I Am Pilgrim by Terry Hayes Read Free Book Online

say,nobodyevercalled.
    ItooktheelevatorfromthebasementtothetopfloorandenteredwhathadalwaysbeentheRider
    oftheBlue’soffice–alargeexpanseofpolishedwoodfloorsandwhitesofas,butnowindowsor
    naturallight.
    Thebuildingitselfhadaconcretecore,anditwasfromthiscellwithinacellthatIbegantryingto unravelmypredecessor ’swebofdeceit.Lateintothatfirstnight,Icalledsecretphonenumberswhich telephone companies didn’t even know they hosted, assembling a special team of cryptographers, analysts,archivistsandfieldagents.
    Despitewhatgovernmentsmightclaim,notallwarsarefoughtwithembeddedreportersorinthe
    glareof24-hournewscameras.Thefollowingday,thenewRiderandhissmallgroupof partizans launchedtheirowncampaignacrossEurope,doingbattlewithwhatturnedouttobethemostserious
    penetrationoftheUSintelligencecommunitysincetheColdWar.
    Wehadsomemajorsuccessesbut,eventhough,astimepassed,enemybodiesstartedpilinguplike
    cordwood,Istillcouldn’tsleep.Onenight,chasingdownastaleleadinPrague,Iwalkedforhours throughtheoldcityandforcedmyselftotakestockofwherewewere.Bymyownstandards,shorn
    ofallcomplications,Ihadfailed–aftertwentymonths’unremittingworkIstillhadn’tdiscoveredthe methodbywhichtheRussianswerepayingtheagentsofours–thetraitors,inotherwords–theyhad corrupted.
    The money trail remained as mysterious as ever and, unless we could track it successfully, we would never know how far the plumes of infection had spread. As a result, I resolved to throw everything we had at the problem but, in the end, none of that mattered: it was a shy forensic accountantandadoseofserendipitythatcametoourrescue.
    Ploughingonelasttimethroughthemountainofmaterialseizedfrommypredecessor ’sLondon
    homebeforeitvanishedintoTheDivision’sarchives,theaccountantfoundahandwrittengrocerylist stuckinthebackofachequebook.Abouttothrowitaway,heturneditoverandsawitwaswrittenon
    the back of a blank FedEx consignment docket – strange because none of our investigations had shown any evidence of a FedEx account. Intrigued, he called the company and discovered a list of pick-upsfromtheaddress,allofwhichhadbeenpaidforincash.
    Onlyoneturnedouttobeofinterest–aboxofexpensiveCubancigarssenttotheluxuriousBurj
    AlArabhotelinDubai.ItquicklytranspiredthatthenameoftherecipientontheFedExdocketwas fake,andthatwouldhavebeenanendtothematter–exceptforthemomentofserendipity.Awoman
    workingwiththeaccountanthadoncebeenatravelagentandsheknewthatallhotelsintheUnited
    ArabEmiratesarerequiredtotakeacopyofeveryguest’spassport.
    I called the hotel under the guise of an FBI special agent attached to Interpol and convinced the managertoexaminetheirfilesandgivemethepassportdetailsoftheguestwhohadbeenstayingin suite1608ontherelevantdate.
    It turned out to be a person called Christos Nikolaides. It was an elegant name. Shame about the man.
    ChapterNine
    EVERYONEAGREEDONonething–Christoswouldhavebeenhandsomeifitweren’tforhisheight.The
    oliveskin,waveofunrulydarkhairandgoodteethcouldn’tovercomelegsthatwerefartooshort
    for his body. But money probably helped, especially with the women he liked to run with, and ChristosNikolaidescertainlyhadplentyofthat.
    Aflurryofpolicedatabasesearchesshowedthathewastherealdeal:agenuinelow-lifewithno
    convictions but a significant involvement in three murders and a host of other crimes of violence.
    Thirty-one years old and a Greek national, he was the eldest son of uneducated parents who lived outsideThessaloniki,inthenorthofthecountry.It’simportanttostress‘uneducated’here,asopposed tostupid–whichtheymostcertainlywerenot.
    In the following weeks, as we delved deeper into his life, the family became increasingly interesting. A close-knit clan of brothers, uncles and cousins, the family was headed by Christos’s sixty-year-old father, Patros – the family’s ruthless enforcer. As they say in Athens, he had a thick jacket – a long criminal record – but this had been accompanied by great material success. An