Slingshot: A Spycatcher Novel by Matthew Dunn Read Free Book Online Page B

to the isolated farmstead, deep within the vast Lüneburg Heath.
    The vehicles stopped. Doors opened and closed. A man shouted an instruction. Fast movement. More noise, this time from within the large building. Then silence.
    The retired Stasi colonel smiled, removed his rimless glasses, breathed onto the lenses, and wiped them clean with a silk handkerchief. Fixing the glasses back in place, he interlaced his fingers and stared at the oak-paneled entrance. His breathing was slow; he felt very calm.
    The door opened, and Simon Rübner entered. The forty-five-year-old Israeli walked up to the desk and stood before Kurt. Blond-haired, with a short groomed beard, an athletic build, and a penchant for wearing turtleneck sweaters, Simon looked more like a German U-boat commander than a former Mossad intelligence operative, which had always amused Kurt.
    Simon’s eyes twinkled, the slightest smile emerged, and he nodded. “We got it, Mr. Schreiber.” He held out a folded piece of paper.
    Kurt stared at the paper but remained motionless. “Were there any complications that I should be aware of?”
    “The team had to fight their way through Gdansk. They met greater resistance than—”
    Kurt held up one of his frail hands. “I’m not interested in the minutiae of who did what violent act to whom.”
    Simon grinned. “No complications.”
    Kurt nodded. “Excellent work, Simon.” He glanced at the door. “Where is the Russian?”
    “Yevtushenko’s in the basement, with a hood over his head.”
    “His demeanor?”
    Simon shrugged. “He’s petrified. Once we got him over the border, we put him in shackles. I think he expected a hero’s welcome.”
    “That’s what I told him to expect.” He took the folded paper and placed it on his desk.
    “What shall we do with him?”
    Kurt waved a hand dismissively. “He’s served his purpose. You’ve searched him?”
    “Of course. No tracking devices. He brought one small bag containing clothes, his passport, cash”—he reached into his pocket—“and this.”
    Kurt looked at the cell phone with an expression of contempt. He hated modern communications technology because it was insecure and, in his view, made people stupid. “Is there data that’s relevant?”
    Simon put the phone on the desk. “It’s the lack of data that’s relevant. There’s only one number stored, no name attached to it, and a check of his call records shows that number is the only one that’s ever been used.”
    “Interesting.” Kurt was deep in thought. “Keep him alive for now. He might be useful.”
    After Simon left the room, Kurt waited a few minutes before opening a small velvet-covered stationery box and withdrawing another piece of paper. He unfolded it and placed it flat on the desk. It was a copy of the paper the German assassin had handed to the Americans in 1995. In the center of the paper were ten numbers. He looked at the other paper. He hadn’t seen it for nearly two decades. During that time he’d built a business empire that was highly lucrative, invisible, and illegal. Constructed on the principals of a global intelligence organization, it spanned four continents and employed over five hundred assets, most of whom were former intelligence or security service operatives. Its expertise consistently wrong-footed its competitors, though in truth it had none that were comparable or as powerful.
    He unfolded the paper.
    Four letters, written by Kronos. At the top of the paper, in red Cyrillic script, were the words Top Secret, Director, First Deputy Director, Head Directorate S, SVR Only.
    Handwritten under the code were the words, These letters pertain to KRONOS. Access to this document is restricted to above individuals and Generals Leon Michurin and Alexander Tatlin. 7th December 1995. Head Directorate S.
    Kurt smiled and said quietly, “All that effort to get four letters.”
    He slid Nikolai’s paper next to his paper. The four letters were now alongside the ten