The Old Enemy by Henry Porter (reading a book txt) 📗

‘You haven’t heard?’ Anastasia said.

‘Haven’t heard what?’

She waited and searched his face. Samson had already decided that he knew.

‘Denis died last night, of natural causes. His heart just stopped. Sadly, no one was with him, but we believe it was peaceful.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Reid. ‘Of natural causes . . . and you say you weren’t there. So distressing for you, Anastasia.’

‘Yes, I wish I had been able to say goodbye and tell Denis how much I loved and admired him.’

‘Terribly sad. Thank you for telling me. When are you announcing this?’

‘About now.’ She looked at her watch.

‘Was there anything else? You told me you wanted to speak in person before Denis’s passing, so I guess there is.’

‘What do you know about Denis’s work over the last few years, Marty?’

‘He’s made a very good comeback with some sound investments, which I have sometimes followed.’ He smiled. ‘I always thought I knew the media and the music business, but Denis beat me to a couple of good deals.’

‘His other work.’

He looked perplexed and shifted in his seat. He was a tall man, but when he was sitting his stomach bulged over his waistband and it evidently made him uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know what you’re referring to.’

Anastasia leaned forward with her hands clasped. If Reid had been half as alert as he thought he was, he might have asked why this grieving widow looked so composed. ‘Like you, Denis was a patriot. He cared profoundly about liberty and democracy. He loved this country – it gave him everything.’ Reid nodded. ‘So when he discovered a network of foreign agents that had infiltrated the highest councils and agencies in the land, he was determined that it should be exposed. That’s why he died.’

‘Network?’

‘Yes, led by a woman named Mila Daus, also known as Mila Muller and Mila Mobius. She was a member of the East German security service – the Stasi.’ She stopped and looked for the tell, which came in the form of a brief fluttering of his left eyelid. ‘It’s a very effective network based on a classic cell structure. Everything feeds into her and her stepson, Jonathan Mobius. People worry about cyber, but Denis and his friend Robert Harland, also murdered, knew that if a foreign asset is in the room with the most powerful people in the land – the bankers and politicians and intelligence officials – then hacking is child’s play. For over thirty years, Daus has been feeding secrets and intelligence back to her Russian handlers. Her influence increases by the day. We’re at the point when she can do just about anything she damn well wants, including contaminating the heart of American democracy with nerve agent.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Because you’re one of her people, Marty.’

‘How do you reach that bizarre conclusion?’

‘Because we know, Marty! Denis knew, too.’

There was no eruption, but the blackest look entered his eyes and his mouth resolved into a tight, lipless, downturned line. ‘I like you, Anastasia, but don’t mistake me for some liberal sea sponge. I am not in the habit of rolling over. I never have and I’m not going to start now.’

‘Yes, Marty, you’ll nail me to a prairie washboard, etcetera. I notice you didn’t deny your association with Daus. You couldn’t very well do that, could you? Because there are pictures of you together.’ Samson glanced in her direction. This wasn’t going the way they had agreed.

Reid worked his way to the front of the leather armchair and launched himself forward with a grunt. ‘I’m not going to listen to this. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers.’

Anastasia didn’t move, didn’t even look up at him as he stood. ‘You aren’t going anywhere, Marty.’ She held up her phone. ‘Because if you do, the evidence of your entrapment will be published within the hour.’ She waited a beat. ‘But why are we concerned with this? Why don’t we just talk about the damage being done to the country you love?’

He stood stooped, exuding a kind of raw, primitive aggression. ‘She’s a business associate. She knows thousands of people.’

‘I want you to meet someone,’ she said. ‘Would you do me that favour?’

This certainly surprised Samson, but then in the brief meeting with Macy he had noticed the flash of steel when Macy suggested Anastasia give the computer to Zillah Dee for safekeeping. Anastasia was keeping the computer and doing things her own way. And why not? This was her husband’s legacy.

Anastasia sent a text and within a couple of minutes the door opened and, to Samson’s considerable astonishment, Ulrike entered.

She looked at her most regally beautiful as she offered Reid her hand and a charming smile. Samson changed chairs so she could sit next to the one Reid reluctantly re-occupied. ‘You’ve got ten minutes,’ Reid said. ‘Ten minutes before I rain down hell on you.’

‘Ulrike is the widow of Robert Harland,’ said Anastasia. ‘She was the most important Western spy in East Germany in the closing months of the Cold War.’ She lost her husband two weeks ago. He was shot in cold blood while painting in the countryside. She wants to tell you her story.’

Ulrike began in 1989 and, because she could tell a story clearly and without superfluous detail, Reid was soon listening. She spoke of meeting her first husband, the risks they took while working with the CIA and MI6 to seize, in Leipzig, an Arab terrorist sponsored by the Stasi, her capture and confinement in a Stasi jail and her first encounter with the ice-cold supervisor of interrogations, Mila Daus. Then came the fall of the Berlin Wall, her release and her marriage to Rudi Rosenharte, which was followed by his murder and her eventual marriage to Robert Harland. That she had lost two husbands to Daus was stated as a matter of fact; she did not dwell on it. Rather she talked about her work with Western intelligence services – she emphasised her dealings with the CIA – before the Wall came down. She went