Red Notice

73

Clements hovered outside the meeting room as Sarah Garvey came down the corridor. ‘A word if I may, Home Secretary…’ He steered her to one side, checking they were out of earshot. ‘We have, shall we say, a delicate matter that needs to be addressed…’

‘For God’s sake.’ The home secretary didn’t have time for waffle. ‘You make the average Whitehall mandarin sound like a model of plain speaking. Enough of this elliptical nonsense. I’ve seen you at work often enough to know when you’re concealing as much as you’re revealing. What’s really going on? You said more in one hour of that meeting than I’ve heard from you in all my time in government.’

Clements stared at her in silence for a few moments, debating his reply. ‘What do the words “South” and “Ossetia” mean to you?’

Sarah Garvey studied his expression, searching for irony. ‘One of those dismal former Soviet republics, mired in corruption, run by thugs and gangsters and so poor that they haven’t even got a pot to piss in.’ Then it dawned on her. ‘And, of course, where Antonov was born and bred.’

Clements nodded. ‘That’s about the strength of it, yes. But it’s slightly more complicated than that. The Georgian government was in control of South Ossetia at the time the BTC pipeline was being built in the nineties. As you may recall, UK plc was a primary stakeholder. And, of course, it still is. We had to make sure that the thing would be up and running within the agreed time.’

Sarah Garvey had read a briefing paper on possible ramifications not long after she’d joined the cabinet. The Baku — Tbilisi — Ceyhan pipeline pushed a million barrels of oil a day a thousand miles from Azerbaijan, one of the countries lucky enough to have a shoreline bordering the oil-rich Caspian Sea, across Georgia, passing just south of its capital, to the Turkish Mediterranean coast.

There was no sign of the metre-high conduit above ground, unlike such structures in the Middle East. They’d buried it, which made it tougher to blow up. And, from the Kurdish separatists to the Islamist militants, there were plenty of people who wanted to.

The Turks were feeling pretty pleased with themselves for owning the business end of the pipeline, from where fleets of supertankers ferried enough of the black stuff to keep the 4x4s of the UK and the east coast of America on the road. The US were keeping a weather eye on things from their huge airbase at Incirlik, right on Ceyhan’s doorstep.

The Turks knew they were now such a pivotal part of the process, as far as the US and UK were concerned, that fully fledged membership of the EU was all but guaranteed, however reluctant the French and Dutch might be to have them aboard. The EU-style number-plates some had already fitted to their vehicles were down to much more than mere optimism.

Everyone wanted a piece of the action. Russia had built a pipeline to the Black Sea coast. China was getting stuck in too. Some of the largest untapped energy reserves on the planet — an estimated 200 billion barrels — lay beneath the Caspian. Since the collapse of the Soviet Empire, it had been very much up for grabs — and the UK and US hadn’t wasted any grabbing time. They were pumping west as fast as they could.

Sarah Garvey had the kind of itching in her head that often acted as a prelude to the loud ringing of alarm bells. Oil and war criminals made for a volatile mixture.

Clements continued: ‘Unfortunately, there was resistance from some of the rural population that fell within the pipeline’s footprint. Antonov’s job was to help us to make sure the resistance in Georgia was… er… dispersed.’

The home secretary’s face showed her distaste. The alarm bells were initiated. ‘And how did he achieve that, exactly?’

Clements gave her a thoughtful look. ‘Are you really sure you want to know, Home Secretary? Sometimes it’s better to remain in ignorance of certain… details. I always feel it adds an air of plausibility and conviction to any denials you might be forced to make. If, that is, Antonov is allowed to live.’

She had had enough of his games these past two days. She raised her hand, her forefinger just inches from Clements’s face. ‘Stop!’ Her eyes bored into his. ‘Give me what I need to know. I have hundreds of people who may die at the hands of that madman or those of our own military. Cut the bullshit and get on with it.’

‘Home Secretary, if you insist…’ Clements paused. He was very pleased with himself. He’d thought it would be harder for him to convince this home secretary that she was forcing information out of him. ‘Very well. Antonov was recruited and empowered as our advance man, if you like, clearing pockets of resistance — local politicians who were against the pipeline crossing through national parks, villages and towns that opposed it crossing their land or destroying their buildings, resistance to population relocation, that sort of thing. He… er… cleared the way to allow construction to proceed smoothly, without interruption and to schedule. His engineering knowledge, combined with a deep-rooted ethnic hatred for the Georgians, meant that he was extremely efficient.’

‘Efficient? At what, exactly?’ The home secretary knew she had to ask even though she feared she knew the answer.

‘I’m sure you can guess his methods. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that he was trained and equipped by us. As you can appreciate, Home Secretary, HMG cannot afford to be too squeamish about the way we ensure that our energy needs are met — and, of course, it’s our duty to ensure that our companies always have an edge. Our competitors don’t mind getting their hands dirty when it suits them — and many of them are much less likely to be held to account by domestic politicians and the media.’

Clements paused again, making sure she was primed and ready.

‘As you know, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office makes greater use of Special Forces in pursuit of UK government aims than any other department. Antonov and his men received arms, explosives, training and mentoring from SAS personnel.’ Just in case she hadn’t got the picture fully, he added, ‘On our behalf.’

Clements always felt he was at his most magnificent when he went in for the kill. The weaker and less-experienced politicians often crashed and burned without his even breaking a sweat. ‘Surely the last thing any of us wants is for Antonov to be put on trial. Can you imagine if Hussein, Gaddafi, or bin Laden had gone into the dock and dished the dirt?

‘Can you see the situation the government would find itself in should Antonov be given the platform of a trial at The Hague? He would reveal British involvement in rape, murder and ethnic cleansing — the very war crimes of which he himself stands accused. We created Antonov. We, the UK, are just as responsible for the Black Bears massacre as he is. We showed him how. We created him. We created the Black Bears.’

There was more to come, but now that he had stuck the first couple of inches of his knife into her, he waited, letting the initial pain register before she experienced the full thrust. Clements couldn’t help but feel a surge of pleasure at finally getting her to do what he wanted. Not just to protect his country but, even more importantly, himself.

The home secretary shuddered at the thought. ‘Were you part of this?’

Clements knew he needed to hide his pride. He also knew it was time to inflict more pain. Laszlo wasn’t the only one who knew how to achieve compliance through fear. ‘Indeed, Home Secretary. I was the London contact for certain interested parties. They needed to know when an area was safe to go into, so they could negotiate the land-rights contracts.’

He allowed himself a moment of reflection. His mind wandered back to the days when people like him were not asked what they were doing for the UK. It was enough for a home secretary to know he was doing what he thought was right.

‘In some respects the way Antonov has turned out is quite unfortunate. He cost an incredible amount of money to support. He would still be a rather excellent asset if he hadn’t gone off the rails. The SAS did an extremely good job training him and his men.’

She clearly couldn’t believe what she was hearing, which was exactly the reaction Clements wanted. The truth always got politicians in a stew.

‘Home Secretary, so far the fact that the SAS were involved in this operation has never come to light. However, Antonov is a very thorough and professional operator. Not only could he expose their and, of course, our co-operation with him, he also made it his business to obtain the real names of all those who trained him and his men and, in particular, he knows the real identity of the officer who took part in those illegal operations, even helping to command and control the atrocities on the ground.’

‘What? We allowed—’

‘Please, Home Secretary… We didn’t allow anything. “Gone native” is the expression that best describes that especially unfortunate and potentially damaging episode. The young man was weak and fell easily under the Antonov spell. It was as simple as that.’ Clements knew the pain would be getting unbearable but he needed to twist the knife a bit more. ‘Do you now understand why we must clean up this mess? Our creation must die, at any cost. A non-lethal arrest is simply out of the question. I’m sorry that you have been exposed to the uncomfortable truth.’

It was time to stop. Clements had his kill. But he couldn’t help himself. ‘That is why I strongly advised against his arrest in Hampstead.’

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew that Clements hadn’t told her everything: these people never did. However, she knew he had told her enough. ‘Did you warn Antonov yesterday, so he could escape?’

Clements was clearly taken aback. ‘Home Secretary, I can assure you that I did not. However, I can also confirm that he was warned.’

‘By whom?’

Clements spread his hands wide. ‘Person or persons unknown.’

The home secretary studied his expression for some time, certain that he knew the who, where and when. But Clements remained inscrutable. ‘If Antonov is dead, whoever it was will fade into the darkness and never emerge again. I can assure you, Home Secretary, this whole business will simply disappear.’

Sarah Garvey took a moment to assimilate the information. Her reply, when it came, wasn’t the one Clements was expecting. ‘Why the fuck wait to tell me this now? I should have known it yesterday, and then maybe we wouldn’t be facing this dreadful situation.’ She had so much more to spit at him, but knew it was a waste of time. She took a step forward and stood just inches from Clements, their faces close enough for them to feel each other’s breath. ‘You… fucking… people…’

She stared deep into Clements’s eyes and could see the lies and deceit that lay there. She no longer cared who Laszlo’s warning had come from. That wasn’t her problem. She was now consumed by what he might do — now, on the train, and later, if he was given a voice. ‘What if he gives himself up during an assault?’

Clements smiled bleakly. ‘There are no absolute guarantees in this game, Home Secretary, you know that. He will fight, believe me… but I can assure you that we will be every bit as ruthless. I will make sure that he is dealt with in a way that ensures the best possible outcome.’

Without another word, she stormed back down the corridor and re-entered the briefing room as Woolf’s voice blared over the table speaker.

‘Mr Antonov, there are reports of heavy gunfire. Can you confirm that? Is anyone hurt? If so, can we have access to them for medical treatment?’

Clements turned off the sound. He wanted to make sure there was no doubt in anyone’s mind what the home secretary was about to say. He needn’t have worried. She had everyone’s undivided attention.

‘Now that I have been able to pause for reflection…’ she looked around the table ‘… I will give permission for control to be handed to the military.’

Brookdale went scurrying from the room. One day, Clements thought, he’d have to have his mobile surgically removed from his ear.