The Beijing conspiracy

CHAPTER 46

C urtis O’Connor cleared Terminal 2 of Moscow’s Sheremetyevo International Airport without incident and headed across to Terminal 1 for his connecting Aeroflot flight to Novosibirsk, the capital of Siberia. Every so often he paused to scan his surroundings. If the FSB was here, then they must have improved on their KGB predecessors, Curtis thought. Tourist class on Aeroflot wasn’t going to be a lot of fun, he mused, as he joined a long queue at the check-in desk, but backpackers didn’t travel business, although the boys in the passport office at Langley had done some excellent work and Brendan O’Shaughnessy had quite a nice ring to it.

H OBOC нб p CK belied its location. Split by the great Siberian River Ob, Novosibirsk was home to nearly a million and a half people and the third largest city in Russia after Moscow and St Petersburg.

The dead letter drop was in a park not far from the trans-Siberian railway station, the massive monument to Russia’s imperial architecture that still played host to the famous train. Curtis sat on a bench quietly scanning the surrounding parkland. Satisfied no one was watching he retrieved from under a bush the nondescript-looking bag containing gammahydroxybutyrate, a pistol and an M4 Carbine with a collapsible stock. Curtis walked out of the park and hailed a passing taxi.

‘ Rechnoy Voksal ’

‘ Novosibirsk ochyen kraseevily gorad.’

‘ Da,’ Curtis replied, agreeing with the taxi driver’s assertion that the Siberian capital was indeed very beautiful, but not wishing to get into a conversation. Taxi drivers in Russia were not always all they seemed.

Novosibirsk Mountain Trekking was in a small side street near the Rechnoy Voksal metro, and Vladimir Lebed, a slightly built, likeable Russian in his early forties, welcomed Curtis effusively. It was not every day Vladimir received a request to take just one client on a two-week backpacking expedition to his beloved Altai Mountains.

Curtis handed over 26,000 rubles, half the cost of the tour, and climbed into the passenger seat of the four-wheel drive Toyota. His Russian guide hadn’t thought it odd that someone who was backpacking in the Altais might have business in a place like Koltsovo, nor did he quibble about the overnight stay in the one-star hotel Curtis had selected. The Dobrily Dyen, the Good Day Hotel, was in keeping with his new identity, Brendan O’Shaughnessy, and it was only about 500 metres from the apartment block Eduard Dolinsky called home.

Allocating one star to the Dobrily Dyen Hotel might have been optimistic, O’Connor mused. Several Russian workers were playing Durak and drinking cheap vodka at a table in the corner and no one took much notice of either Curtis or Vladimir Lebed. As Curtis ordered two Kupecheskoe 1875s, Siberia’s popular beer, Vladimir sought out the men’s room. Curtis seized his chance, dropping the contents of a small sachet of the gammahydroxybutyrate, more commonly known as GHB, into Vladimir’s drink. Curtis knew that by the time Vladimir returned from the bathroom, the white powder would be completely dissolved. GHB was colourless and odour-less, which was why it had become popular as a date-rape drug in nightclubs. Uncontrolled doses had been known to cause death, but Curtis wished Vladimir no harm and the sachet he’d taken from the bag he’d picked up at the dead-letter drop had been carefully measured to make sure the likeable Russian was only knocked out for twelve or fifteen hours. Enough time for Curtis to get moving towards the designated helicopter landing zone he’d selected high in the Altai Mountains near the border with Kazakhstan. Curtis felt the exhilaration of being back in the field and away from the politics of Washington. Getting Dolinsky out from under the noses of the old enemy was an almost impossible ask, but he’d been in tough situations before and he was sure he hadn’t lost any of his skills. His mind turned to how the Secretary of State might be going with negotiations for the use of Kazakhstan air space for the flight from the big US Ganci air base in Kyrgyzstan, along the border with the Xinjiang Autonomous Region of China. No doubt there would be some incentive, he mused, as Vladimir Lebed returned from the bathroom.

‘Приятного аппетита! Good appetite,’ Curtis said, as the waiter brought the first course of shchi cabbage soup and set it down on the plastic tablecloth.

Vladimir responded with a broad smile.

Ten minutes later Curtis helped him to his room. When Vladimir woke up, he would find the 26,000 rubles Curtis owed him and quite a bit extra as compensation. ‘Who said there’s no honour among thieves,’ Curtis said softly, as he finished binding Lebed’s ankles, arms and mouth.

Leaving the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on Vladimir’s door, Curtis looked up the road towards Dolinsky’s apartment block. The two gorillas from the FSB were still parked outside. An hour earlier, Dolinsky had assured Curtis that he would be able to get out through a back entrance. al-Qaeda were not the only ones to take advantage of internet chat rooms, Curtis thought, as he felt a surge of adrenalin pulse through his veins.