Spyder Web

46

Two hours ago, Sir Daniel Long finished a phone call with Jackson Barnett of the CIA. His counterpart in the American intelligence community had just forwarded some startling news that one of the industrial spies, currently under surveillance, might also be a former Soviet agent. Barnett had asked that the new information about Alexandra Roe be verified by British Intelligence’s high-level source. What disturbed Long most about Barnett’s call was that if the information that the CIA had uncovered about Roe was genuine, then he should have already known about it. After the call, Long requested a driver for a trip out to the cottage — a country estate that British Intelligence used as a safe house.

The ninety-minute trip into the English countryside was uneventful, if not downright depressing. The past two days had seen nothing but rain and clouds over the British Isles and the weather didn’t help Long’s mood. A sense of betrayal burned inside of him as he looked over the pages that Barnett had sent, wondering what else he hadn’t been told by the former mole.

The two black Austins that formed Long’s entourage cleared the cottage’s security and pulled into the circle drive by the main entrance. Long could make out the shapes of security officers, their collars turned up against the driving rain, patrolling the estate’s perimeter. A guard with a large umbrella met Long at the car and escorted him into the main house. Long took off his wet mackintosh and handed it to the guard.

‘Where is he?’ Long asked the duty officer curtly.

The duty officer knew instantly that Long was not here to exchange pleasantries. ‘In the library, sir. Through there.’

Long moved quickly across the foyer and through the archway that marked the entrance to the library. A fire roared in the mammoth stone hearth, fighting back the chill in the damp air. In an ornately carved wing-back chair sat an old man deeply engrossed in a book. The man didn’t look up from his reading; he simply gestured for Long to take a seat in the adjacent chair.

After a brief moment, Yakushev marked his spot and closed the book, turning his attention toward Long. ‘I don’t know how many times I have read Homer’s Odyssey, and yet I never tire of it. This is an especially good translation. Sir Daniel, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company on such a dreary day?’

‘I want to know about your deep-cover agents in the West, all of them,’ Long demanded.

‘I have given you everything there is to know. You and your predecessors were aware of all operatives under my control.’

Long could feel the folded pages of Barnett’s fax in his suit pocket. ‘Are you absolutely sure of that?’

Yakushev’s cordial manner melted into a scowl. ‘I worked for British Intelligence for over thirty years, inside the Soviet Union. Decades of service that nearly cost me my life on more than one occasion. I cannot believe that you would question my integrity now.’

‘Andrei,’ Long said, trying to smooth Yakushev’s ruffled feathers, ‘you are still considered our most prized asset of the Cold War, and your honor remains intact. What I am questioning is the completeness of your disclosure. Do you recall the files that were recovered from your dacha after it burned to the ground, the ones that the Americans now possess?’

‘Yes, we’ve gone over this material already.’

‘Yes, we have,’ Long said, reiterating the point. ‘You positively identified those named in the files as operatives under your personal direction. We sanitized your confirmations and reported back to the CIA that the files were genuine. Another file has turned up under highly suspicious circumstances.’

Long handed Yakushev the pages of Barnett’s fax. ‘Is this woman one of your agents?’

Yakushev scanned the report and, slowly, the fire of indignation faded from his eyes. After a silence, Long pressed again for an answer. ‘Do you know her?’

‘I know Anya,’ Yakushev admitted nostalgically, ‘and yes, she worked for me.’

‘Then why didn’t you tell us about her?’ Long barely kept the anger out of his voice. ‘We have no report from you of her activities. According to this fax, she’s been in place for almost twenty years.’

‘You were not told because it was not important for you to know,’ Yakushev shot back.

Long couldn’t guess what hold Roe had on Yakushev, but the former spymaster was obviously trying to shield his agent. ‘Tell me about Roe, and why you are so keen to protect her. It’s important.’

‘Please have the recorders turned on, Sir Daniel.Anya’s story is a long one.’

A security officer nodded to Long a few minutes later, indicating that the estate’s tape-recording systems were on. The house cook brought out a tea service for Long and Yakushev before leaving quietly.

Long started the debriefing. ‘Tell me about Anna Mironova.’

Yakushev went into the long story of how he had met the young girl with criminal tendencies during a training exercise; how he took her under his wing, trained her, groomed her for life in the West. Long realized quickly that Yakushev’s relationship with Mironova was far different from the usual bond between agent and controller. Long listened quietly as Yakushev described young Mironova’s evolution into a deep-cover agent. Yakushev drew his narrative to a close with the story of their last meeting, during the attempted Soviet coup, when he had set Mironova free.

‘Why did you hold this information back?’

‘I thought that I had destroyed all records relating to the Cormorant that night and that Anya would be free to live her own life. I have given you every agent who ever worked for me, all but Anya. Anya was different, and more than just an agent to me. She was like me, orphaned in a hostile world, with only her wits to keep her alive. She had the natural talents to make a great spy, and she succeeded only because I sheltered her from the ideological nonsense that they force-fed recruits at the Andropov Institute. Anya was special; she was like a daughter to me. That is why I set her free and why I didn’t tell you about her.’

After many interviews with the former KGB spymaster, Long thought that he had developed an understanding of the man. Yakushev’s strong personal feelings toward Mironova added a new dimension to that understanding. ‘Are you aware of what she is doing now?’

‘No. I have not seen or spoken with her since August of 1991.’ Yakushev thought about the night the coup started; about Anya killing the KGB assassin that had been sent for him. ‘If she followed the news accounts from Moscow during those days, she probably believes that I am dead.’

Long believed that Yakushev was telling him the complete truth. Moscow had been in chaos in the days after the coup. His people spirited Yakushev out of the Soviet Union with a combination of false papers and hefty bribes. Since that time, Yakushev had been a quiet guest of the British people.

‘Sir Daniel, what has aroused your interest in Anya?’

‘It appears that your pupil has become an industrial spy.’

‘A good use of her skills. She’s probably making a handsome living in the private sector, more so than her meager wages as a servant of the Soviet state.’ Yakushev laughed.

‘This isn’t a joke. Mironova is tied up with a British business consultant and suspected dealer of stolen technology named Ian Parnell. The two of them are currently providing services to a certain Chinese intelligence officer who once caused some of your people a bit of trouble.’

Yakushev felt his stomach tighten. ‘Kang Fa?’

‘Yes. Kang is in London right now, working with Parnell and Roe to steal ciphering technology from an American computer corporation.’

Yakushev’s hands clenched the soft leather armrests of his chair. Even though they had never met, Yakushev knew that Kang Fa had been personally responsible for the deaths of several KGB agents over a fifteen-year period. In Moscow Center, Kang was regarded as a ruthless, but effective, agent who completed his operations by eliminating any loose ends. Unless something drastic was done quickly, Anya would be killed once her usefulness to Kang had ended.

‘Would you find it helpful to have an agent inside Kang’s operation?’

‘Roe?’ Long questioned.

‘Yes. I think if I contacted Anya, I could persuade her to assist you. Anya is very intelligent. I’m certain that she has some sense of the gravity of her situation, and a familiar face, at the right time, might be just what she needs to extricate herself.’

Long massaged his graying temples, weighing Yakushev’s offer. Roe would provide the significant edge, but only if she could be trusted. ‘You’ve given me a lot to think about.’

‘Then you’ll consider my offer?’

‘Yes, but that’s not a promise that I’ll act on it.’ Long stood and smoothed out the wrinkles in his suit coat. ‘I’m going to have to mull this one over, but I’ll leave a copy of the case file for you to review. I’d also appreciate it very much if you would check your memory again to see if there’s anyone else you might have neglected to tell me about.’

‘Thank you. I’m certain that you’ll do what’s necessary.’