Manhunt (35 page)

He also knew that the only way to start the ball rolling was to go over Zharkov’s head, and he had little doubt how the colonel would react if he did. But he felt he owed Raya that much
and, being network manager, he did have a channel he could use. Because of the crucial importance of database security on the Yasenevo computer system, he was authorized to contact the most senior
security officer directly, bypassing all the normal bureaucratic channels of communication.

All he needed was access to a computer, and now Zharkov had left the office for a few minutes, he had the chance he needed.

Quickly, Abramov opened his internal email account, selected the correct address, security classification and routing priority, and typed a five-line message. When he’d finished, he paused
for a few seconds to check what he’d written. Then, just as he heard footsteps approaching down the corridor, he pressed the Send button, and watched as the message vanished from his
screen.

Palazzo Margherita, Via Vittorio Veneto, Rome, Italy

Just over half an hour later, Westwood replaced the phone.

‘Success?’ Richards asked.

‘Yes.’ Westwood nodded. ‘Langley will be making a formal request to the NRO for all of the “Advanced Crystal” birds – the KH-12 satellites – to
concentrate on northern Italy during their next passes, and until further notice.’

Located in Chantilly, Virginia, the National Reconnaissance Office was responsible for designing, building, and operating all the spy satellites sanctioned by the United States government. The
designation ‘KH-12’ given to the Advanced Crystal vehicles – also known as ‘Ikon’, ‘Improved Kennan’ or ‘Key Hole’ – was unofficial.
Paranoid about security, the NRO now allocated a random-number designation to the satellites it controlled, following repeated press and media references to earlier vehicles in the ‘KH’
series. The final known official use of the ‘KH’ designation was the KH-11 Kennan satellite series, the last one of which, KH-11/10, was launched on 1 March 1990 as part of the STS-36
mission of the Space Shuttle
Atlantis
. The very first KH-12 launch was by Titan IV rocket from Vandenberg Air Force Base on 28 November 1992, and the last known vehicle in the series, still
in orbit, was KH-12/6, launched on 19 October 2005 from the same location.

‘So we have a handful of birds in orbit,’ Richards observed, doubt evident in his voice. ‘I’m not sure how much use a bunch of satellites a couple of hundred miles up is
going to be if we’re looking for one woman on the ground somewhere in Italy.’

‘It won’t be,’ Westwood said, ‘but what they
will
do is allow us to see any incidents that take place on the border without having to rely on your contacts in the
carabinieri
to tell us about them. That’s only as long as one of the Ikon birds is within range, obviously. And if we do see anything happening that looks interesting, I’ve got a
U2 sitting on the ground at Aviano ready to launch at fifteen minutes’ notice. It’s a NASA cab that’s over here to do high-level atmospheric sampling, but it’s still got all
its cameras installed, and they’re dry rather than wet, so it can send the images direct into the TDRSS network. That means Langley will receive them within minutes, and can then squirt them
straight over here.’

The Tracking and Data Relay Satellite System network was a system of communication satellites designed to transfer data from surveillance vehicles – which might currently be on the
opposite side of the planet to the United States – to American ground stations as quickly as possible.

‘Pretty impressive stuff, bearing in mind that Kosov is clearly defecting to the British rather than to us. Just glad I’m not picking up the tab for that lot. But you really think
she’s important enough to justify all this?’

Westwood grinned at him. ‘If she can give us an inside line into Yasenevo, then definitely. The British must be satisfied with her dowry, otherwise they wouldn’t even be trying to
get her out of Italy.’

‘But I thought you said they’d denied all knowledge of her?’

‘They did, and that’s why I’m sure they’re doing whatever they can to find her before the Russian hit squads do. Just in case we can pick her up before the Brits get
their act together, I’ve also got a Lear 60 on its way over here. That’ll land at Fiumicino this evening, and it’ll wait there until further notice.’

He picked up the phone. ‘I think it’s time to talk to the Brits again – just to register our interest, as it were.’

Sunday

Nervi, Italy

The Café Belvedere was located in the Piazza Centrale, a reasonably large open space with a street running through the middle. Close to the centre of the small
town, it was more or less surrounded by three- and four-storey buildings, which were a mix of commercial and residential properties. Colin Dekker had parked his car in a side street about a hundred
yards away from the square, and then carried out a quick surveillance as he checked possible firing angles.

The buildings around the square were too close together for his liking, but a street that opened up on one side of the piazza offered quite a clear view of the Café Belvedere itself. He
strolled along it and quickly picked out one building that looked the most promising. It was an old and somewhat battered three-storey residential block, containing probably four apartments per
floor, and with an open roof where the residents could hang out their washing. As he eyed the top of the building, he could see the edge of a blue sheet flapping in the light wind that was blowing
off the Gulf of Genoa.

It was probably his best option, so Dekker strode confidently along the pavement and entered the building through its unlocked main door. There was no lift, so he took the stairs. Behind another
door, on the top landing, he found a narrow flight of stairs leading upwards to the roof.

Half a dozen washing lines were strung between upright steel posts, and a low parapet extended around the edge of the roof, about three feet high. In one corner stood a small stone-built shed
with a steel door and two windows. Peering through one of the windows, Dekker could see ladders, scaffold poles, paint pots and other equipment, so presumably it was used for storing materials for
maintenance of the building.

More importantly, the space between one side of the shed and the parapet offered an excellent view of most of the piazza at the far end of the street. He could see the whole of the Café
Belvedere, and for a reasonable distance to either side of it. It was probably as good a vantage point as he was likely to find.

Dekker took the stairs down to the street, and returned to his car. He glanced at his watch and found he had almost an hour before the time specified for the rendezvous, and there was no point
in getting into position too early, because that meant there was more chance of somebody spotting him.

He looked round, saw another cafe about fifty yards down the road, walked across to it and ordered something to eat by pointing at a colour picture on the wall behind the bar. Then he picked a
table allowing him a view of his car, and with one eye on his watch settled down to eat his early dinner.

Paul Richter entered Nervi at just after six that evening, and spotted the Café Belvedere as he drove through the Piazza Centrale. There were parking places on the
street, but he didn’t stop immediately. Instead he drove on for another hundred yards, until he was able to turn round and retrace his route. Then he pulled in about fifty yards away from the
piazza, with the vehicle facing in the same direction he’d come from, which was the best way to get out of the town in a hurry.

He checked his watch: 6.17 p.m. Six minutes to go. He hoped Dekker was already in position, and watching his back, because pretty much all he could achieve in six minutes was get his bearings.
He glanced round, making sure that he was unobserved, pulled out the Browning Hi-Power and checked that it was loaded with a full magazine, a bullet in the chamber and with the safety catch on,
then replaced it in the shoulder holster.

He got out of the car, locked it and walked back to the Piazza Centrale, and past the Café Belvedere, trying to spot anything that might suggest trouble.

At 6.20, he turned back. The cafe seemed to be doing quite good business, but there were still a couple of vacant tables outside. He strolled along the pavement towards it, and at exactly 6.23
he pulled back one of the plastic chairs and sat down. As he did so, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the red umbrella he’d bought earlier and placed it on the table in front
of him. And then there was nothing more he could do except wait for Yuri to turn up – assuming he hadn’t already been grabbed by the Russians or the Italians, of course.

After about five minutes a waiter appeared beside him. Richter ordered a
caffè latte
and a glass of water, having memorized the correct phrases from a guidebook he’d bought.
When the waiter returned, he paid him immediately, which would allow him to leave as soon as he wanted.

Richter kept his eyes open, looking all around the piazza for anyone who might be observing him, but saw nothing. Nobody appeared to have the slightest interest in him or what he was doing
there. He wondered inconsequentially just how accurate Yuri’s watch was. Would the Russian really bail out if Richter had been a minute or two early or late? Then he dismissed the thought. As
long as he stuck to the recognition signals, this should work. Yuri
needed
him to be there.

Richter pulled back his jacket cuff and glanced at his watch: 6.38. If Yuri was going to make it to the rendezvous, he needed to appear within the next minute. Richter glanced casually around
the piazza. There was a girl – rather, a young woman – standing beside a shop over on one side, peering in the window, and a couple of men talking together in loud Italian perhaps
twenty yards away. But he saw nobody who looked even slightly like a renegade Russian clerk.

He shifted focus, glancing up at the buildings that surrounded the piazza, wondering exactly which of them Colin Dekker had picked as his vantage point. He was still looking the other way when
he heard a chair scraping across the cobbles by his table, and he glanced back.

The young woman who’d been window-shopping was now standing beside the table, one hand resting on the back of the chair she’d pulled out from under it.

‘Is this seat taken?’ she asked him, in slightly accented English.

‘No, but—’ Richter started to say, but she interrupted him.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘I hate drinking alone, even if it’s just a coffee.’

Richter looked up at her and shrugged, then checked his watch again: 6.40. It looked as if Yuri was a no-show, but at least the girl looked as if she might be pleasant enough company for a few
minutes – before he called Simpson to let him know the operation was a bust.

‘How did you know I was English?’ he asked.

The girl gazed at him, her eyes all but invisible behind her huge sunglasses, and smiled.

‘Somehow, you just looked English,’ she replied, ‘and who but an Englishman would carry an umbrella on such a beautiful day?’ She indicated the compact red umbrella lying
on the table in front of him. ‘Though I wouldn’t have thought red was exactly your colour.’

‘Good deduction.’ He smiled back at her. ‘But that umbrella was the only one I could find.’

The girl nodded, then glanced up as a waiter materialized. She ordered a coffee, then turned back to Richter. ‘I rather like this place,’ she said. ‘So I wonder if you can help
me. Do you know, is there a good hotel in this town?’

To his credit, Richter didn’t react. He just lowered his glass of
caffè latte
to its saucer and glanced round casually before replying. ‘You could try the
Consul,’ he said. ‘I’m staying there.’

The girl’s smile widened. ‘I’m glad that’s over,’ she said.

Richter leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. ‘If your name really is Yuri, and you’re a man, I’m going to have to make some fundamental changes to my sex life.’

The girl laughed. ‘No, Yuri was just a convenience, and a way of adding another layer of anonymity. My name is Raya. Raya Kosov.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Raya. I’m Paul Richter.’

‘Richter? Like a judge in German?’

Richter nodded. ‘Same spelling, but I’m English, as you guessed.’

‘Who do you work for?’

‘Right now,’ he said, ‘I’m not entirely sure. I’m ex-military. I was a Sea Harrier pilot in the Royal Navy, and then I was recruited as a kind of international
courier. But right now I’m sort of on loan to an outfit that works with the Secret Intelligence Service.’

Raya visibly tensed, and Richter guessed that, under her calm and friendly exterior, she was almost frantic with concern. He raised his hand reassuringly. ‘But you don’t need to
worry,’ he went on. ‘I’m not, and never have been, a part of the SIS. That explains why I’m here.’

‘Are you alone?’

‘No, we’re being watched by an officer from the Special Air Service, which is part of our special forces. He’s been sent to make sure nobody interrupts this meeting, or tries
to follow us.’

‘Where is he?’ Raya asked.

‘I’ve no idea. Probably high up, maybe on the roof of one of these buildings, and armed with a sniper rifle. And I’m armed as well, so I reckon you’re quite safe now. You
got my message about the extreme measures the Russians have put in place to find you?’

‘Yes, and thank you for that. I was lucky I got out of Rome as quickly as I did. That way I think I was ahead of the pursuit. So what now? What are your orders regarding us?’

‘Simple. I’ve been told to get you to London by whatever route and method I choose. And, the way things are looking at the moment, that means by car, at least until we get out of
Italy, because every possible form of public transport is being watched. There might also be a problem at whatever border we cross, but we’ll tackle that one when we get to it.’

‘So who else will know how we are travelling, and what route we’re taking?’

‘Just you and me,’ Richter said, ‘and the SAS officer if we think we need him along as well, for protection and another pair of eyes. Nobody else.’