Chameleon. Mark Burnell

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СКАЧАТЬ raised an eyebrow. ‘There and then?’

      ‘Within an hour.’

      ‘How?’

      ‘Heart attack.’

      She glanced at the stills. Klepper looked as though he was in his late thirties or early forties. ‘Heart attack?’

      Alexander nodded. ‘Artificially induced. Klepper would’ve known that once his case was marked for examination he was in trouble. He’d have known that in the custody suite he’d be stripped and searched. The postmortem revealed a pin-prick on his left wrist. An examination of his clothes and effects revealed a Mont Blanc pen that had been adapted to act as a syringe, attached to a cartridge of chemically doctored Alfentanil. The pen acted as a delivery device, like those gadgets used by diabetics. As a weapon, it was not unlike the umbrella tip used on Georgy Markov, the Bulgarian dissident, here in London in September 1978.’

      The slow-motion footage resumed. Klepper approached an examination bench, hauled both cases onto it and handed his passport to an official. Then he reached inside his jacket pocket and took out his Mont Blanc pen. The most mundane action imaginable. He appeared to adjust the pen, holding it with one hand, twisting with the other. He was looking the officials in the eye, giving silent answers to their silent questions. They never noticed the jab. Discreet but firm, he never flinched.

      Stephanie shook her head. ‘Without a care in the world.’

      ‘Or maybe with every care in the world.’

      ‘But to be so casual about it?’

      ‘Perhaps suggesting that he was under the impression that he was injecting himself with something else. Something that would provoke a reaction but which wouldn’t kill him. In any event, it’s unlikely we’ll ever find out what he thought he was doing.’

      Stephanie continued to look at Klepper. ‘Still, no great loss, I suppose …’

      ‘We now know that he was the first of five couriers, two of whom were UK-bound. We don’t know about the other three. We do know that the action was abandoned after his death but SIS was unable to discover the target or the identity of the end users. As for the suppliers of the Plutonium-239, the intelligence community looked no further than the former Soviet Union. One name emerged. Or rather, an alias. Koba. But that was the end of the line. Until March. Then, out of the blue, SIS were contacted by Oleg Rogachev, head of the Tsentralnaya crime syndicate, an organization that has been strongly linked to nuclear smuggling in the past.’

      ‘How was the contact made?’

      ‘Through a Kazak investment company. Almatinvest. They have an office here in London but the contact was made through their Moscow office. An Almatinvest representative got in touch with the British Embassy on Rogachev’s behalf. The request was for a secure face-to-face with a senior SIS official. The job of evaluating that request fell to Roger Stansfield, a man I know personally. He concluded that the approach was bona fide. The representative said that Rogachev wanted to give SIS Koba’s real name.’

      ‘What did Rogachev want in return?’

      ‘Nothing.’ Alexander saw her expression change. ‘I know what you’re thinking. But maybe fingering Koba was some reward in itself.’

      ‘Or maybe Rogachev saw SIS coming and figured that he could get them to eliminate a rival on his behalf, at no risk to himself. Koba probably doesn’t even exist.’

      ‘That thought did occur to Stansfield. Which was why he didn’t want anyone from SIS involved. Not directly.’

      ‘So he asked you.’

      ‘Exactly. The plan was simple enough. Masquerading as a senior SIS officer, Marshall met Rogachev in Paris. At the meeting, Rogachev was supposed to hand over a disk containing information on the terrorists, the end users and the couriers. The two men met at a brasserie on the rue du Faubourg Saint Honoré. As far as we know, the meeting went to plan. However, as they stepped out of the café …’

      Alexander changed the picture. There were two bodies lying face-down, one splayed across the pavement, the other crumpled in the gutter. The blood looked black. Although Stephanie was looking at the screens, she could tell that Alexander was staring at her.

      ‘No disk was recovered from either body. Nobody recalls the assassin frisking either man. It’s possible the disk was removed later. It’s also possible that the disk had already been lifted – perhaps in the brasserie. The only thing we know for sure is that it’s now in the possession of George Salibi.’

      ‘Never heard of him.’

      ‘A Lebanese banker. Lives in New York. Founder of First Intercontinental.’

      ‘How does he fit into this?’

      ‘The way he fits into everything else. Money. God knows how he got hold of the disk but you can be sure he’ll use it.’

      ‘How?’

      ‘He’ll auction it or use it as leverage. Either way, the disk is now currency. And that’s not a situation we can tolerate.’

      ‘Salibi’s a target?’

      ‘The disk is a target. If Salibi gets in the way … well, that’s his problem.’

      ‘So that’s the job, then? The disk.’

      Alexander’s glance was scathing. ‘James Marshall’s murder cannot go unpunished.’

      ‘Sounds a bit Old Testament to me.’

      ‘It’s not purely a question of revenge. It also sends out a message. Then there’s Koba. We don’t know whether Klepper’s consignment of Plutonium-239 was destined for Britain or whether it was merely in transit. And because we don’t know, we have to assume the worst. That being so, we need to find out who Koba is, who he’s supplying and what their target is.’

      ‘And then?’

      ‘As long as Koba’s alive, he’s a threat. The problem is, if we simply wanted to find a Koba, that would be easy. There are plenty to choose from. But we need to find the Koba.’

      ‘I’m not with you.’

      ‘There’s a tradition of Russian criminals adopting aliases. The original Koba was a Georgian robber who protected the poor from their oppressors. A sort of Caucasian Robin Hood, if you like. The legend has lasting appeal. Criminals today are still calling themselves Koba. Even Stalin fell for it, adopting the name while he was robbing banks in Georgia at the beginning of the twentieth century.’

      ‘So you have no idea who you’re looking for.’

      ‘On the contrary. We’ve narrowed our Koba down to two. By the time you’re ready, we’ll know which one he is.’

      ‘And what if you don’t?’

      ‘There’s always the fail-safe option.’

      ‘Both men?’

      ‘There would be no other way to be sure.’

      ‘Cute.’

СКАЧАТЬ