The Will Of The People (Conspiracy Trilogy Book 1) (21 page)

“What led
Rebane to mention Adam Devereau?” Charlotte asked curiously. “And
he didn’t need to tell you Adam used to work for MI6.” She hadn’t
anticipated Anderson turning up at the agency with a welcome
mid-morning coffee in hand determined to distract her, and she was
in two minds as to how to deal with him. “Maybe he was just testing
you?”

Anderson
hadn’t seen it that way at the time, but he now wondered whether
Charlotte might not be right. He tried to recall the exact words,
realising that perhaps the conversation’s sudden lurch onto
Devereau was a bit forced.

“Testing me?
On what?”

“As to whether
you’re aware of Adam’s past connection with MI6.” Now totally
unable to concentrate on work, Charlotte decided the easiest option
was to give Anderson and coffee her full attention; it was either
that or tell him to bugger off.

“Well, it was
nice someone told me,” Anderson responded, sounding slightly
indignant.

“Mum wasn’t
sure how relevant it was,” Charlotte said, becoming defensive. “And
I was forbidden to mention it. In any case, you can hardly complain
when you forgot to mention that Marty was Martin Rebane. I thought
this was joint effort, not every man for himself.”

“I wasn’t
certain,” Anderson said, sounding only a little contrite. “I was
making a lot of it up as I went along and obviously should have
asked much more, especially about Erdenheim. When Rebane threw in
Devereau and MI6, it just confused me.”

“It doesn’t
take much,” Charlotte said, avoiding his eye whilst sipping her
drink.

“I’ll ignore
that. Rebane was definitely telling the truth about private
companies helping out with cyber security; so it’s all plausible.
He just seems unnecessarily eager to keep everything secret –
surely Erdenheim would get more kudos from publicising its
government links.”

“You would
have thought so,” agreed Charlotte. “Yuri and Lara – so not Russian
after all?”

“Maybe, maybe
not; we somehow need to tease out the facts from the story Rebane’s
concocted. And at the moment, I haven’t a clue how to do that.”

“You said
Rebane’s accent was unusual and his actual country of birth might
be a useful start. Hang on a sec...” Charlotte put down her coffee
to deal with the office phone, switching instantly back to estate
agent mode.

While waiting,
Anderson tried a surname search, wondering if Rebane might actually
be Russian-born.

“Rebane’s Estonian,” he announced, once Charlotte had ended
her call. “Not definite, but likely. His surname means fox
apparently and it’s about as common there as Walker is in the UK.
In which case, shouldn’t he be helping
August 14
rather than trying to stop
them?”

Charlotte gave
him an angry look, “You can’t condemn everyone from Eastern Europe
just because of a few extremists.”

“Just a vague
thought,” Anderson said undeterred. “Thanks for the advice, I’ll go
and see who else I can annoy...”

* * *

Monday was
always a quiet day, and without Anderson to bother her, Charlotte
could easily cope with the usual influx of email and phone calls,
plus the occasional personal caller. Charlotte and her business
partner varied their hours to suit, more or less keeping to a
five-day week, with two part-time staff filling-in when necessary.
Contrary to her outward show of annoyance, Anderson’s visit had
been a welcome diversion, although he had an arrogant streak she
always felt the need to counter, something not helped when his wild
assumptions – or perceptive deductions as Anderson liked to call
them – turned out to be correct.

Jessica’s plan to share the burden of reading all three of
Zhilin’s books might not have met favour with Anderson but
Charlotte had been more receptive, borrowing
The Failures of Counter-Terrorism
and managing to get past the first hundred pages. Now with
time dragging, she decided to work on her own perceptive
deductions.

The veracity
of Rebane’s story would seem to depend in part on the nationality
of Yuri and Lara, and Charlotte followed Anderson’s success by
focusing purely on the book’s acknowledgements. One name at a time
she began the challenging task of matching each of the thirty-four
names to an actual person, her task made a little easier by
assuming everyone on the list had some connection with terrorism,
be it job-related, as a consultant, an academic, or even as an
ex-terrorist. Name, age, sex, nationality, expertise and internet
link were all duly recorded onto her phone.

By late afternoon Charlotte had found all but nine and she
now racked her brain to recollect everything Anderson had said
about Yuri and Lara, his comments in turn culled from Rob at
the
Farriers
.
Common language Polish or Russian;
Lara, in her fifties, possibly blonde, good English but probably
not American; Yuri, fortyish, English not as good as Lara’s.
It wasn’t a great deal to go on but it would have
to do.

None of the
men came anywhere close, well over half of them American; however,
one woman was an encouraging match to Lara’s profile – Klaudia
Woroniecki, age 55, Polish, a political consultant and foreign
affairs analyst. Appointed in November to Poland’s National
Security Bureau, her official title of Special Assistant to the
President and Senior Director for Counter-terrorism was
particularly impressive, Charlotte downloading a couple of photos
for future reference.

Charlotte sat
back in her chair, pleased with her afternoon’s work. The
thirty-four names gave a snapshot of Martin Rebane’s professional
associates and whilst it would be foolish to put any faith into her
deductions, perceptive or not, Charlotte’s possible success in
identifying Lara might – if only for a second – smooth away
Anderson’s slightly superior and always annoying frown.

* * *

Martin Rebane stood by the open window and took a long drag
at his cigarette, his body welcoming the nicotine as a long-lost
saviour. Of late it was threatening to become a regular
transgression, the cigarette helping to ease the stress of another
difficult day. And where
August 14
was concerned, new problems were never far from
his thoughts.

Despite his
advancing years, Rebane was still able to attract the admiring
stares of younger women; his obvious success might partly influence
the initial look, but the darkest of blue-eyes set off by
silver-grey hair would always rate a second glance. Born near the
city of Tartu in Soviet-era Estonia, from Rebane’s early memories
two images stood out: protective, hard-working parents, their love
for each other and their son never doubted, and a frail, kindly
grandmother who had spent most of her evenings instilling in her
young grandson an appreciation of his Estonian heritage. Then, in
the space of a few months, twelve year-old Martin’s grandmother had
lost her long battle with cancer and his father had been crushed to
death in a freak accident at work. His mother had struggled on, but
there had been too many shocks too close together, and eight months
later she too was dead. Rebane had spent the rest of his youth in a
State Orphanage, a harsh regime made bearable by the occasional act
of kindness and the hope of a better future.

With his every
waking moment bombarded by images of Communist and Soviet ideology,
such ideals were the one stable but hated element of his teenage
years, and Rebane’s growing sense of national identity had quickly
become a confusion of conflicting loyalties. Determined to break
out of the cycle of poverty, Rebane had worked hard, and was duly
rewarded with a scholarship to read Politics at Tartu State
University. Estonian Independence had brought with it a more
personal bonus and with his tutor’s backing Rebane took up a place
at Oxford. The experience was close to a revelation, the academic
rigour of Oxford ensuring he had continued to thrive, and a
long-standing interest in the differing motives of terrorist groups
had led to the first of many such articles. From Oxford, it was on
to an eight-year stint as a journalist, based in the United States,
Rebane gaining U.S. citizenship in 2003. The CIA had then come
calling.

Talent, hard
work, and a regular stream of articles established Rebane as an
acknowledged expert in his field, his expertise ensuring he
maintained strong links with the world’s security agencies even
after he had left the CIA. Despite such success, he had never
forgotten the lessons of his youth, ever conscious of Estonia’s
long and difficult struggle for independence.

Purely as a theoretical exercise, Rebane had sought to find a
way of removing the last vestiges of Russian influence and so
securing Estonia’s treasured sovereignty. An off-hand comment to a
Polish colleague had brought an unexpected response, followed soon
after by a meeting in New York. People of influence seemed to share
Rebane’s concerns and more to the point were willing to fund his
ambition. If Rebane really had the know-how and contacts to test
Russian frailty, then it would be foolish to ignore such an
opportunity, the solution one essentially brought about by the will
of the people,
August
14
’s role purely that of creating the
right environment to ensure success.

In the years
since the end of the Cold War, Russia and the West had seen a surge
of terrorist attacks and ethnic rivalry, and the national unity
provided by a common enemy had evaporated as people’s perception of
the threat had changed. Rebane simply wanted to channel people’s
everyday frustrations to a more effective end, his co-conspirators
a relentless mix of manipulation, deceit, and terror.

McDowell and Carter had helped Erdenheim become a surprising
success as a management centre, almost outshining its covert role
as an intelligence base and centre of operations for
August 14
. To some,
Boston might have seemed an odd location, but its small port and
the town’s vibrant ethnic mix ensured Rebane’s European associates
could come and go almost unnoticed. The town’s large Polish
community had also proved to be an excellent source of occasional
intelligence, bypassing the more official routes. Overall,
Erdenheim had proved invaluable, its cutting-edge facilities and
bespoke computer simulations giving
August
14
a further advantage.

Now, a combination of bad luck and bad judgement was
threatening to bring Erdenheim to the attention of Britain’s
security services. George Saunders’ unannounced visit in response
to Anne Teacher’s concerns had caught Rebane off guard, something
subsequently provoking the Commander’s interest; within days he had
used past contacts to probe and enquire, pushing the boundaries
well beyond just idle curiosity. With unease growing amongst
August 14
’s backers, the
decision had been made to terminate him as soon as practicable, the
fickle nature of luck showing that the Commander’s murder had been
a prudent choice, then with Anderson’s arrival a completely
pointless one. Darren’s Westrope’s accident had thrust Erdenheim
into the spotlight, attracting the unwanted interest of villagers
and local journalists. If George Saunders had still been alive it
would doubtless have spurred his pursuit of Erdenheim, but in place
of Saunders, the coincidence of two sudden deaths had instead
tempted Anderson to investigate further. A stubborn and perceptive
old man traded for a persistent and slightly less perceptive
younger one.

Anderson was clearly playing his own devious game, guesswork
and conjecture helping him stumble towards a confused
interpretation of the truth. McDowell hadn’t helped, his failure to
appreciate the dangerous combination of jet lag and alcohol
resulting in more public embarrassment for Erdenheim, and something
else for Anderson to get his teeth into. The three-way conversation
at the
Farriers
had supposedly revolved around trivia, nothing controversial,
McDowell almost blasé as to the long-term consequences of his
actions.

Anderson’s
latest visit to Erdenheim had seemed a final chance to convince him
there really was no story here, and Rebane had steered as close to
the truth as he had dared, concerned that Anderson might already
know enough to recognise any obvious inconsistency or falsehood.
Sadly with Adam Devereau now seemingly involved, that could well
prove a very dangerous strategy and could Rebane really afford to
step back and continue to do nothing?

Anderson and
Devereau were not the only ones whose interference was proving
unwelcome, and the film footage of the camp in Lithuania was merely
the latest example of unsolicited meddling. Whilst such revelations
had helped accelerate Russia’s internal crisis, the Kremlin’s
response had gone far beyond the anticipated diplomatic bluster and
eventual sanctions, the Gdansk blockade inflaming tensions
throughout Europe. The final outcome was impossible to predict,
even for Carter and his proven computer simulations, and well
beyond anyone to control.

In Moscow,
August 14
had lost far too many valuable assets to remain
effective, the high mortality rate highlighting the FSB’s
unexpected and unwelcome fight-back. The chance of reinforcements
from the facility at Gdansk was also disappearing by the hour,
Poland reacting to the Russian blockade by placing a police cordon
around
August 14’
s training camp, its occupants effectively under house
arrest.

Additional
resources would now need to be actioned ahead of time, their
utilisation a delicate balance between breaking the Russian
Federation apart and driving it back towards Soviet-style
totalitarianism. As a result, Erdenheim could no longer maintain
its dual function, and the Management Centre was having to tighten
its belt to cope with this final phase. Erdenheim’s normal
timetable had now been completely abandoned, all courses cancelled
with immediate effect – apologising to a set of very unhappy
clients somehow seemed the least of their problems.