A Hostile State Adrian Magson (reading e books txt) 📖

Lindsay than having had a had a passing chat in the cafeteria. In any case, if Broderick wanted to ensure Callahan followed his instructions, putting a clamp on his immediate staff was beyond his powers. He made do with a simple, ‘It won’t. But thank you.’

As she left the room, Callahan’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Portman.

On our way out following attack by armed Agusta. Seriously??

It was followed by three words. The locator for the next position.

He fed the words into the app and a grid-lined map of Cyprus came up on his screen. They were heading for a spot on the south coast. He called up another map of the island and checked the coordinates. RAF Akrotiri.

He couldn’t fault the British for their choice of safe haven. It was as secure a place as any but only as long as Portman stayed inside the base perimeter. Problem was, he’d have to move sooner or later. And Portman was right to be pissed, as the double-interrogator in his message suggested. Seriously, what the hell was going on?

The other question was, how far would whoever was targeting him go?

The first attempt might have been random, if you joined Broderick’s obtuse thinking and ignored the photos. But if he and Hunt had been followed and come under fire again, it was more than coincidence, but a concerted effort to nail him. If so, whoever was pushing this had good resources and wasn’t likely to give up too easily.

He had to get him out of there to another safer place. And he had to find out who was behind this. He picked up his phone and dialled Vale’s number in London. Time to ask another favour of the MI6 officer.

As he did so a message box appeared on his PC screen.

Urgent briefing Rm U3. 10 mins.

There was no list of attendees attached, and no indication of subject matter. He checked his agenda but no meeting had been scheduled in. Coupled with Portman’s problem it was unusual enough to worry him. And room U3 was of a size to suggest that he wasn’t the only person who’d been summoned.

He continued with his call to Vale. They exchanged brief pleasantries, then Vale listened without comment and agreed to help without question. Thank God, Callahan thought, replacing the phone, for professionals.

As he stood up, his phone burbled. He considered ignoring it but a sense of urgency prevailed.

‘Callahan.’

‘Brian? Glad I caught you.’ It was James Cardew of the Middle-East desk. He sounded breathless. ‘I’ve just had a report from our guys monitoring ground movement over Syria and its border territories. They caught track of a helicopter on an early-dawn flight crossing the border at extreme low level and duck-hopping over the hills into the Baalbek area of north-eastern Lebanon. They don’t have details of where it came from – it just popped up at a level to clear the peaks before dropping out of sight and continuing west.’

‘Syrian or what?’

‘No idea. We couldn’t get any ADSB beacon or transponder signal.’

‘They were flying dark.’

‘Looks like it. You don’t get everything going down at the same time. Shortly after that there were signs of light flashes on the Lebanon side of the hills indicating what could have been a fire-fight. Would that be anything to do with your guy?’

Callahan said, ‘I don’t know. Can you send me the co-ordinates?’

‘Will do. If it’s him I hope he’s keeping his head down.’ He paused then said, ‘You know the Russians have a facility just across the border, don’t you?’

‘I heard there was one, but not the specifics.’

‘No matter. It’s a recent set-up. We think it’s a small base for monitoring anti-government forces in Syria’s northern sector, but they seem to have been scoping the border region with Lebanon a lot recently. We haven’t yet worked out why.’

Callahan swore softly. It made sense. If the flight had come from a Russian base it pointed even more firmly to a sanctioned operation … or one with a great deal of latitude for using their facilities. ‘If it was a Russian machine, why the fire-fight?’

‘They might have run into trouble from a border unit who got hot to trot. Not everybody in the region is happy with the big bear being so close.’

Callahan thanked him for the information and thought it over. The idea of Russian forces crossing borders was hardly new; they had the capability and the nerve to probe borders and push boundaries wherever they could if they saw a useable advantage in doing so. They were currently doing that all over Africa. If this latest action was them rather than a rogue group pursuing Portman, then he was up against a more serious problem than they’d thought.

He jotted down the three locator words on a piece of paper and made his way to Lindsay’s comms room. She was studying a map of Lebanon and the eastern Mediterranean. Already doing research, he noted approvingly, just in case.

‘Another locator,’ he told her, handed her the slip of paper. ‘Leave it on your desk top with the other one I gave you.’

TWENTY-ONE

After the open space in Lebanon and the air base on Cyprus the atmosphere at Frankfurt International Airport was a shocking contrast. There was too much movement, too many people and a whole lot more noise. It was like stepping from a church into a packed night-club, an assault on the ears and eyes with no way of turning it off other than by backing out.

Trouble was I couldn’t back out. There was nowhere for me to go.

And it was the perfect place for an assassination. Lots of people, lots of kill-points. An open attack would cause wide panic and the attackers could slip out under cover of the mêlée and disappear.

I lingered as long as I could air-side, but my time ran out when the crowds disappeared and there was a gap before any new arrivals started flooding in. Eventually, coming under the gaze of a security cop, I’d