The Will Of The People (Conspiracy Trilogy Book 1) (19 page)

“Oh, most are
on a visit; different group to when you were here last but we’re
virtually full.”

Anderson didn’t question the lie. He sat down opposite
McDowell and passed across the printout. “I just wanted to check
you were happy with your part of the feature before I pass it along
to the
Boston Standard
; as I said before, you’re welcome to use the photos in any
future publicity and I’ll email you the best ones with a copy of
the final version.”

McDowell took
the printout without comment and began to scan quickly through it,
following Anderson’s lead by keeping up the charade. Anderson
waited a few seconds before asking a more pertinent question.

“Is Martin
Rebane about; I was hoping to be able to talk to him?”

McDowell’s
head jerked up, eyes confused, “Martin who?”

“Rebane; has a
house in Boston. I saw his Lamborghini in the car park.” There, it
was done – bridges burnt and all pretence finally at an end. If
Anderson was wrong and Marty wasn’t Rebane, he could always adopt
the usual journalistic strategy of blaming his mistake on
information received.

McDowell
studied Anderson closely, then abruptly he stood up. “Just give me
a minute, Mr Anderson.”

Anderson was
left alone, unsure whether to feel pleased or perturbed, his guess
as to Marty’s identity all-too obviously correct. The seconds
dragged by, Anderson’s nervousness growing with every tick of the
office clock. Confronting the problem no longer seemed quite so
prudent.

The office door
opened and a tall, silver-haired man entered, right-arm extended to
shake Anderson warmly by the hand.

“Martin
Rebane, as requested,” Rebane said, seating himself in McDowell’s
chair. The body language was relaxed, the smile unconcerned. “Now,
how can I help?”

The accent
surprised Anderson: there was the expected American twang but with
just a hint of something else. “Pat McDowell seemed confused as to
who you were. I’m pleased he remembered.”

“Pat was just
being protective. Erdenheim is naturally keen to ensure its guests’
privacy and most of us have better things to do than speak to
wayward journalists.” Rebane gave Anderson a studied look. “Was
there something specific you wanted, Mr Anderson?”

“I was just
wondering what an expert in counter-terrorism and former CIA
officer is doing at Erdenheim, especially one specialising in
Russia. With the present crisis in Moscow, others might also find
it of interest.” Anderson kept his tone polite, more curious than
accusing. He could have thrown Commander Saunders into the mix,
even implied there was some link between the Commander’s death and
Erdenheim, but that seemed somewhere between outrageous and
downright foolish.

A flicker of
concern crossed Rebane’s face, “And you believe there’s a good
story here?”

“You, Pat McDowell, a dozen other Americans and a couple of
Russian speakers with McDowell at the
Farriers
– it all adds
up.”

“To what
exactly?”

Anderson
shrugged, “I’m not sure at the moment but give me twenty-four hours
and I might just be able to turn it into something worth
selling.”

Rebane gave
Anderson a long hard look, almost as though sizing him up. “I sense
you’re jumping to an unfortunate conclusion, Mr Anderson; however,
I guess that’s not something that matters too much in your
profession, just as long as there’s a money-making headline. At
this moment in time, any form of publicity would be unhelpful,
particularly if it’s inaccurate and misleading.”

“Then give me
the accurate and un-misleading version,” Anderson responded. “If
it’s all totally innocent then you have no reason for concern.”

Rebane took
his time replying, “You put me in a difficult position, Mr
Anderson, and it seems I have little choice but to trust your
integrity. Just to be clear, anything said from now on is totally
off the record and I would be grateful if you would turn off your
phone.”

Anderson
didn’t argue, taking out his phone and sliding it the across the
table so Rebane could confirm it was switched off. Now things
really were getting interesting.

Satisfied,
Rebane continued, “It is a difficult world we live in, Mr Anderson;
one where a single terrorist group can hold a city, even a whole
country, to ransom. The British Government, like any other, does
everything it can to protect key infrastructure from terrorist
attack; not just the threat from a bullet or a bomb but the more
insidious one that has effectively brought Moscow to its
knees.”

“Cyber-warfare?”

Rebane nodded,
“If you check your facts, Mr Anderson, you will discover that
Britain’s Intelligence Services have been involved with the private
sector for a decade or more, primarily in the field of
cyber-security. Erdenheim is part of that partnership; similarly,
your government makes use of my expertise in counter-terrorism on
an informal basis. Presently, we are just one several groups
studying the recent terrorist attacks in Russia; if we can help
stop London grinding to a halt like Moscow then Erdenheim will have
earned its keep.”

“Hence
McDowell’s two Russian friends?”

Rebane gave a
half smile, “Russian? Or were they Polish? Perhaps your sources
aren’t quite as reliable as you think… When Pat warned me a
journalist was sniffing around I thought it best to seek advice;
your interest in turn flagged up Adam Devereau and the fact he was
involved seemed of concern to your security services.” Rebane gave
an amused smile, “Are you and Devereau a threat to national
security, Mr Anderson?”

Anderson just
stared at Rebane, totally confused.

“I assume,”
said Rebane, his tone verging on the patronising, “you’re aware
Adam Devereau left MI6 under something of a cloud?”

MI6 –
Britain’s foreign intelligence service; there was too much new
information here for Anderson to take in and make sense of, Rebane
cleverly managing to turn the interview on its head.

“Pat said you
quizzed him about the young man who died in a car crash,” Rebane
continued. “And I imagine you assume we might have had a hand in
George Saunders’ death. There’s no evil conspiracy here; we’re
actually trying to do some good, preferably without the blaze of
publicity. I hope you can understand that, Mr Anderson. Erdenheim
is hardly GCHQ or the NSA but we do our best; unfortunately, the
rapid escalation of the crisis in Moscow has in turn increased the
need for a suitable counter and Pat’s already helped out by
rescheduling some of his clients. Your Government will of course
compensate Erdenheim but I would hate for him to feel the
relationship has created yet another problem.”

Rebane’s
co-operative attitude was starting to become unnerving and Anderson
belatedly tried to get the conversation back on track. “Why
Erdenheim?” he asked testily.

“Its
facilities and Jon Carter’s brilliance make for an impressive
combination,” Rebane replied, his tone still one of restrained
superiority. “We are also working to refine Carter’s computer
simulations for use in anti-terrorist training.”

“A busy life,”
Anderson said, with a trace of sarcasm.

“A life
presently split between the extremes of New York and Graythorp.”
Rebane stood up, choosing to bring the discussion to an end. “Our
secret is in your hands, Mr Anderson; I wish you luck with it. If
you need any more from Erdenheim, I suggest you speak to Pat.”

Young refocused the binoculars and in an instant the
quarter-mile gap between the
John
Finn
and the
Admiral Golovko
become uncomfortably
close. He panned across the Russian frigate from bow to stern,
pausing to take in the weapons systems while confirming his
personal view that the frigate lacked the necessary firepower to
fulfil its multi-functional role. Neither ship had a helicopter
airborne, both sides apparently choosing not to add a third
dimension to what was already a complex dance. A hundred yards aft
of the frigate was the Russian corvette
Soobrazitelnyy
, a smart little
vessel determined to help her larger sister thwart the
John Finn’
s every
move.

Young let the binoculars rest against his chest, thoughts
struggling with the problem of how best to follow his orders. The
Russian blockade had taken NATO totally by surprise and the
diplomats were working overtime to ensure a suitable resolution;
that would take time, and until then the dubious honour of testing
Russian resolve was duly accorded to the USS
John Finn
.

Young had been kept well-informed as to the timeline of the
day’s events, it starting at 8 a.m. Moscow Time when Russia had
privately informed Poland, the U.S. and the U.N. of the immediate
implementation of a naval blockade, together with the closing of
the man-made Baltiysk Strait and the so-called Friendship Pipeline.
Three hours later, in a live TV address, the Russian President had
given a vigorous defence of Russia’s actions against Lithuania,
detailing the physical evidence linking
August 14
with the dacha complex,
before then showing a brief pre-recorded statement from Marek Tamm
confirming his involvement. Next had come a robust condemnation of
Poland, the President claiming Russia had proof of complicity
between the Polish authorities and the terrorists of
August 14
, the location
of a second terrorist base revealed. The forty-minute diatribe had
ended with the formal announcement as to the implementation of a
thirty-kilometre naval and air exclusion zone centred on Gdansk,
Russia’s main demand the handing over of
August 14
’s operatives.

The three hour
delay before the public announcement was seen as a gesture of
compromise from Russia, a final opportunity for Poland to act
against the alleged terrorists. Yet it was now an opportunity
ignored. The news reports gave some indication of Poland’s fury at
Russia’s imperious actions, but for the time being the Polish
President appeared content to let NATO take the lead. The various
commentators seemed confident it was to no-one’s advantage to
further escalate the crisis, and mutual restraint was the new
buzz-word.

This wasn’t
the first time Moscow had chosen the easy option of blocking the
Baltiysk Strait and thus effectively shutting the small Polish port
of Elblag, and the Friendship Pipeline was anything but, with
regular disputes as to transit fees. Unfortunately, the splitting
of the pipeline into the northern route to Poland and Germany, and
the southern to Slovakia, Hungary and beyond, occurred once it had
left Russia and reached Belarus – so a large part of Eastern Europe
was now being starved of oil, not just Poland and the Baltic
States.

Young was far
from convinced Russia was keen to follow the concept of mutual
restraint, and the three Russian warships en route from the
Norwegian Sea were now only a few hours away, having just passed
through the bottleneck of Zealand. So far they had been left
unhindered, but if Poland had its way that could easily change.
Germany might also choose to be difficult, Russia’s actions
indirectly threatening a fifth of its oil imports; of course, they
might decide to be contrary, and join with certain other European
nations such as France and Belarus by applying pressure on Poland
instead.

To Young, it was obvious some form of naval confrontation was
almost inevitable, his own orders very specific as to the use of
minimum force. Russia had stated that the blockade of the Polish
ports of Gdynia, Gdansk and Polnocny was to be total, with no
shipping of any kind – merchant or naval – allowed to leave or
enter, whatever its flag of origin. Now Young had to challenge that
assertion, somehow guiding the
John
Finn
into the naval base at Gdynia without
creating an international incident.

Theoretically,
it didn’t appear to be that difficult a task. Although the long
finger of the Hel Peninsula severely narrowed the entrance to
Gdansk Bay, it was still some thirty kilometres from Hel to a
second peninsula – the Vistula Spit, the latter running west-east
from Poland to Kaliningrad. The latest intelligence suggested
Russia had stationed over thirty vessels along the line of its
blockade, ranging from corvettes to destroyers; then there were the
Naval Air Defence units operating from Kaliningrad. But with just
one ship to guard each kilometre, Russia was relying heavily on her
warships’ ability to threaten and bully, with additional resources
responding quickly to counter any Captain who wished to be
obstinate.

There could
also be as many as four submarines, the unseen threat perhaps more
worrying than the physical presence of a surface vessel. Torpedo,
missile, 130mm shell, or machine gun round – all would be equally
problematic for any merchant ship foolish enough to test the
blockade.

For the
John Finn
, the most immediate obstacles were the
Admiral Golovko
and the
Soobrazitelnyy
, and at
least one of the Russian warships had doggedly stayed between
the
John Finn
and
the Polish coast, or more specifically the main shipping channel to
Gdynia. According to reports, at least two merchant ships had
already received a warning shot across their bows, but so far the
Russians had been wary of trying such tactics with the
John Finn
, choosing
instead to stick with a more literal meaning of
blockade.