Jim Valley walked the promenade that lined Baku’s waterfront on the Caspian Sea. There was an outdoor cafe on his right, and he found a table where his back faced a tree and he had a view of pedestrians coming from both ends of the promenade. He ordered a coffee and checked his watch: 9.39 a.m. He avoided looking around; there were two overwatch operators from the Company surveilling him and readying for his 10 a.m. meeting with Lazar Suburov, the FSB officer based across the border in Grozny, Russia, who the Bunker had codenamed Keratine.
Valley stirred sugar into his coffee and assessed his surrounds. Keratine had not been properly transitioned into working for Paris, and the Company had an urgent request for information from him. Once Valley got to know his new charge, things might be different, but hitting him cold with requests for information was going to be interesting. It was a tough assignment, working in Russia and running traitors from the FSB, but he’d been thrown a lifeline by Dominic Briffaut and he wasn’t going to screw it up. The operation to abduct Aguilar’s wife and children and make them think it was a training exercise for the Company was a despicable thing to do, and the fact it had been ordered by his superior, Philippe Manerie, only gave him legal cover, not a moral one. Now he had a chance to re-establish his credentials with the Company. And although he worked for the DR, it was Briffaut and the DO whom he owed. He would return the favour by walking into the wolf’s mouth. He looked at his watch and drained the coffee. Then he stood and walked to his meeting.
■
Valley tapped three times on the door of the suite on the fourth floor of the Hotel Bristol, a tourist hotel that overlooked the Azerbaijani capital’s seafront. Through the window at the end of the carpeted hall he could see the Caspian stretching to the south, where a journey by ship would end at Iran’s northern coast.
‘Yes?’ came a voice from behind the door, in English but with a heavy Russian accent.
‘A friend from Geneva,’ said Valley, also in English, and the door opened.
The man was slightly shorter than Valley and twenty years older. But he was fit and had some fight in him.
‘I made coffee,’ said Keratine, securing the door and then walking past Valley to the living area of the suite. ‘We’re clean for now, but perhaps we could make this quick?’
Valley ignored the time pressure. French intelligence officers were trained to always control an asset and to set their own parameters.
‘Coffee is good,’ said Valley. ‘I take mine black.’
Keratine poured coffee from a plunger into mugs on a dining table. Valley took a seat and pulled a mug towards him.
‘I’ll give you a protocol before I leave,’ said Valley, keeping things civil but curt. ‘You’ll be compensated, but before we go too far let’s talk about what you can provide.’
‘That depends on what France wants,’ said Keratine, crossing his legs and stirring sugar into the strong-smelling Azerbaijani coffee.
‘No,’ said Valley, giving a soldier’s smile, ‘that depends on what you can provide.’
They looked at one another, and Keratine broke the contact. ‘I’m not playing games with you. I’m just unsure what I bring.’
‘What’s happening in Ukraine?’ asked Valley. ‘Russian missile cruisers moving into the Black Sea?’
The Russian shrugged. ‘Do you know why French submarines are loitering off the Andamans?’
‘Do you know who’s asking the questions in this conversation?’ replied Valley.
Keratine nodded his acquiescence. ‘You know what I do in Chechnya? I do what you’re doing now. I recruit and run traitors. Some of them make drops, and others talk. Some can even be convinced to put bugs under tables and plant trackers on cars, that sort of thing. Does France really want to know what a group of students are doing at Chechen State University?’
‘You finished?’ asked Valley.
Keratine let out a sigh. ‘I’m just saying—’
‘You’re just misdirecting, that’s what you’re just doing.’
Now the Russian had an innocent face. ‘How can I—’
‘Shut up,’ said Valley, making his large body more obvious. ‘The whining’s over. Now we talk.’
‘About what?’
‘Wagner Group,’ said Valley.
‘What about them?’
Valley put his elbows on the table, making Keratine focus on him. ‘Wagner Group is controlled by Russia. We’d like insights.’
‘I have nothing to do with Wagner Group,’ said Keratine. ‘They don’t operate out of Chechnya.’
‘They’ve been used in Transcaucasia,’ said Valley, referring to the oil-rich land bridge between the Black and Caspian seas. ‘Don’t tell me you have nothing to do with them.’
‘Our paths have crossed,’ conceded Keratine. ‘But Wagner Group operates at arm’s length from the services. They’re limited to foreign activities. Grozny is Russia.’
‘That’s not the answer Paris wants to hear.’
‘Look, I never asked to betray my country and I never claimed to have product that would interest France.’
‘I’ll give you a week,’ said Valley, making to stand. ‘You might remember something.’
When Keratine saw Valley draining the coffee, he held up his hand. ‘Okay, wait a second,’ said the Russian. ‘Give me a clue. What are you really after?’
Valley laughed at the counterespionage manoeuvre. ‘You really just tried that on me? I think this is going to be a very short friendship.’
Valley walked to the door and grabbed the handle.
A throat cleared behind him.
He turned, looked at Keratine’s taut face.
‘Okay,’ said the Russian. ‘There’s a Wagner Group connection I can give you.’
Valley let the door close. ‘Yes?’
‘Leonid Varnachev, they call him Lenny.’
Valley nodded. ‘Was he GRU, Spetsnaz?’
‘GRU. He made lieutenant-colonel,’ said Keratine. ‘He just started operating out of Tartus naval base in Syria. He’s senior in Wagner, so he’s being noticed.’
‘What’s he doing?’ asked Valley.
‘It’s only gossip.’
‘So, start gossiping,’ said Valley, hand reaching for the doorhandle.
‘Lenny’s organising an assassination.’
‘And?’ prompted Valley.
‘It’s in Europe.’
‘Gee, that narrows it down,’ said Valley.
‘All I’ve heard is Europe,’ said Keratine.
‘When?’ asked Valley.
Keratine shrugged. ‘It’s gossip, agents talking.’
‘Okay, final question and we’ll formalise an arrangement. Who’s being hit?’
‘Where’s my guarantee that I won’t be thrown under the bus?’
Valley cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.
They looked at one another.
‘Varnachev is running it directly,’ said Keratine, finally after breaking eye contact. ‘I can’t just ask about that sort of operation because only a handful of people would know about it. There’s an assassination in Europe, I can give you that.’
‘Political?’
Keratine nodded quickly.
‘Okay,’ said Valley. ‘A political assassination in Europe, but no name? You’re giving me nothing but paranoia.’
Keratine sighed and looked at the ceiling. ‘Okay, I’ll work on a name. But I can give you something that Paris might want to know.’
Valley waited.
‘We know there’s a traitor on our side, feeding information to the Occidental services,’ said Keratine. ‘Get what you can from this person as quickly as possible, because we will catch him.’