The Enemy

CHAPTER 46

Heathrow Airport, United Kingdom

The flight from Dulles had been long. Clarke had spent the first four hours working — reading reports, signing documents, compiling his own reports — and the rest of the time sleeping. He woke up to the gentle tones of a stewardess telling him they were approaching Heathrow and he needed to fasten his safety belt. The sky outside the plane’s window was blue and mostly clear. There wasn’t a rain cloud in sight. So much for the stereotype.

As soon as the plane had touched down, Clarke was switching on his phone and checking his messages and emails. He had a couple of dozen — which was about average for the time period — but he paid attention to only one. It told him he wasn’t wasting his time crossing the Atlantic. Which was good because Clarke didn’t much like the English or British or whatever the hell the correct term for the self-righteous population was. The Scots weren’t too bad if they could be understood, and Clarke had never met anyone from Wales, but the rest of the UK he didn’t have a whole lot of time for.

The official reasons for his visit encompassed a trip to the Ministry of Defence, SIS headquarters and GCHQ. He was representing the Pentagon, at his own request, and if anyone ever decided to look particularly closely they might conclude that Clarke never really had to go to Britain himself. Intelligence could be shared through other means and there was no need to put a friendly smile on anything. There was never any need to encourage or coerce cooperation. Whatever his personal dislikes, Clarke respected Britain’s loyalty to her allies.

Heathrow was predictably horribly busy. Clarke walked through the terminal at a relaxed yet focused pace. He had an overnight bag but no other luggage to collect, as he would only be staying the night if absolutely necessary.

Clarke passed a store that sold soft drinks, confectionary, newspapers and books. He made for the books and spent a few minutes perusing the covers of the bestsellers. In the hardcovers were lots of biographies of British celebrities, most of whom looked too young to have a life story worth telling. He sidestepped to the paperbacks, which were mostly fiction. Clarke was an avid reader but he rarely had time for novels. History and politics were his subjects. He saw a few books he recognised from the shelves in the States and selected a paperback with a cover he liked the look of. He noted that novels in the UK tended to have much more arty jackets than their US counterparts. He skimmed the book’s blurb. Something about terrorists and a plot to destroy America.

A woman to the right of Clarke said, ‘I’ve heard that one is very good.’

‘I’m going to take a wild guess and say the good guys manage to stop the terrorists at the end and save the day,’ Clarke replied without looking at her.

The woman chuckled. ‘Not your genre?’

Clarke shook his head and put the book back on the shelf. ‘I prefer fact over fiction.’

‘A cerebral man then.’

‘I have my moments,’ Clarke said.

He turned and faced the speaker, who smiled and inclined her head in a brief nod. She was smartly dressed in a business suit, somewhere in her forties and attractive. She was short and slender but held herself with an obvious inner strength. Her eyes were small and intelligent and cold. She took another book from the shelf and handed it to Clarke.

‘Maybe this would be more to your liking.’

Clarke accepted the book without looking at it. ‘Thanks, I’ll give it a try.’

The woman seemed pleased. ‘I think you will not guess how it ends quite so easily.’

Clarke spent a minute reading the back and flicking through pages without interest, before saying, ‘I’m not sure meeting here was such a good idea.’

‘It is a perfect place to talk,’ the woman replied. ‘This is the busiest airport in the world. Look around you. Do you know how many people pass through it each day? I read nearly two hundred thousand. This is a liquid city. We are all but invisible.’

‘Unless British intelligence knows you’re here.’

‘Impossible. Few outside of Russia know I even exist, even less know how I am employed. To the British, Yuliya Eltsina is but a simple, albeit successful, businesswoman. She is in London to see clients. Besides, I am a very cautious lady. I take many precautions.’ She made a floating gesture. ‘I am but a ghost gliding among the living.’

Clarke thumbed through the book to maintain the act. ‘I’d like an explanation regarding Beirut.’

‘What about Beirut?’ Eltsina asked, infuriatingly calm and composed.

Clarke frowned. ‘Kindly stop the charade. Playing the fool isn’t your forte.’

She said, ‘My astute powers of telepathy inform me you are talking about the attack on Baraa Ariff.’

‘Of course I am. Do you think I’d fly halfway around the world to discuss anything else?’

Eltsina shook her head, but said nothing.

‘I’m waiting.’

‘For what?’

‘An explanation.’

‘And what, dear Peter, would you like me to say?’

‘We had an understanding. We had a deal. Long before I told you where to find Ariff we specifically agreed Kasakov was not to move against him until I gave the all clear. We agreed this war would last months, not weeks.’

Eltsina raised her small hands. ‘You have to understand the position I was in. I had no choice. In the past few weeks Ariff has killed eight of our people. Important people. He also destroyed four major shipments, at a loss of almost half a billion dollars.’

‘And? Attacks were inevitable. We discussed Ariff’s ability to hurt you a hundred times, so don’t plead ignorance now.’

‘These were not the minor attacks I anticipated. The level of damage being done to the organisation was far, far too severe. Another two months of such incidents would have left Kasakov’s empire as but a broken kingdom.’

Clarke sighed. ‘I would have helped you rebuild. You knew that.’

Eltsina sighed too. ‘It was Kasakov himself who forced the matter. He was going crazy with the desire for vengeance against Ariff, even before the attacks against us started. As his intelligence officer, that anger was directed at me. I was failing him too greatly. If I hadn’t delivered Ariff when I did then I would not need fear growing any older.’

Clarke scoffed. ‘Don’t be so overly dramatic.’

She stared at Clarke. ‘My dear Peter, you do not know Kasakov like I do. I have been at his side for many years and I have borne witness to his rage innumerable times. Never have I known a man so vindictive, so without conscience. But nothing I have ever seen compares to what he has become.’ Eltsina spoke in hushed tones. ‘You must trust me when I say that you do not want me to tell you of his capacity for brutality.’

Clarke broke eye contact. ‘Then feel free to keep it to yourself.’

‘I am desperately sorry for acting unilaterally in this, but I had to make a decision under impossible circumstances. Is it cowardly for wanting to live? If so, then I am a coward. And don’t forget: with me dead, your plans would have been forfeit. This way we can still achieve our objectives.’

‘I’ve been put in a very difficult situation, Yuliya. The person whose help I enlisted to make our objectives achievable does not share our goal. It was for his sake that this war needed to continue for some time. You should have told me you were moving against Ariff so soon. You should have warned me.’

‘Life flows like a river, and we must adapt to its ever-changing course.’

‘What kind of bullshit is that? I don’t like changes being made to a very carefully constructed plan. My associate is a smart man. If he suspects what I’ve been doing…’

Eltsina leaned closer and delicately rested a palm on Clarke’s chest. ‘You are a creative and intelligent man. Maybe the smartest man I’ve ever known. You will placate this associate of yours.’

The angry tone had gone from Clarke’s voice when he asked, ‘Who did you use to snatch Ariff?’

‘An American team. They were outrageously expensive, but came with numerous recommendations and an impressive track record. All of which I believe, as they were flawless in apprehending both Ariff and his family.’

Clarke said, ‘And there is no danger of Kasakov discovering the RDX from the batch stolen in Istanbul was not taken by Ariff?’

‘None whatsoever. Vladimir does not like me but he has absolute faith in my abilities. I have told him the BKA analysis of the bomb that killed Farkas matches that of the stolen RDX and he believes it. I am his chief intelligence and security officer. There is no one else in his organisation with my sources, and Kasakov has no reason to look into the matter further.’

‘And Kasakov will still vacation at his Black Sea dacha?’

Eltsina nodded.

‘Good,’ Clarke said. ‘Then you need to be in a position to seize power very soon.’

‘As I told you, the network has been struck very hard. Morale among our people is the lowest it has ever been. They have lost money from this war and will continue to lose money from its repercussions. They know Kasakov has risked their lives for personal motivations. They resent him, and I have whispered enough poison to ensure that resentment is aimed at Burliuk too. They are ready for new leadership, and will accept anyone who can repair the damage done, even a woman. When Kasakov is dead, I will have enough support to resist Burliuk’s natural ascension.’

‘And this new leader had better not forget who helped give her the throne.’

‘I will not forget. You really need to have a little more faith in your friends. I shall be your puppet princess of arms, dealing only with factions that you have approved. And with Ariff out of the way, I will incorporate his business into mine so that the world’s supply of small arms and heavy munitions is controlled by me alone. Then America’s enemies will find their flow of weapons has run dry. We both win. And together we are about to turn over a new page in this world’s history.’

Clarke left the book aisle and waited for Eltsina to join him outside the store.

She appeared with a candy bar and took a bite. ‘Brits sure know how to make this stuff.’

Clarke said, ‘What do I need to know about Kasakov’s vacation plans?’

‘Kasakov and his wife will be travelling with five of his top-security personnel. He usually only takes a couple, but expecting revenge attacks from Ariff’s people he is taking appropriate precautions. The dacha will be unoccupied prior to his arrival, but a local woman will clean it beforehand. I’ll pass on his exact schedule the moment I have access to it.’

‘Perfect,’ Clarke said. ‘I’ll also need some more funds.’

‘Of course. I shall make another donation to your account upon my return to Moscow.’ Eltsina checked her watch. ‘If that is all, Peter, I must be going.’

Clarke glanced around before saying, ‘There is something else I need…’

Eltsina’s perfectly plucked eyebrows arched. ‘Is this one of those changes to a careful plan you are not fond of?’

‘Touche.’

Clarke stopped and took a slim file from his overnight bag. He handed it to Eltsina, who finished her chocolate before opening the file. She spent a minute examining the file’s contents.

‘And who might this be?’

‘A problem. He’s the assassin my associate has used to get us to this point. He’s been very useful, to all of us. However, that usefulness has expired, and while he continues to breathe he is an extreme liability to everything we’ve worked for.’

‘And you want me to get rid of this problem?’

Clarke nodded.

‘And just how am I supposed to have it done?’

‘Use your new American friends,’ Clarke said. ‘They’ve proved themselves perfectly capable.’

‘Why don’t you take care of him yourself? We are old friends, but this seems like you are burdening me with your own trash when you should be the one disposing of it.’

‘I can’t be connected to it,’ Clarke said. ‘And I just don’t have anyone who can take care of something like this. Remember, he’s not just a liability to me but a threat to you also.’ Clarke put a hand on Eltsina’s arm. ‘And don’t forget my understanding in your need to alter our arrangement in regard to Ariff’s premature demise. Getting rid of this problem for me is the price of that understanding.’

Eltsina frowned but nodded. ‘You’re a hard negotiator, Peter. But you have my agreement. How do you want it done?’

‘Let’s keep it simple, shall we? As soon as Kasakov is dead, have your American friends kill his killer.’