Spycatcher (7 page)

Lana frowned. “To start with, he seemed inexperienced and headstrong, but nevertheless very clever. Toward the end of the war, though, he seemed totally in control of his work. In some ways he had also grown cold and extremely calculating. And it became clear to me that this unit he worked for, the Qods Force, was in some way testing him, encouraging him to prove himself to them.”

Will's eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“He said to me once that he was the only Qods Force officer in the Balkans, that there were others from his unit but they were merely foot soldiers, that Bosnia was just an overseas school for him. He said that if he could demonstrate sufficient promise in the former Yugoslavia, his masters had significant plans for him beyond the war.”

“What plans?”

Lana raised her palms. “I'll never know. Because NATO joined the war in 1995 and fighting ended almost overnight. He disappeared, and I've not heard from or seen him since.”

Will exhaled deeply. He glanced away toward the far side of the room and began tapping his fingers again. He looked back at Lana. “It benefits me to believe you.”

Lana breathed heavily. “I'm glad. I have told you the truth.”

Will held up a palm. “I told you that it
benefited
me to believe you, not that I
do
believe you—or certainly not that I believe you have told me the entire truth.” Will patted his hand against the breast pocket holding his notebook. “For example, when the war ended, why would you then fly to Rome and present yourself to the British embassy there? Why would you plead to them that you had information about the Iranians' intentions to use their experience from the wars in Yugoslavia to strike Western targets and Arabian Gulf targets? Why would a noble heroine, who was concerned only about saving Muslim lives during the war, ask the embassy to pay her money in exchange for the information she claimed she had, information that was inconsistent and clearly fabricated?”

Lana sighed. “I was desperate.”

“That is certainly possible. There are also a number of other possibilities. One such is that you felt rejected by your former agent handler, the Qods Force officer who was also your lover. You wanted revenge against him and therefore concocted some rubbish about Iranian terrorist plans. You did so purely out of spite.”

“I was fucking desperate and alone.” Lana stood suddenly, and her chair fell backward. “Even though he would never deign to give me his name, I still shared my bed with the man. And then one day he was gone and I was penniless. Yes, I asked your embassy for money, and when they turned me away with a sneer, I did not stop there.” Lana's voice had grown loud and frenzied. “I got on the next available flight to Abu Dhabi. I told the Emiratis a similar story. You know what they did?”

Will said nothing. As he was listening to her words, he was also rapidly processing and calculating the implications of what she was saying. He was starting to feel a sense of optimism about Harry's lead.

“They put me in a prison in their desert for forty days and beat me because they, too, said I was lying.” Lana kicked the prone chair away and then took a step closer to Will. “I'll show you, Nicholas Cree.”

She swung her arms up to remove her sweater. She wore nothing beneath it. Her upper body showed multiple old scars, each at least six inches long. She turned, and he could see that her back was covered with more of the same.

Will sprang up and grabbed her sweater, which he held out to her. He said softly, “Here, get dressed. There was no need to show me your wounds.”

Lana frowned at him, and fresh tears emerged. She pulled on her sweater with shaking hands and said, “Bamboo canes. And they did worse than that. My back teeth and toenails were removed with pliers. I was drowned and then revived at least five times.”

For the briefest of moments, Will wanted to hold her, to comfort her and tell her she would never suffer like that again. But he knew he had to continue to appear threatening. It was a part of his job he detested. He nodded and sat back down. “And I bet that during that horrible forty-day period your anger against your former lover must have intensified significantly.”

Lana sat and lit herself yet another cigarette. She seemed to be calming down. “I tried to tell myself that my anger was futile. I tried to tell myself that he must have been killed by the Serbs or maybe captured by the UN or NATO.”

“Either is a strong possibility.”

She shook her head and smiled. “I was merely fooling myself. He took my maps. He got out of the country alive. I'm certain.”

Will sat quietly for a moment. Then he said, “How do you feel about this man now?”

Lana waved a hand dismissively. “I was a young girl then, full of energy and purpose. But since the end of the war and my experience in Abu Dhabi, I've spent the rest of my life feeling hollow and frightened. I'm approaching middle age now, and all I have to show for my life is four years of doing the right thing in Sarajevo. But even that”—she raised a finger toward Will—“was discarded by him. He used me for what he needed, cast me aside, and sullied the only good memory I have.” She looked around her and then directly at Will. “How do I feel? I feel that he has stolen my life.”

Will nodded slowly. He kept his eyes locked on Lana. When he next spoke, it was with a firm and deliberate voice. “I can give you your life back.”

She frowned. “How?”

He rose from his chair and picked up his overcoat, then turned and looked down at Lana. “I'm going to try to lure him out into the open. And when he's there, you can watch me steal
his
life.”

Ten

S
ixty minutes later Will was in a taxi heading back to Charles de Gaulle International Airport. He took out his medication and popped pills into his mouth. He then realized that today was the first day he'd been without pain; his body was starting to feel strong and confident again. He reached into another pocket and pulled out Ewan's cell phone. He knew that MI6's European Controllerate would conduct a full analysis of all data within the phone, but right now he needed only one number. He found it and dialed.

On the fourth ring, a man answered. “Ewan, I was just thinking about you. Let's meet soon. But nothing serious this time—just a few drinks.”

The man's voice belonged to Harry, and he sounded jocular.

“Harry, this is Charles Reed. I'm with Ewan right now, and he's lent me his phone to speak to you.”

“Ah, Charles. The messenger boy who does not like small talk. What can I do for you?”

Will smiled a little. “Ewan thought we had a good meeting last night. So did I. Listen, there have been some positive developments since we met, and I wondered if we could get together again . . . just so I can run some ideas by you?”

There was a pause before Harry spoke. “Sure. Is Ewan going to join us?”

“Normally he would, but on this occasion it will just be me, I'm afraid.”

“Okay.” Harry sounded unfazed. “There's one thing, though. After our meeting I had to dash straight off and catch a flight to Munich. I had some business problems to attend to in Germany. I thought I'd be back in Bosnia tonight, but it looks like I might be stuck here for a couple of days. Can our meeting wait?”

Will thought for a moment and then said, “It's probably best that we meet sooner rather than later. I can be with you by early evening.”

“Great.” Harry sounded very upbeat. “It means that this old man will have some company tonight. Meet me at my hotel room in the Königshof—it will be a bit more private. Say seven
P.M.
?”

“Done.” Will closed the cell phone and looked out the taxi window beside him. His car was pulling up at the airport. He checked his watch. He had just enough time to get his luggage out of storage and buy a business-class Lufthansa ticket for the early-afternoon flight.

W
ill walked through the grand lobby area of Munich's finest five-star hotel and approached the concierge. He gave the name Charles Reed and said that he was expected by Harry Solberg, a guest of the hotel. The concierge checked a computer screen, nodded, and gave Will a room number and directions to see Harry.

Within two minutes Will was standing outside Harry's room. He pulled out the purchase he'd made at a small shop on Rosenheimer Strasse during his journey from Munich's airport to this hotel. He cupped the purchase in his left hand so that it was held flush against the back of his forearm, out of sight. He pressed the door's buzzer.

“Charles, good to see you.” Harry was dressed in cream slacks and a pale pink shirt. He looked energized and extended a hand, which Will shook. He grinned, baring his white teeth. “Come and have a look at my room. It's incredible.”

Will followed Harry into the room graded superior by the hotel. It was clear that Harry was a man of means who sought luxury. The place was as big as a reasonably large apartment.

“What do you think?” Harry stood with his back to Will, his arms outstretched.

Will stepped forward rapidly. He punched a knee into the small of Harry's back and swept a leg around the man's ankles, throwing his right arm around his throat. Harry fell to his knees. Will brought his left hand up before Harry's face. He placed the tip of the German hunting knife against Harry's right eye. He said nothing, holding the man in his frozen grip.

Harry remained absolutely still. “What in God's name are you doing?”

Will did not reply.

“What have I done wrong?” Harry wheezed the words.

Will did not answer.

“What have I done wrong?” Harry repeated.

Will brought his mouth close to Harry's ear. “Who else knew about our meeting last night?”

“If you mean did I tell anyone else that I was meeting you and Ewan, then the answer is no, I did not.”

“A lover? A business associate? Anyone?”

“Nobody.”

“Somebody knew.” Will tightened his grip. “Because after you left, a professional shot my colleague dead.”

“Ewan's dead?”

“Yes.”

Harry wheezed again. “Mr. Reed, I've had to live my entire life being suspicious of people, and that includes people who might think they are friends or colleagues of mine. I would never have let slip to anyone that I was going to the Inat Kuća restaurant, let alone that I was meeting members of British Intelligence there. I have far too much to lose by being careless.”

“Someone could have followed you.”

“Could have, yes, but to what end? In any case, someone could have followed Ewan. Or you, for that matter.”

“We're trained to spot surveillance. You're not.”

“I thought you said Ewan was killed by a professional.”

Will moved his mouth away from Harry's ear. He thought for a moment and leaned in again. “You were officially retired from service to MI6 over fifteen years ago. Why did you reapproach us after all of that time?”

Harry said nothing, and Will heard him breathe in deeply before exhaling.

“It is not a difficult question.” Will slightly adjusted his hold on the hunting knife while keeping its tip exactly in place against Harry's eye.

Harry breathed again. “I know. But now that you have posed the question, I realize that my response will sound foolish.”

“Under the circumstances, sounding foolish should be of little concern to you.”

Harry groaned before speaking. “Lovers? Friends? I have none. For every million dollars that I have made, I have also made a hundred enemies. And that has suited me just fine. But enemies don't give you adulation.”

“But you decided that MI6 could,” Will whispered into Harry's ear. “Because we spend time with our agents, listen to them, tell them how vital their work is, and make them feel special.”

Harry seemed offended. “Certainly that's what Ewan did for me. You're obviously different.”

“Adulation?”

“I said it would sound foolish.”

Will moved the blade to Harry's other eye. “Well, here I am, spending quality time with you and hanging on your every word.”

He could feel Harry's heart pumping faster through his carotid artery.

Harry sighed. “Charles, you have to understand. I need this. I did nothing to compromise Ewan's safety. I would never do anything to jeopardize my work for you guys.”

“And what exactly is that work?”

“I gave you a name. The woman Lana. You can use her to identify your target.”

“That means you are now redundant.”

“Only if you fail to realize my potential. You can use me in other ways: my knowledge, my contacts—God, you can even use my money if you need to.”

Will tightened his hand around the knife's hilt. He knew that he would have to move the blade only a few millimeters to permanently blind Harry. He frowned as an idea came to him. “I have no need for your money. But I am prepared to test you and your contacts.” He smiled. “I want you to find out if there are any other IRGC officers working in Central Europe. I require only one name. And it is crucial that the person is working in an official capacity rather than covertly, maybe someone attached to an Iranian embassy or working as a military observer. Can you do that for me?”

“There are no other IRGC Qods Force officers working in Europe. The lead I've given you remains the best.”

“I'm not asking you to find me another Qods Force officer. Just a regular IRGC person. Can you do that?”

“If it's what MI6 wants, then yes.”

“Forget MI6. You work only for me now.” Will's lips were touching Harry's ear. “Only me.”

“Yes, yes!” Harry's voice was urgent.

“Good. Now I believe that you and I have a much better understanding of each other. Would you agree?”

“Of course. Under the circumstances, why would I say anything different?”

Will smiled. “Very good, Harry. Very good indeed. But there is still one other thing I need from you.”

“Tell me.” Sweat from Harry's forehead had begun to course down his face.

“The Qods Force commander. You must know who he is.”

“I don't! Nobody did!” Harry shouted the words.

Will slowly moved the hunting knife away from Harry's eye and brought it down against his throat.

“Please, no!” Harry gasped. “Please, no!”

Will's words were now barely audible. “Unlike you, I have no need for company, acceptance, or adulation. All I need is a name. And I'm absolutely convinced that a man like you, a man who by his own admission is so well connected in the Balkans, would not have been able to go about his business during the war without knowing the name of this Iranian.”

Will brushed the edge of the blade up and down against Harry's skin.

“We all gave him names.” Harry's body was shuddering. “But they were our names, not his.”

“You are a businessman. Your brain deals in trades.” Will stopped moving the knife. “The trade I am offering you is beyond obvious.”

Harry's legs began to shake. “A rumor! Just a rumor!”

Will sighed and moved the knife a hairsbreadth from Harry's throat. “A rumor?”

“That's all, Charles. That's all. That's all.”

Will brought the knife up to Harry's eyes. “What do you think I am?”

“God only knows.”

“Maybe I know, too. Or maybe I don't.” He could see Harry's eyes in the reflection on the blade, and they were wide with fear. He wondered if his actions were too much. He decided they were not, because he knew that a man like Harry had to be tamed first before telling the truth. “But for now I'm prepared to play the good intelligence officer and listen to your conjecture and rumors. What did he call himself?”

A fresh sweat emerged across Harry's whole face. He emitted a noise that sounded like a moan. His left arm began to twitch, and then his whole body convulsed. He took several deep breaths before speaking. “Megiddo. We believed that he called himself Megiddo.”