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

‘What do you mean?’

‘You said it yourself: you think you’ve got a leak. I’m not even in the building but I know you have. There’s no other explanation. It must begin with your own department.’

If he was offended by the implication he didn’t say anything. But he was a professional and knew the game. ‘I can’t be certain of that – I wish I could. All I can say is we’re narrowing down the possibilities.’

I said, ‘I’ll call you back,’ and disconnected. I was keeping our conversation deliberately brief and wanted him to be a little off-guard. I needed time to think. Having another job to do right now had not been part of my thinking. With unknown elements after me I needed to think carefully about what I was doing. While having to worry about another person was a normal part of what I did, right now it was a distraction I could do without.

In the end, though, I had to concede that Callahan was right; moving meant staying alive. But if I did this I was going to do it my way.

I rang him back. ‘All right. I’m in.’

‘Good.’ He sounded relieved. ‘I’ll text you the asset’s location. The meet will be some time tomorrow, so stay in touch and let me know when you’re there.’

TWENTY-FIVE

The following day Callahan was still ruminating over the unsettling idea that the former spook, Russell Hoffman, had voiced at their meeting: that someone on the inside was fingering Portman’s location trail to the people trying to kill him. A sleepless night had not filled in any blanks and he still wasn’t sure what action to take next.

It might have seemed implausible had it not echoed his own fears. The CIA was not impregnable or immune to having a traitor inside the walls, as spies Aldrich Ames and Jerry Lee had proved. But a new scandal would hollow out the guts of the organization at a time when it needed to be operating at full capacity against external enemies and threats rather than beating itself to death over a possible repeat of history.

Yet he had to concede that it was more than a possibility.

How else would the Russians have been able to get so close to Portman each time? And if Hoffman was right, and they were committed to doing away with Portman, there might be no way of stopping them unless he disappeared for good.

He stood up, deciding it was about time he spoke to Sewell, when an incoming call stopped him. It was Fred Groll of the National Security Agency.

‘Brian, I figure you’d want to know about some chatter we picked up that might involve your man in Lebanon.’

Callahan sat down again. ‘Go ahead. I could do with some good news.’

‘On the surface it’s not a great deal but it sounds interesting. One of our operators picked up a transmission from a source located close to the Russian embassy in Nicosia, northern Cyprus. It said, and I quote: Delivery location 333420 cancelled. Delivery to be re-scheduled, advise of new address.’

‘Do we know where the transmission went?’

‘We’re working on that but it’s a slim hope. Like I said, it was a chance pick-up, so there wasn’t time to run a full trace. The thing is, that location 333420 is a basic code the Russians have used before. It refers to the British RAF base at Akrotiri. We know they keep a close eye on it for strategic reasons, and there’s been a rumour that they have someone on the inside, most likely posing as a civilian contractor.’

‘Akrotiri. That’s where they had the recent attack.’

‘Right. The “delivery cancelled” speaks for itself. Failed would have been more accurate but they don’t like using that word much. It gives them a ticklish sensation across the back of their necks.’

‘Thanks, Fred. Good work.’

‘Glad to help. I’ll keep you informed if we hear anything else.’

Callahan ended the call and sat back. Well, that confirmed who was behind the attacks on Portman. So now, if Groll was right, they had confirmation of the who and the why, no doubts about that. What they didn’t have was the identity of the person pointing the finger.

He dialled a number, the decision to speak to Sewell delayed. It could wait until he’d got something moving. In any case, he’d been told to let Watchman go, so he’d best not advertise the fact that he was still helping him out.

The phone was answered immediately by David Andrews, a CIA researcher with the National Resources Division. While the CIA itself was forbidden from operating within the US mainland, the NR division was tasked with, among other things, recruiting students and other foreign nationals visiting the US, to be schooled as assets when returning to their home countries. Andrews had a specific interest in and knowledge of Russian security and intelligence operations, and had been useful in providing information to Callahan on a number of occasions before.

‘Do you have a moment?’ Callahan asked him. ‘I could do with some help.’

‘You kidding?’ Andrews replied. ‘I haven’t been away from my desk in weeks. Is it dangerous, is it exciting, do I get to carry a gun?’ There was a definite hint of boyish laughter in the young man’s voice which made Callahan smile. There were times this place could do with more of that.

He said, ‘None of those things, but you might have to go outside the building for a while, if the thought of daylight and vitamin D doesn’t scare you.’

‘Hell, no, sir. I’m on it. Be there in three.’ The phone went down.

David Andrews was in his twenties, short and chunky, with a thin moustache and a sallow complexion everyone put down to spending too much time under subdued lighting crouched over his monitors. He wore a tie in name only as it rarely looked as if it belonged and was usually skewed to one side or tucked into the front of his