The Hunter

CHAPTER 71

Central Intelligence Agency, Virginia, USA

Monday

09:15 EST

It took a few seconds for the ringing phone to pull Ferguson from his nap and another few before he understood what had woken him. Decades had passed since Ferguson had needed to be on guard while resting, and his once-acute senses had dulled with age and inactivity. He reached out a thin hand to grab the phone. He’d only meant to close his eyes for a moment.

His voice was croaky. ‘Yes?’

‘It’s done.’

‘Who is this?’

It was Sykes. He spoke hurriedly, frantically. ‘We’ve got the missiles, well, two of them, what we could get from them. We’ll go back tomorrow, see what else we can salvage. They doubt we’ll get anything though.’

‘Slow down,’ Ferguson said. ‘And tell me again.’

Sykes spoke more slowly, describing exactly what had been extracted and the situation regarding the remaining missiles. Ferguson took a few moments to digest what he was being told. He sat up.

‘You have two of the missiles? In your possession?’

‘Not one hundred per cent of them, but propulsion, electronics, et cetera. In a truck outside.’

Ferguson stared out of his office window. He felt as though someone had injected him with pure joy.

‘That’s tremendous news. Well done, Mr Sykes.’

‘Thanks.’

Sykes’s toned echoed none of Ferguson’s own happiness. Not that it mattered.

‘Stay in your hotel and keep a low profile tonight, and tomorrow you can see what else can be recovered.’

‘Okay.’

Ferguson hung up. He felt tired, both in mind and body, but at least it was almost over. Just another messy assignment in a lifetime of necessary but untidy service to his nation. A nation that had registered him obsolete. After all those years of faithful service it was surely only right that he receive a generous retirement package.

It would be nice to have more missiles, but the greater the number, the harder it would be to transport and store secretly. Two missiles were plenty. Hell, he only needed to sell one to bank more money than he could ever spend.

Once the dust had settled, Ferguson would be whiter than white. There wouldn’t even be the barest hint he had anything to do with Tesseract or Ozols or the missiles. He thought about all the events that had conspired to create this result while the computer powered up. What could he have done to have made things work out more smoothly? Even with the benefit of hindsight there wasn’t much that should have been done differently. No one could have foreseen Tesseract’s surviving that ambush in Paris. Things had only become messy after that. The one mistake Ferguson knew he’d made was in using Sykes, but fortunately he was in a position to correct that.

His loyal deputy would take the blame for everything. Sykes had the power to have seen this thing through thus far, with the ambition and the idiocy to get himself killed in the process.

Dalweg and Wiechman had been contacted the day before and briefed on what was about to happen and what they were to do afterward, so Ferguson had only one message to send. The email took him seconds to write and gave him considerable satisfaction to send. The email contained just one word.

Proceed.