Today's Reading
Everything about this building was a secret. Most people in the government had no idea it existed. Everyone who worked for the Agency was issued a fake name, fake identification, a fake background, fake lives.
There was a good reason for the secrecy, of course—the Agency hunted Russian spies.
Emma had barely put one foot on the steps when a voice called down from above.
"Stop." Charles Ripley emerged from his first-floor office with his coat over one arm and strode down to meet her. "Change of plans. We're going out."
Ripley was just over six feet tall, and narrowly built. Emma didn't know how old he was but he had to be at least sixty, although he looked younger. He'd cut his teeth with MI6 in the dying days of the Cold War, and there was nothing Russia had to offer that he didn't understand. The driving force behind the Agency's success, he was tireless, and when it came to his work, he was relentless.
He had a quick, athletic stride that belied the gray strands in his hair, and an authority that meant Emma turned around without question and headed back out the door.
As they walked down the curved road, he swept the black wool coat across his shoulders in one urgent movement and said, "There's a meeting. Secure location, high level. I want you there."
"About Balakin?" Emma asked.
"Yes." Ripley pulled a black cigarette case from his pocket. "It's the timing, you see. It's worrying people. It's worrying me." He lit a Dunhill with a worn gold lighter and took a long drag. "And then there was that knife attack last week."
Emma's eyebrows rose. The day before, a lone man with a knife had attacked a group of tourists in front of Westminster Abbey. One person had died and three had been hospitalized. The attacker had been captured and arrested. Nothing further had occurred in the case, and to her, that had seemed to be the end of it. It was for the police to deal with.
"You don't think there's a connection, do you?" she asked. "That attack looked random."
"It was random, as far as MI5 can tell." Ripley glanced at her. "But the killer was Russian, you see. As were the victims. They haven't released that information yet."
Now Emma thought she understood.
"Was he FSB?" she asked, her tone doubtful. The brutal attack had held none of the Russian spy agency's usual... delicate touch.
"Not at all," Ripley said. "As far as we can tell, he was just what he seemed to be—a taxi driver who has lived in the UK for two years. We believe this was a mental health issue. All the same, the coincidence of timing..." He waved one hand expressively.
Coincidence didn't exist in their world. If something looked like a plot, it was a plot.
"Still," Emma said. "It can't be part of this. Vladimir Balakin wouldn't come over for a stabbing. He's too important."
"Agreed." Ripley waited for a jogger to run past them. Only when he was a block away did he continue. "You can have two terrible things happen at the same time, unfortunately. And this is our unlucky week. But everyone's nervous. There are a lot of itchy fingers on a lot of triggers this week, and Balakin will know that." He gave her a sideways glance. "His arrival means something."
They crossed a road, threading between the parked cars, before turning onto a leafy street.
When Emma spoke again, her voice was low. "Why do you think he's here? Is he just messing with us?"
It wasn't beyond the Russian government to send a senior official flying in, just to intimidate them. After all, they were preparing for a major gathering where Russia's own future was due to be discussed.
"I don't know." Ripley drew on his cigarette. "But I can't think of a single good reason for an FSB official at Balakin's level to fly to London to meet with the Russian ambassador a week before the G7 is scheduled to gather in this country." The words came out in a puff of smoke. "Unfortunately, I can think of quite a few bad reasons."
Emma thought of those black gates at the Russian embassy closing slowly behind the Mercedes. If Russia wanted to cause trouble for Britain, there would be no better time. Everyone was on edge. The whole world would be watching. For Russia every bad news story was a win. If it played its cards right, it could humiliate Britain and disrupt world markets all in one go.
She looked at Ripley. "You think he's brought something from Moscow. Something too secret to be transmitted in any other way." "That is the concern," he conceded.
...
