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

under regular review. These were mostly mid-to-low-level foreign nationals, especially Russians, who had popped up on the FBI’s radar but lacked anything substantial with which to charge them. A two-man team had been put on her for a few days to scrape off whatever barnacles they could find.

Usually such reviews proved little and took up time, shoe leather and money, but were considered essential to the fight against espionage. This particular surveillance had coincided with Desayeva taking a trip out of Washington and the team had decided to follow her to see who she met with. Now it seemed that a routine and previously uneventful surveillance might have turned into something else entirely.

‘Dalkin doesn’t play golf,’ Andrews said, filling in the next answer, ‘and as far as the team could tell he wasn’t there for the ambiance or the food. Same with Desayeva. They met, talked briefly, during which Dalkin passed something across the table to her. It could have been a slip of paper but it was too quick for the team to see. The team said it seemed like they’d met before; there was no shaking hands or that stuff. She left immediately afterwards and returned to her apartment in DC. Dalkin waited for a couple of minutes then also left. He didn’t appear to be conscious about being followed.’

‘He wouldn’t – he’s a bureaucrat.’ What if it had been a brush-pass, Callahan wondered? It was a common piece of tradecraft for passing on information and one which worked well enough to still be in use. However, with no clear visuals on what had been passed, they were no further forward.

‘Did the surveillance include audio?’

‘It did but the restaurant’s mood music blanked it out. They got plenty of CCTV coverage though, showing them arriving, meeting and leaving.’

Callahan sat back. It showed a connection and possible intent but it was a long way off proof that anything untoward had gone on. Desayeva was a charity fundraiser, so she could claim the meeting was all done in the name of some noble cause. And if Dalkin backed her up they’d never prove otherwise.

‘That’s good work.’ He picked up the tablet again to give himself time to think. His big problem was how to progress this further. He couldn’t ask Andrews to do field work because he wasn’t trained for it. But while passing any job off to the FBI went against the grain, protocol demanded that that was exactly what he should do. There was no other option.

Andrews jumped in and solved the problem for him. ‘I’ve done some research-liaison work for a Special Agent Bill Warner over at Pennsylvania Avenue, and I know he’d love to get his teeth into this.’

Pennsylvania Avenue was the FBI’s address in Washington.

‘Warner? I know him. He’s a good man.’

‘You want me to speak to him?’

‘To do what?’

‘Well, they could arrange more surveillance, wiretaps, checking out this Dalkin guy’s financial status … that kind of thing. And I could tag along to make sure they got everything.’

‘You?’

‘Yes. My girlfriend says I need to get out more and this would be a good excuse.’

Callahan made a decision. Andrews was onto something, he could sense it.

‘Do it. I’ll leave it to you to sell it to them. If they seem unwilling let me know. Focus on Dalkin first. He’s new and we still don’t have anything on the Russian. Keep me informed.’

THIRTY

The leafy streets surrounding Bradley Dalkin’s Rockville apartment building were quiet when David Andrews and two FBI Special Agents arrived. Quiet was good but some traffic was useful for cover. Too many older singletons behind curtained windows and with time on their hands could easily spot a strange vehicle and take too close an interest to consider calling the cops. Result, one busted surveillance job.

Special Agent Charles Cahill, thirty-two, clean-cut and innocent-looking, made a phone call to Dalkin’s apartment number, ready to slip into a call-centre script in case Dalkin should pick up. He hung on longer than eight rings in case Dalkin was busy on his cellphone. Eight was the norm for most people’s annoyance limit to trip in, but it seemed like he must be out.

Special Agent Bill Warner suggested they do a sweep of the area before entering. A thickset man nearing retirement, he had a calm voice and exuded authority and experience.

‘Why are we doing that?’ queried David Andrews. This was his first time on a field operation and he was eager to see what they did next. Somehow this calm, low-level approach hadn’t been what he was expecting. Where were the fast stops, slamming car doors and bursting into buildings he’d always imagined?

‘To make sure there are no competing factors in play,’ Warner explained.

‘Like what?’

‘If Dalkin is talking to the Russians through Desayeva, they might have put a watch on him to make sure it’s not a set-up. Or there might be another agency taking an interest. We don’t want to run into any traffic and tip our hand.’

‘Or if he’s just a traitorous weasel of a scumbag bureaucrat,’ suggested Cahill sourly, ‘which he probably is, he might be looking out for us to turn up and shake his tree.’

‘Don’t mind him,’ Warner said. ‘His last girlfriend got snaffled by a bureaucrat and he’s never going to forget it.’

Andrews nodded. ‘Are we going in?’

Warner gave him a tolerant look. ‘You haven’t done this before, have you, son?’

‘Not a lot.’ Andrews felt a flush growing on his face. ‘Actually, not at all.’

Warner nodded, inscrutable. ‘Just so’s we know. There’s a couple of rules I need you to bear in mind.’

‘Oh. OK, sure. What are they?’

‘Follow our lead and do not speak.’

‘Right. Is that it?’

‘That’s all you need to know. Stick to that and everything will work out fine.’ He smiled to take the sting out of the comment and explained, ‘We’ve been trying to nail Desayeva for a long time and tying in this Dalkin guy with her could be our way in.’

‘It’s good you got the CCTV footage on