideas as to where he’s headed?’ Sumners asked.
‘Stratton?’
Stratton snapped out of his thoughts. ‘What?’
‘Zhilev. Any thoughts on where he could be
heading?’
Stratton looked at a map in his head, the
Mediterranean, Kastellorizo, Turkey to the north, Egypt to the
south, Libya to the west of that, and then Cyprus, Syria, Lebanon
and Israel to the east. He considered the range of a small boat,
but then there were plenty of places to pick up fuel. If it was one
of the fishing boats he had seen in the island’s harbour it could
carry enough cans of fuel to cross the Med. In short, Zhilev could
be anywhere. The big question was what did he want to blow up with
a nuclear bomb?
‘Did the Russians provide a psychological profile?’
Stratton asked.
‘Yes, and I’m afraid it isn’t very encouraging.
Zhilev was retired from the Spetsnaz for medical reasons. The
report cites physical as well as psychological problems but it was
unclear about the relationship between them. Chalmers suggested
Zhilev might have been one of their medical experiments. It wasn’t
uncommon for them to use their own people as guinea pigs for
various experimental mind and body enhancing drugs. Then again so
did we until a few years ago. But we didn’t use our best soldiers.
Can’t understand that one,’ Sumners said.
Stratton didn’t believe him. The person who gave
the orders was someone just like Sumners except they’d been brought
up by a regime with an historical lack of regard for the lives of
its own people, especially its military.
Sumners leaned towards Chalmers. ‘The picture,’ he
said to him. Chalmers looked up with an innocent expression, not
understanding Sumners’ request. ‘The picture,’ Sumners repeated
sarcastically, outlining a small rectangle with his index fingers.
‘Zhilev.’
Chalmers opened a file, removed a couple of
photographs and stretched across the table to hand them to Sumners
who passed them to Stratton. One of the pictures was a group shot
of Zhilev with several Spetsnaz colleagues but not a good one of
him. The other Stratton recognised from the tanker, the one he had
found in Vladimir’s wallet.
‘That’s him with his brother,’ Sumners said.
‘Apparently, when they forcibly retired Zhilev from the Spetsnaz,
he threatened to blow up a government department. The facts
regarding that side of it the Russians left deliberately vague but
one thing is obvious: Zhilev appears to favour explosives as a form
of revenge. The scenario we’re most in favour of is he’s avenging
his brother’s murder. Zhilev headed east from England. The killers
were Islamic extremists and so I think it’s safe to assume the
target is therefore Islamic. Question is where? Saudi Arabia is a
good bet, Mecca and the like, but obviously he is spoilt for
choices in the Middle East. One option would be a landfall
somewhere in the Levant in Syria or Lebanon. Perhaps Israel is also
a possibility, but their coastal security is very tight both
physically as well as electronically and one would expect Zhilev to
suspect that given his background. But then Lebanon would be
difficult too, for a foreigner anyway, and Syria is very tight
since the Iraq conflict.
‘The only other realistic option east is through
the Suez Canal, which leads to a thousand miles of Saudi coastline,
but that would be quite a trek in a small fishing boat. If he left
Kastellorizo a week ago, he would be through the canal by now.
We’ve asked Egypt and Jordan to report in if Zhilev makes port but
that would take a month under normal circumstances and there’s no
way on earth we can tell them an atom bomb is possibly passing
through their borders. The word would be out in a heartbeat and
there’d be a mad rush by every Arab state and Islamic organisation
to get their hands on it. If they found him, we’d be the last
people to know.’
Sumners took the photos out of Stratton’s hands and
put them back on the table.
‘One other thing,’ Sumners said. ‘Zhilev withdrew
every penny he had in his bank account, the equivalent of several
thousand pounds. He was a frugal man who spent little of his
pension, which could suggest he’s not planning to return home. He’s
committed. All in all, I think we have a rather serious problem on
our hands.’
With all the talk about the Middle East, Stratton
wondered where the aircraft was heading. The sun was shining in
through the starboard window and slightly ahead of the plane. He
checked the compass on his watch to confirm they were indeed flying
southeast. ‘Where are we going?’ he asked.
‘Tel Aviv. It’s time to bring Mossad into the
game,’ Sumners said. ‘We can’t tell them about a nuclear device
either, of course. Got to play the Israelis carefully when it comes
to threats against Islam. They wouldn’t exactly bend over backwards
to prevent a bomb blowing up that lot.’
‘Unless it was made to look like the Israelis did
it,’ Stratton said.
‘Horrifying thought,’ Sumners said as he got to his
feet. ‘I’m going to grab a nap. Been a long night.’
Sumners stifled a yawn and was about to head
towards the seats when he thought of something else. ‘How is he?’
he asked, referring to Gabriel. ‘Fit, you think?’
‘He’s tired.’
‘I expect he wants to see this through
though.’
Stratton gave nothing away, looking at the top of
Gabriel’s head just visible above his headrest.
‘We’re all believers now, aren’t we, eh, Stratton?’
Sumners said as he walked away.
Stratton watched him step into the row behind
Gabriel and plonk himself tiredly into a seat, but his mind was
fixed on the most important implication of this entire
situation.
‘Stratton?’ a voice called out.
Stratton looked around to see it was Chalmers
holding out a pamphlet. ‘The specs on the likely device,’ he
said.
How apt, Stratton thought as he reached over, took
the pamphlet and flicked through it. He knew a bit about suitcase
bombs anyway. It was a requirement for senior operatives to
understand at least the basics of them, just in case. It was a
crazy world and one could expect to run into anything these days.
Explosives were one of Stratton’s fortes anyway.
The implication that remained a painful distraction
was Gabriel’s fear that he was going to die by Zhilev’s device.
Gabriel did not know it was an atomic bomb. Stratton had never been
more than a few hundred yards from Gabriel’s side while on the
assignment and was hardly likely to ever be much further since his
job was to protect him as well as help in the decoding. The device
had a destructive radius of five miles, which did not include the
fallout. That clearly meant that if Gabriel was going to be killed
by it then so was anyone else with him. Sumners would not tell
Gabriel about the weapon in case it affected his will to continue
in pursuit of it. The information could only have a negative effect
on Gabriel’s performance and so why take the risk? Gabriel was the
most important tool in locating Zhilev and his life was entirely
expendable in the light of the gravity of the situation. The same
went for Stratton. Sumners was unaware of Gabriel’s fears and was
clearly optimistic about finding Zhilev and the bomb before it was
detonated. Stratton could withhold Gabriel’s fears from Sumners and
refuse to continue with the assignment, but that would mean
bringing in someone else to take over the operation and Stratton
would effectively be sending that person to his death, along with
Gabriel.
Stratton tried to tell himself that didn’t matter
as long as he lived, but it wouldn’t stick. He couldn’t send
someone else to die in his place, nor could he turn his back on
Gabriel.They were team-mates now and, like it or not, in this
together.
‘Chicken or chicken?’ a voice said, interrupting
Stratton’s thoughts.
Stratton looked up to see the loadmaster standing
in front of him holding a stack of polystyrene in-flight rations
boxes. He was reminded of the standing joke in the SBS about the
lack of choice regarding RAF flight meals, which always seemed to
be a couple of slightly warmed Kentucky Fried Chicken drumsticks
and a serving of soggy chips.
‘I’ll have the chicken,’ Stratton said, and was
handed a box.
As the loadmaster moved on to offer the selection
to the rest of the cabin, Stratton went back to his thoughts. He
had a dilemma to say the least. There were some hard choices to
make, and not a lot of time in which to make them.