Games Traitors Play (29 page)

‘As far as we know, the facts are these,' Harriet Armstrong said, addressing a meeting of COBRA in the government's underground Crisis Management Centre. MI5, MI6, GCHQ, the Joint Intelligence Group, the Joint Terrorism Analysis Centre, the Defence Intelligence Staff and Special Branch were all represented by their heads, a measure of the gathering's importance (number twos or threes were usually sent). The Prime Minister was chairing the meeting, flanked by the Home Secretary and the Foreign Secretary. The Chief of Defence Staff was also in attendance, along with the Chief of the Air Staff.

‘There are a number of possible domestic targets over the coming forty-eight hours, which we'll come to in a moment. In the meantime, Cheltenham' – a nod to GCHQ's director, sitting on Armstrong's left – ‘has picked up a raised level of chatter, but I think Marcus will be able to enlighten us further on Dhar's possible intentions.'

The handover was brusque rather than warm. At an earlier meeting in Armstrong's office, Fielding had persuaded her not to go into any details about Marchant's attempt to recruit Nikolai Primakov. She had agreed, but it was clear she still resented Fielding for excluding her from other operational details.

‘Thank you, Harriet,' Fielding said. ‘I'll keep this short. We believe Dhar was taken from Morocco last month by the Russians, who have offered him protection in return for a shared stake in a state-sponsored act of proxy terrorism. What that act is, we're not sure, but it appears that Dhar has put aside a previous reluctance to strike against UK targets.'

‘What about Daniel Marchant's kidnapping by the SVR?' asked the head of JTAC, looking across at Armstrong for support. ‘I assume there's a connection.'

‘We're not certain it was the SVR,' Fielding interjected.

All eyes turned to Armstrong, who paused before answering, keeping her own eyes down as she shuffled some papers. A Russian operation on the streets of London was her beat. ‘Preliminary reports have established that the kidnappers were Russian, but we can't be sure they were SVR. D Branch is still working on it.'

Surprised by her support, Fielding tried to acknowledge Armstrong, but she didn't look up. He had expected her to confirm the SVR's involvement, make life more difficult for him.

‘In answer to your question,' Fielding said, ‘Marchant, one of our most gifted field officers, has been on Salim Dhar's trail for a number of months. After the terrorist attack on the London Marathon, he wanted to travel to Morocco, where he had good reason to believe that Dhar was in hiding, possibly being shielded by the Moroccan Islamic Combatant Group in the Atlas Mountains. Unfortunately, the Americans insisted that he stayed in Britain. It was a deeply frustrating time for all of us. After a year, we got our way and dispatched him to Marrakech. He was closing in on Dhar when he was exfiltrated by the Russians in an unmarked Mi-8 helicopter. He returned to London and was establishing Dhar's location through an SVR contact when he himself was seized.'

‘What are the Russians saying?' the director of GCHQ asked.

‘They're denying everything,' the Foreign Secretary replied, glancing at the Prime Minister. ‘But it seems that Dhar had become too hot for Tehran, and Moscow took him on. We've protested formally about Marchant's disappearance and enquired through back channels about Dhar.'

‘Just as the Russians denied that two of their MiG-35s were over Scotland,' the Prime Minister said. The incursion had made his coalition and its armed forces the laughing stock of NATO, giving him no option but to accept his Defence Secretary's resignation. The MiGs had turned around and were halfway across the North Sea before the Typhoons were even airborne.

‘We're working on the assumption that the violation of UK airspace is in some way connected with Dhar,' Fielding continued. He knew it for a fact, of course, but he could never reveal that Marchant, one of his own agents, had facilitated the incursion in order to meet Dhar. Or that Paul Myers at GCHQ had also been involved. The breach had been put down to a cyber attack by Moscow, one of many in recent months.

‘Which is why this weekend's RIAT, the Royal International Air Tattoo at Fairford, is top of our list,' Armstrong said. ‘We've also got a Test match at Lord's against Pakistan, which could be a target, given Dhar's connections, and WOMAD, the world music festival in Wiltshire, which is less of a security worry, although I gather there was a bit of a disturbance in the Qawwali tent last year.'

The faint murmur of laughter released some of the tension in the room. Armstrong enjoyed being centre stage, Fielding thought. Not everyone appreciated her stabs at humour, or her Johnsonian memos on poor grammar. In another life, she would have been headmistress of a public school. The subcontinent had knocked some of the pomposity out of her manner, but not quite enough.

‘The good news is that Fairford is already a secure site,' she continued, ‘with a perimeter fence protected by the Americans.'

‘The bad news?' the Prime Minister asked. Armstrong looked across at the director of the Defence Intelligence Staff.

‘Washington is using the air show to showboat a big arms deal with Tbilisi,' he said, taking over from Armstrong. ‘They're currently equipping the Georgian air force with C130 cargo planes to replace their ageing fleet of Antonovs. The US has also agreed to lease them F-16 fighter jets to replace their SU-25s, most of which were shot down by the Russians in the 2008 South Ossetia war.'

‘An arms deal that Moscow is obviously far from happy about,' the Foreign Secretary said.

‘Given the MiG débâcle, shouldn't we have our Typhoons and Tornados airborne all weekend?' the Prime Minister asked. ‘Over Lord's, Gloucestershire and Wiltshire?'

‘If only that were possible,' the Chief of the Defence Staff said.

‘How long's the show?' the PM continued, ignoring the jibe. The RAF was locked in acrimonious discussions with the coalition about cuts to Britain's fighter-jet capability.

‘Seven and a half hours of flying time.'

‘Do what you can,' the PM said, looking at his watch.

‘The US base commander at Fairford is an old friend,' the Chief of the Defence Staff said. ‘I'll speak to him. Personally, I think it's highly unlikely the Russians would try anything, particularly on a weekend when there's so much hardware on the runway. The F-22 Raptor will be in town. The violation of our airspace, while deeply regrettable, was a one-off, a distraction. A Test match against Pakistan at the home of cricket is a far more probable target.'

‘I agree,' Ian Denton said. There was a newfound confidence in his voice that surprised Fielding, who was sitting next to him. ‘RIAT's the largest military air show in Europe. It's an American-run base, and security is always very tight. The Test at Lord's strikes me as a more likely target.'

Denton might be right – perhaps the MiGs were just a distraction – but Fielding doubted it. He'd been weighing up the possible options ever since Armstrong had alerted him to the air show. Marchant had been asked to help with the MiGs, an involvement that nobody else around the COBRA table knew about. Now he had been taken to join Dhar, wherever he was. In Fairford, with its American hosts and Georgian guests, Dhar and the Russians had found a mutual target.

‘You are only carrying two Vympel and two LGBs, so we've loaded you up with four 1,500-litre drop tanks, two under each wing,' Sergei said over the r/t to Dhar, who was in the rear cockpit of the SU-25, where the instructor normally sat. It was raised a little, giving him a good view of Marchant, who was strapped into the seat ahead, listening in on the conversation. The avionics and weapons suites were identical in both cockpits – full dual control – but Sergei had disabled them in the front.

Marchant had met Sergei only briefly. Dhar spoke warmly of him, but the Russian had shunned eye contact as he had inspected the plane's undercarriage in the hangar. Afterwards, when he handed Marchant an ill-fitting flying suit and helmet, he had again avoided his gaze. There was a haunted look about him, Marchant had thought.

‘Distance to target is 2,875 kilometres,' Dhar said, reading from a sheet of waypoints in the clear-panel leg pocket of his flying suit. ‘And the
Grach
has a ferry range of approximately 2,500 kilometres. “Do the math,” as our American idiots like to say.'

‘The extra fuel and a good tailwind should get you there,' said Sergei.

Should?
Marchant could have done without the mordant banter. He closed his eyes and tried to picture what lay ahead. Dhar had finally agreed to let him fly with him. Marchant wasn't sure if it was a reflection of how much he trusted or distrusted him. Either way, it had bought him precious time in which to work out what to do.

‘We can be martyrs together,' Dhar had joked, making no mention of a return journey.

Earlier, Dhar had revealed their route – north into the Barents Sea, south-west down the coast of Norway into the North Sea, and then west into UK airspace – but there had been no talk of the target. Whatever it was, timing was evidently crucial. Dhar had checked and double-checked windspeeds on the journey, going through the waypoint ETAs several times with Sergei.

Marchant had already clocked the two missiles on the wings' hard points. Air-to-air suggested that Dhar expected airborne company, but why not a full complement? And now Sergei had mentioned two laser-guided bombs for a ground target. It was a tailor-made suite of weapons. But for what?

Marchant glanced around the cramped cockpit at the array of dials. The Jet Provost he had once flown in had been privately owned by an ex-RAF friend of his father. Taking off from Kemble airfield, near the family home in Tarlton in the Cotswolds, had felt like rising into the sky on rails: surprisingly smooth and steady. He suspected the SU-25 would be a rougher ride.

As the plane began to roll forward, Marchant peered through the mist at the godforsaken scenery. Dhar had taxied to the far end of the main runway. A light drizzle was falling. All Marchant could see was pine trees. The control tower was a long way off, barely visible in the murky distance. Halfway down the runway on the right were two MiG-29s. He guessed that they must be on permanent standby, like the Typhoons at RAF Leuchars and Coningsby that would be scrambled if Dhar showed up on the radar. Then he noticed the armed guards, dotted about on the periphery of the trees, out of sight of any US reconnaissance satellites. He had only spotted the two guards outside the hangar door before. Security had been ramped up for their departure.

Marchant thought again about Primakov, the sharp intake of breath just before he fired, as if the Russian was bracing himself. After the shooting, Dhar had not wanted to talk, preferring instead to spend time on his own behind the curtain. Marchant assumed that he was praying, not for the Russian's soul but for a successful
jihad
. As far as Marchant could tell, no one else seemed to be running the show or telling Dhar what to do. He was very much his own man, ignoring the guards and talking only with Sergei before climbing into the cockpit. There was a quiet confidence about Dhar, a self-assurance that gave him an air of authority.

‘Comrade Marchant?' It was Sergei's voice on the r/t.

‘Yes?' Marchant said, taken by surprise.

‘Talk to comrade Dhar about collateral. He will understand.'

Marchant was about to ask for an explanation, but Sergei had already signed off.

‘Did you get any of that?' he asked Dhar over the intercom.

‘We can talk more later. Our flying time is more than three hours. Now we must prepare for take-off.'

Paul Myers had given up trying to make conversation with the Russians. They had sat motionless in his room throughout the night, waking him with a prod at first light. He had stumbled out of bed, forgetting that his hands were still tied, and they had accompanied him to the bathroom, where he managed his ablutions with difficulty.

It was only when they sat him down in front of the computers that he persuaded them to untie his wrists. If it had been a working day, he would have been missed by now, as he liked to work the early shifts at GCHQ in the summer, getting in at 7 a.m., sometimes earlier. It gave him longer in the park afterwards to fly his model planes. But today was a Saturday, and no one would miss him. He had made a loose arrangement to meet a couple of colleagues in the pub in the evening, but otherwise his diary was free, as it was most of the time.

The Russians wanted him to do exactly what he had done for Marchant: delay High Wycombe's real-time Recognised Air Picture feed. He had already told them that it would be hard to repeat the trick, but the Ministry of Defence's IT experts, many of whom he knew, had yet to trace the source or cause of the Link 1 breach.

Of more concern to Myers was what Marchant and Fielding would want him to do. Marchant was clearly party to the planned second violation of UK airspace. Would he want Myers to help him, or to stop him? His instinct told him to let the Russians run with it, whatever they were planning.

Nursing a hangover, he logged in to his GCHQ account and prepared once again to tamper with the Tactical Data Links that were meant to keep the skies above Britain safe.

‘All I need is a start time,' he said, looking at his watch. ‘I can't delay the RAP for long. A few minutes at most.'

‘This time we need a little longer,' Grushko said.

The morning had dawned bright and clear in the Cotswolds, and the ground staff at RAF Fairford were already busy laying out the tables and chairs in the private enclosure towards the eastern end of the runway. It was a big day for the base, and General Glen Rogers, head of the United States Air Forces in Europe, was taking his run around the airfield early, before the VIPs began to arrive. The USAF would shortly be pulling out of Fairford, leaving it as a standby facility that could be reactivated at short notice for the use of B-2 Spirit stealth bombers and U2s.

All the usual merchandise stands were present. Jogging at a steady pace, Rogers passed the Breitling Owners' Club, a dogtag stamping stall for wannabe GIs, and a stand that would later be selling Vulcan memorabilia. Now that was a plane he wished he had flown. This weekend, though, was all about modern military hardware, and in particular the global export market for the F-16 Fighting Falcon, one of America's finest fourth-generation jet fighters, otherwise known as the Viper.

The delegation from Georgia had spent the night on the base, drinking too much of their own Kakhetian wine in the officers' mess, but he couldn't blame them. Today marked the official beginning of a new era for the Georgian air force. Six F-16Ds had already been delivered to Alekseevka Military Airbase, but the deal between Washington and Tbilisi would be formally signed off in the private enclosure. To mark the occasion, the F-22 Raptor, a plane that was strictly not for export, would make its debut at Fairford with a breathtaking display of fifth-generation manoeuvrability.

Rogers used to fly jets himself in the mid-1980s, briefly serving with the Thunderbirds F-16 display team, and he was particularly looking forward to the Raptor show. Today's pilot, Major Max Brandon, would demonstrate its vast air superiority over an old Russian SU-25 ‘Frogfoot', the current mainstay of Georgia's air force, in a mock-up of a Cold War dogfight that promised to be one of the highlights of the weekend.

The only blot on the Gloucestershire landscape was the arrival of Jim Spiro, the CIA's Head of Clandestine Europe. He had turned up in the middle of the dinner with the Georgians, wanting an urgent talk about a perceived security threat that was making the Brits jumpy. (Fairford always made the Brits nervous. A few years earlier, a B52 had flown in low over the runway as part of the display, only for the pilot to be told by ATC that he had got the wrong airfield. So much for precision bombing.) Rogers had not met Spiro before, and he hoped their paths would never cross again. Marines had that sort of effect on him, particularly ex ones who had featured in the infamous CIA torture memos.

If the Agency had its way, the contract with the Georgians would be signed in a reinforced bunker five hundred feet underground, and there would be no Royal International Air Tattoo at all. He had told Spiro to relax and enjoy the day, reminding him that it did much to reinforce the special relationship between Britain and America. That was the problem with the spooks – they saw threats everywhere.