Global Strike Read online

  ‘Am I allowed to ask who Varangian’s client is?’

  ‘It’s Big Oil. They’re interested in any goings-on that might affect their interests in Russia. Corruption, foreign nationals under investigation, changes in strategy, that sort of thing.’

  ‘You still have contacts over in Moscow?’

  The note of surprise in Cooper’s voice was obvious.

  ‘A few. Here and there.’

  ‘What does any of this have to do with what you mentioned on the phone?’

  ‘One of my old sources reached out to me a few weeks ago. Told me he had information on FSB activities that I should be aware of. I thought it relevant to the work I was doing, so we agreed to meet.’

  ‘In Russia?’

  ‘London.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘I can’t say. I swore to protect his identity. He’s worried about blowback.’

  Cooper nodded slowly. ‘Alright. Go on.’

  ‘We spoke for a couple of hours. He told me some things that were pertinent to my paymasters at Varangian.’ Street paused. ‘And some things that were not.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow, Charles.’

  Street glanced uncertainly at the envelope, as if weighing up whether to share the contents. He knew he was taking a big risk. But if I can’t trust my old mate, I can’t trust anyone. Then he took the plunge and slid the package across the desk.

  Cooper stared at the envelope but didn’t reach for it. As if maybe it contained anthrax spores. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘A hard copy of my latest report.’

  ‘I see,’ Cooper said. He still didn’t pick it up.

  ‘The report contains everything my source told me. Most of the stuff is relevant to Varangian. But there’s something else in there. Something I thought I should bring to your attention first.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Take a look for yourself.’

  Cooper leaned forward, took the envelope and lifted the unsealed flap. He plucked out a thin sheaf of papers, thirty or so pages held together by a couple of staples in the top left corner.

  The paper was cheap toilet-paper stuff and the top page had CONFIDENTIAL / SENSITIVE SOURCES printed across the header in bold lettering, with the title INTELLIGENCE SUMMARY PREPARED FOR VARANGIAN RISK ASSESSMENT, INC. underneath.

  Below that were several double-spaced bullet points. Cooper scanned them with the practised eye of someone who’d read thousands of such reports in his career.

  The first two points related to a meeting between the heads of several mafia gangs and the director of the FSB. There was some speculation from the unnamed source that Russia was recruiting criminal gangs in order to carry out assassinations on its enemies abroad. Bullet points three and four repeated a rumour Cooper had heard elsewhere about an internal power struggle going on inside the Kremlin. Several hardliners were apparently unhappy with the president for failing to prevent a terrorist attack on the metro in St Petersburg a month earlier, and there was the usual talk of another purge.

  The fifth bullet point was highlighted in bright green marker.

  Cooper read the lines. He stopped and felt his heart skip a beat. He read through it again, more slowly. Finished. Then he looked up at Street and swallowed hard.

  ‘Christ,’ he said. ‘Jesus fucking Christ.’

  TWO

  Cooper flicked through the rest of the dossier in stunned silence. There was a more detailed description of the findings outlined in the summary a few pages further on. Street had highlighted the passages with the same green marker pen. Cooper read through the text carefully, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. Street just sat there, watching the reaction play out on the agent’s face as he took in the information. After a short while Cooper leaned back in his chair and stared levelly at Street.

  ‘I have several questions,’ he said.

  ‘I thought you might,’ said Street.

  ‘First question. Who told you about this?’

  ‘As I said, Terry, I’m really not at liberty to reveal my sources.’

  ‘Which I fully understand. But you’re asking me for an opinion about a document that makes some very serious accusations. It would be helpful to know whether this source of yours is reliable. Or not, as the case may be.’

  Street considered, then nodded. ‘He’s a high-level criminal who recently fell out with the president. Before that he spent a decade working with some of the most senior figures in the Russian intelligence agencies. He’s credible.’

  ‘He also sounds like a man with an axe to grind.’

  ‘You think he’s making it up?’

  ‘It’s a possibility. Perhaps he’s saying all this stuff to embarrass the president. A man with a grudge against him might say anything to get his revenge.’

  ‘Some of his other claims are a little outlandish,’ Street admitted.

  ‘I can see that,’ Cooper said as he flipped through a couple of pages. He set the dossier down on the desk and spread his hands. ‘So what makes you believe this business about a tape?’

  ‘I did some digging. As much as I could, anyway.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The story he told me checked out. The dates correspond. The president was in Moscow at the time he claims. He stayed at the hotel my source mentioned. Met the same people. Moved in the same circles.’

  ‘And the rest? The, ah, outlandish stuff?’

  ‘He’s a Russian gangster. They’re colourful with the truth. I’d dismiss the rest of what he told me.’

  Cooper gestured to the dossier. ‘I presume none of the names in this report are real?’

  ‘Naturally, I had to change them,’ Street replied. ‘To help protect my sources.’

  ‘And the locations?’

  ‘The same.’

  ‘But you know the real names? If someone pressed you for them, I mean.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Cooper popped another stick of nicotine gum into his mouth and nodded. ‘Fine. Let’s assume this information is accurate. Do your paymasters over at Varangian know about it?’

  Street shook his head. ‘It’s not strictly relevant to my brief.’

  ‘They might reasonably argue otherwise. You uncovered this stuff on their dime, after all.’

  ‘I was hired to report on the Russian security services. This isn’t that. Besides, I have my concerns about taking this to Varangian.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Let’s just say that some of the senior directors are a little too cosy with the administration. If I take a report to them that alleges their new president is a sexual pervert, they might try to bury it.’

  ‘Fair point. Which leads me to my next question. What do you want to do with it?’

  ‘I thought you might know somebody we could take this to. Somebody local, who might take an interest in it. Another security firm, perhaps.’

  ‘Why involve me? You could do that yourself.’

  ‘We both know that isn’t true.’

  Cooper stared at his old friend. Street stared right back. They both knew what he meant. In the years since Street had left MI6, his list of contacts had shrunk faster than a coke addict’s bollocks. Nowadays he could count the number of people he still knew in Moscow on one hand. Which made it difficult to pull together a full report for his employers. Street wasn’t proud of it, but lately he’d started making stuff up in order to get paid. Rumours about his intelligence briefings being less than watertight had quickly spread throughout the industry. Few took him seriously now, Street knew. Not on something as explosive as this.

  ‘I thought if you vouched for its credibility, it might help get someone’s attention,’ he added.

  Cooper steepled his long, bony fingers on the desk. His pale blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully at the dossier. The billionaire’s son, weighing up a big investment opportunity.

  ‘How many copies of the report do you have?’ he asked.

  ‘This is the only hard copy.’

&nbs
p; ‘Backups?’

  ‘Physical storage only. No cloud. Offline and encrypted to within an inch of its life.’

  ‘Has your source spilled his guts to anyone else?’

  ‘He’s a high-ranking criminal in hiding. The only people he’s in regular contact with are his heavies and his lawyer. They’re not in danger of talking to anyone.’

  ‘So, no one else has gotten their hands on this material yet?’

  ‘As far as I know. I’ve taken steps to keep it secure.’

  Cooper nodded. ‘You want my advice?’

  ‘That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘You have two options. The first is to go public. Which I’m against.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The dossier might not get the oxygen it needs to make the headlines. We’re talking about a president with more scandals to his name than a bishop’s palace. This could easily get buried under all the other stuff.’

  ‘This is bigger than anything else.’

  ‘True. But it’s still a risk.’

  ‘What’s the second option?’

  ‘Selling it on, to our American friends.’

  ‘You really think this could be worth something?’ Street asked, privately relieved that Cooper had at last raised the question of money.

  ‘Absolutely. To the right people, this stuff could be worth a fortune.’

  Street tried to hide the look of greed in his eyes. ‘But I don’t know any of them, Terry. Not any more.’

  That’s what happens when you’re out of the game for so long, he thought.

  Everyone stops calling.

  Cooper said, ‘I might be able to help you out there.’

  Street said, ‘How do you mean?’

  Cooper placed a hand down on top of the dossier. Like he was claiming ownership. ‘Look, I have an idea. Why don’t you leave this here with me and I’ll make a few enquiries. See if we can drum up some interest.’

  Street shook his head firmly. ‘You’re asking me to leave behind my only hard copy. I can’t do that.’

  ‘It’d be safe here. I wouldn’t let it out of my sight.’

  There was an eager glint in his eye as he spoke. Street’s old spy instincts kicked in. He wondered why his old mate was so keen to keep hold of the dossier.

  ‘I’d rather not,’ he said.

  ‘I thought you said you trusted me, Charles.’

  ‘I do.’ Street smiled. ‘But I’m not leaving here without this document. Sorry. You know how it is.’

  Cooper accepted this with a knowing nod. ‘In that case . . . perhaps I can arrange a face-to-face meeting with a friend of mine. Someone who might be interested in what you’ve got.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘An old acquaintance from the Bureau. Chap by the name of Bill Prosser.’

  Street shot a questioning look at the embassy man. ‘The FBI would be willing to pay for int compromising their own president?’

  ‘Why not?’ Cooper shrugged. ‘It’s no great secret that there’s some serious friction between the new administration and our friends over at the Bureau. They want rid of the president, quite frankly. And what you’ve got here, if it’s true, could be enough to topple him.’

  ‘How much are we talking, roughly?’ Street asked.

  ‘I can’t make any promises, because it’s not in my gift. But I’d imagine something as big as this could be worth north of say, a quarter of a million dollars.’

  Street’s heart did a somersault inside his chest. Two hundred and fifty grand! A life-changing sum of money. More than he could ever hope to earn cobbling together half-baked intelligence reports. With that sort of cash he could retire, sell off his pad in Willesden Green and move to somewhere warm. One of the islands in the Aegean, perhaps. He could see out his days drinking fine wine and fishing for mackerel. Maybe even find himself a young Greek woman to settle down with.

  Living the dream.

  He quickly masked his excitement and said, ‘This friend of yours. Prosser. What’s his story?’

  ‘He used to head up the FBI’s Eurasian organised crime unit until they moved him upstairs,’ Cooper explained. ‘That’s how we met. He’s high up in the Bureau’s intelligence branch these days.’

  ‘How high?’

  ‘Very. We’re talking inner circle, top-level security clearance. He’ll probably make director within the next decade.’

  ‘Can we trust him?’

  ‘I’ve known Bill for years. Believe me, he’s on the level.’

  ‘And he has the authority to make a deal with us?’

  ‘He doesn’t control the FBI’s purse strings. But he has the ear of the people who do. If he makes you an offer, the deal’s as good as done.’

  Cooper smiled.

  ‘Here’s what I suggest,’ he continued. ‘There’s a private members’ club in Georgetown. The College Club. You’ve probably heard of it.’

  Street nodded. He was familiar with the place from his previous stint at the British embassy. The College Club was based in one of the oldest townhouses in the DC area and attracted the sort of preppy, well-connected crowd who attended Ivy League fraternities and took their holidays in Martha’s Vineyard. The kind of people who could trace their heritage all the way back to the Mayflower.

  ‘Bill’s a member there,’ Cooper said. ‘I’ll put in a call to his office this afternoon. Arrange a meeting with him at the club. You can bring along your report and tell him what you’ve found.’

  Street weighed it up. A quarter of a million dollars in exchange for the dossier, he thought. Or I can walk away now, go public and spend the rest of my life struggling to make ends meet. If anyone would even believe what I’ve uncovered.

  What have you got to lose?

  ‘At least hear the man out,’ Cooper went on. ‘See what he has to say.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Street. ‘I’ll meet with him.’

  ‘Splendid. I’ll call Bill and make the necessary arrangements.’

  ‘You’re sure he’ll want to meet with us?’

  ‘Oh yes. Something as big as this, Bill will want a piece of it. Trust me.’

  There was a keenness to his voice, Street noted. He thought, Cooper’s excited about the meeting. That was a good sign. Cooper wasn’t the type to get carried away. If he was excited, it was because he thought the dossier had real value.

  He stood up from behind his desk, signifying the end of the meeting. Street just sat there, lost for words.

  ‘Terry, I don’t know what to say. If there’s any way I can repay you—’

  Cooper dismissed his offer with a wave of his hand. ‘Not at all. What are old friends for, eh? I’m just glad to help out.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Thank me after Bill’s made you an offer. We’ll celebrate then.’ Cooper broke out his winning smile. ‘Now, I’m afraid I really must be getting on. I’ll call you as soon as the meeting has been set up.’

  Four minutes later, Charles Street strolled out of the embassy gatehouse with a spring in his step. For the first time in a long time, he felt good about life. All the shit he’d put up with since he’d left Vauxhall, all the petty humiliations he’d endured, would soon be a distant memory. The rest of the intelligence community had turned its collective back on Street, but now he was going to have the last laugh.

  He was going to get rich.

  And it was all thanks to the last friend he had left.

  THREE

  His piece-of-shit phone rang the following morning.

  He was in his room in a two-star hotel on New Hampshire Avenue, on the north-eastern outskirts of the city. The room was all Street could afford on his piss-poor budget. There was a stained mattress on the bed, a rudimentary desk in one corner with a metal bottle opener fixed to the side and a Bible on top of the rickety bedside table. Stale, lukewarm air dribbled out of an old AC unit mounted above the bathroom door. It was better than a crack den, but not much.

  Doesn’t matter, thought Street. Soon enough, I’ll be r
olling in cash.

  No more naff hotels.

  No more pitying looks from my ex-colleagues.

  Back to living the good life.

  He tapped Answer on his phone’s cracked screen and the voice on the other end said, ‘You owe me a drink after this, old boy. Preferably something hideously expensive. A bottle of Macallan single malt ought to do the trick.’

  Street killed the sound on the TV and said, ‘You spoke to Prosser?’

  ‘Just got off the phone with him now. Everything’s set. We’re meeting him tomorrow.’

  Jesus, thought Street. That was fast. Which could only mean one thing. Bill Prosser must be very interested in what I’m selling.

  ‘What time?’ he asked.

  ‘Eight o’clock. He’ll be waiting for us at the College Club.’

  Street felt his pulse quicken. It’s happening, he thought. It’s really happening. He could almost smell the money.

  ‘We should meet beforehand,’ Cooper went on. ‘To discuss tactics.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Street, pushing thoughts of the cash to the back of his head. ‘Where do you have in mind?’

  ‘Do you remember the waterfront around Georgetown?’

  ‘Vaguely. Isn’t it a bit rough around there?’

  ‘Not any more. There’s a park now, lots of redevelopment. Not quite the same as strolling along the Thames at sunset, but what is? We can meet there at seven-thirty and walk up together to the club.’

  ‘How will I know where to find you?’

  ‘There’s a shopping district directly east of the waterfront. I’ll be waiting for you outside the Starbucks on the north-western corner.’ There was a pause. ‘You’ll need to take a few anti-surveillance measures, of course. Make sure no one has eyes on you.’

  Street sat up with a jolt. ‘You think I might be followed?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘But how? I haven’t told anyone else about the dossier.’

  ‘This is DC, Charles. Half the people here are paid to keep their ears close to the ground.’

  Street nodded to himself. Glanced over at the document lying on the desk. His ticket to a whole new life. He couldn’t afford to take any risks, he knew. Not now.