Manhunt (32 page)

‘He’s one of the network managers at SVR headquarters at Yasenevo, where you were pretending to have worked. That means he’s had unrivalled access to virtually the entire
database of the SVR.’

‘And that’s why you want him?’

Simpson nodded again. ‘That’s why we want him.’

‘Anything else?’

Simpson paused a few seconds before he replied. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘I told you to hang on to that Browning pistol you took off Stanway, because I think you’re going
to need it. The moment Vauxhall Cross received Yuri’s first email from a cyber cafe in Rome, the SIS staff in the embassy there were ordered to a higher alert state and instructed to start
watching the Russian Embassy and its staff. They weren’t told why, only that a “person of interest” had arrived in Rome, and that the Russians would be trying to find
him.’

He paused again for a moment, apparently considering his next words. ‘Let me explain something about the way intelligence services operate. Every service watches its rivals very closely,
so in London every person who enters the Russian Embassy is photographed by a team of watchers, low-level surveillance specialists, employed by MI5. That’s just in case some brainless British
politician, and that means most of them, or a member of the SIS, or anyone else with access to sensitive information, decides it’s a good time to visit the Russians to offer his or her
services to the opposition in exchange for large handfuls of folding money.

‘And we do exactly the same everywhere else. The only difference is that in Rome the Russian Embassy has to be watched by SIS surveillance officers, not people from MI5, because the
Security Service has no remit to operate outside the United Kingdom. Besides, in Rome they’re likely to find their cameras being jostled by watchers employed by the Italian government and the
Americans and the Germans and the Israelis, and God knows who else.

‘Anyway, the point is that a couple of hours before Yuri sent his email, our people in Rome had already noticed a sudden flurry of activity at the Russian Embassy. Just about every car
they have was suddenly sent out of the place, each one with two or three on board. The SIS people were caught slightly on the hop, and only had a couple of mobile units immediately available. Each
of these units latched on to one of the Russian cars, and followed it. One went to the airport and the other to Rome’s main railway station, and in both cases the occupants jumped out to
start watching the arriving passengers. Each was carrying a sheet of paper with a photograph on it, but none of our watchers could get close enough to take a satisfactory look.’

Simpson shot a glance at a passing waiter, and the man instantly appeared beside their table – a trick Richter found quite impressive, from his personal experience of French waiters.
Simpson ordered two more coffees, plus one for Adamson, and then continued with his explanation once the waiter had moved out of earshot.

‘Now, at that time nobody at SIS Rome had any idea what had happened to stir up the Russians so badly. However, the inference was fairly obvious: clearly they were looking for somebody. It
wasn’t until that email from the cyber cafe arrived at Legoland that we knew exactly what was going on. Somehow, the SVR had not only already discovered that Yuri had done a bunk, but also
that he’d been on his way to Rome. And we also knew that he’d slipped through the net they’d cast, simply because of the time the message was sent to us.’

‘So it’s likely that the Russian Embassy people will still be out there looking for him?’ Richter said.

‘Yes, but it’s worse than that, because SIS Moscow has since reported witnessing a lot of arguments and disputes at Sheremetievo Airport. Angry passengers were confronting airline
officials about being bumped off their booked flights. Within a couple of hours, we knew that those flights were all heading to Rome and other destinations in Italy – and to some parts of
France as well. So the Russians obviously weren’t relying just on their local staff to find Yuri; but were sending out specialist teams from Moscow as well. SIS Rome now estimates
they’ve sent out at least fifty men to Italy.’

‘And in this context the word “specialist” means what, exactly?’ Richter asked, sitting back in his seat as the waiter reappeared with the drinks Simpson had ordered.

‘You can call them what you like,’ Simpson said a few moments later, stirring his coffee thoughtfully. ‘Snatch teams, hit squads, whatever. But their orders will be simple
enough. They’ll be tasked with finding Yuri and hauling him back to Moscow, probably unconscious and strapped to a stretcher. When they get him back to Russia, they’ll stick him in a
nice quiet interrogation room somewhere, then they’ll pull out his fingernails and apply other interesting techniques to ensure that he tells them what they want to know, before they finally
kill him. And if there’s some reason why they can’t actually capture him, they’ll do their best to eliminate him in Italy, or wherever else they find him. The one thing we do know
for certain is that the Russians are desperate to plug this leak.’

Richter stared at Simpson for a long moment. ‘And you really think there’s some chance that I can slip past all these highly trained assassins, find this Yuri and simply take him to
London?’

‘Yes,’ Simpson nodded. ‘Because nobody knows who you are. You’re not a known face to the Russians, so you’ll have no trouble at all until you actually meet Yuri.
Once you’re together, of course, then the risks will multiply because the Russian teams know exactly what he looks like.’

‘And then you expect me to fight my way out of trouble with just a Browning nine-mil and fifty rounds of ammunition? Fight my way past fifty-odd heavily armed Russian assassins with
shoot-to-kill orders? All by myself?’

Simpson shook his head briefly. ‘Not quite by yourself. I’ve talked to Hereford, and Dekker’s been reassigned. He’s going to be your shadow, your guardian angel watching
you from a distance. He’ll cover whatever meeting point Yuri chooses, and he’ll take out any opposition players he notices. Dekker’s a specialist sniper.’

‘Oh, that makes me feel much better,’ Richter snapped. ‘So now the odds are twenty-five to one instead of fifty to one. That’s a hell of an improvement.’

‘If you move carefully,’ Simpson said soothingly, ‘there’s absolutely no reason why you should even encounter any of the Russians. Italy’s a big country and, once
you’ve made contact with Yuri, you should be able to just drive straight over the border into France. And once you’re here, there’s almost no chance anybody would be able to
follow you. France is huge and it offers dozens of possible routes you could take back to Britain.’

Simpson leaned forward and continued. ‘You can do this, Richter. I know you can. You’re stubborn and resourceful, and you obviously think on your feet. You’ll be carrying a
weapon, and you’ll have Dekker watching your back. As of now, the opposition have no idea who either of you are. I’ll give you some contact numbers for me back in Hammersmith, and I
absolutely guarantee you’ll get whatever help I can provide you. Make no mistake, bringing in Yuri is vitally important, and we’ll do everything we can to make sure it
happens.’

Richter grunted. ‘There’s one other thing you need to think about doing right now.’

‘What?’

‘Yuri must have a passport to get out of Russia in the first place, but that’ll be no good now because the Russians will have blocked it for every border crossing. So you’ll
have to arrange a diplomatic passport for him. As soon as I meet him, I’ll email you his picture and the name he wants to use, then you’ll need to send it out here somewhere so we can
pick it up. Otherwise getting him to London’s going to be difficult.’

Simpson nodded. ‘That’s already in hand. But don’t think you have to rely only on commercial transport. If it makes better sense, I can have a private plane or an RAF aircraft,
something like that, on standby, ready to fly down here to pick you up, which will avoid the passport problem altogether.’

‘OK,’ Richter replied, ‘I’ll let you know.’

Simpson’s phone rang again, and he answered immediately.

Richter listened with interest to one side of the conversation.

‘What? No, I’ve heard his name. I mean, I know who he is but I’ve never met him . . . he said what? . . . how did he find out? . . . right. I’ll pass that on.’

Simpson snapped his mobile closed with an irritated expression.

‘What?’ Richter asked.

‘I don’t know exactly how it happened, but now the Americans have decided to stick their oar in the water as well. Just a short while ago, the SIS duty officer was called by a man
named John Westwood. He’s CIA, and a big wheel at Langley, in fact their Head of Espionage. He’s in Rome at the moment and he called SIS yesterday to see if we knew anything about a
Russian defector. Obviously the SIS officer there denied all knowledge of it, because actually only one man at Vauxhall Cross
does
know what’s going on, and he won’t tell
anybody.’

‘So what did this Westwood guy want?’

‘To give us a warning,’ Simpson said. ‘Apparently the Russians have upped the ante and got the Italian police involved. According to Westwood, the hunt for Yuri is now overt,
and the Eyeties will be watching everywhere for him – checking the hotels, the whole nine yards. You’ve got Yuri’s mobile number, so you need to send him a text message.
I’ll dictate it now.’

Richter pulled out his mobile, opened up a blank SMS page, input the number he’d been given for Yuri’s mobile phone, and waited.

‘Right, here goes,’ Simpson said. ‘Tell him: “Airports, ferries, trains, buses, taxis watched. Hotels slash guest houses checked. Autoroute toll-booths watched slash main
roads blocked or watched.” That’s it. I don’t know how Yuri’s travelling, but if he checks his phone for messages, at least he’ll now know what he’s up against.
There’s nothing else we can do for him at the moment.’

Richter pressed the button to send the text, then looked up at Simpson. ‘I presume I’m still heading for Italy?’

Simpson nodded. ‘Yes, proceed as we discussed. It doesn’t look good for Yuri, but if he makes it out, you’ll need to be right there ready to pick him up. And there is one
hopeful sign.’

‘What?’

‘The last email Yuri sent to Vauxhall Cross originated in a cyber cafe in a place called Piombino. It’s a small town on the west coast of Italy, almost opposite Elba, so that means
Yuri’s already well clear of Rome. And the further out he gets, the thinner the search net will become, obviously.’

‘OK,’ Richter said, ‘I hope you’re right. Now I’d better get going. And Dekker will be following me?’

‘He should be on the road within the next half-hour. We put him on a train up to Toulouse earlier and told him to pick up a hire car there. He’s got your mobile number, and
you’ve already got his. Meet him somewhere near Genoa before you rendezvous with Yuri, and then sort out how you’re going to play it.’

Simpson stood up and extended his hand.

Richter stood as well, and shook it. ‘Right, then,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a long way to drive, so I’d better hit the road.’

He strode across to the parking bays fronting the casino, climbed into his hired Ford, backed out and drove away, heading north towards Toulouse.

Tuscany, Italy

At almost the same moment Richter was driving north out of Ax-les-Thermes on the N20, Raya Kosov sat in the passenger seat of Mario’s Fiat Punto, waiting for him to
follow her out of the hotel, after he had paid the bill for their overnight stay. She knew it was still too soon for the man the British would be sending out to meet her to have arrived in Italy,
but she switched on her phone just in case. Almost immediately it emitted the double-tone that indicated receipt of a message.

As she read it, Raya paled. She hadn’t expected that level of surveillance, that quickly. She just thanked her lucky stars that she’d found Mario and managed to get out of Rome the
previous night, because if she’d still been there the Russians and the Italian
carabinieri
would almost certainly have been able to find her. But she’d still have to be very
careful, and Mario would now have to stick to the back roads.

She switched off the mobile, reached over, took a slightly dog-eared road atlas from the glovebox and started studying it.

A few moments later, Mario sat down beside her and started the engine. He drove out of the car park, and then threaded his way through the streets of Piombino, heading towards the main road
which ran northbound along the west coast of Italy. Livorno, which had been the port for the Renaissance cities of Pisa and Florence, lay about fifty miles ahead of them, and Genoa over a hundred
miles beyond that.

‘It’s quite a long way,’ Raya remarked, as she calculated the distances in her head.

‘Yes, but the roads are good,’ Mario replied, ‘so it shouldn’t take us too long to get there. We can take the autostrada.’

‘Actually,’ Raya said, ‘would you mind if we didn’t? This is such a beautiful part of Italy that I’d like to follow the country roads and see a bit more of the
countryside.’

‘The autostrada’s much quicker,’ Mario pointed out.

‘I know, Mario, but it’s soulless and boring. Please, let’s take the prettier route.’

‘Whatever you like.’ He grinned at her. ‘But I don’t really know this area, so you’ll have to navigate, OK?’

‘No problem.’

The obvious route up to Livorno was to follow the coast road, so Raya immediately directed Mario onto a spider’s web of country roads that lay between the coast and the autostrada running
right past Sienna.

They drove through tiny villages whose picturesque names evoked the spirit of Tuscany, like Frassine, Serrazzano and Fatagliano. Some were little more than hamlets, strung along roads so narrow
that in some stretches the only way two vehicles could get by each other was to use special passing places.

It was a slow and sometimes irritating route because of the condition of the roads, but they didn’t see a single police officer or anything else that might give Raya any concern, and that
was far more important to her than their speed of progress.