The Becket Approval by Falconer Duncan (best big ereader .TXT) 📗

‘Is he aware of that? I mean, is he volunteering info?’

‘No. Even more reason why we must respect the confidentiality. He doesn’t know we’re onto him.’

She typed his name into her police data portal. ‘Thank you, sir.’

As Dillon disconnected his call a picture of Milo Krilov appeared on her computer screen. A heavy set, balding man who looked every bit an Eastern European thug.

The two MI6 4x4s drove towards an aircraft parked alone and away from the terminal buildings, a British Airways Boeing 777. There was another 4x4 parked in front of the aircraft. Two men wearing overalls were beneath the front wheel arch shining lights up into it. As the 4x4s arrived, Gunnymede watched them place a ladder that reached up inside the wheel bay and one of them climbed inside.

‘The crew will be here in about thirty minutes,’ Aristotle said. ‘Soon as the guys attach the harnesses you’ll get into position. The pilot may shine a light on you while he carries out pre-flight inspections. He’ll know you’re there of course.’

‘What’s the drill if he misses the drop?’

‘Your only option is to release over Kazakhstan. Unless you want to continue all the way to China. Landing in Beijing would not be a good idea.’

No kidding.

Gunnymede watched the engineers faff around in the wheel housing, attaching straps and what looked like an oxygen bottle.

‘You’re not English,’ Gunnymede said.

‘Do I sound English?’

‘No. But then not all English sound English.’

‘I’m Greek.’

‘I had my suspicions,’ Gunnymede said, rolling his eyes.

‘Aristotle’s not my real name.’

‘Seriously? And there was I thinking you were related. So what’s a Greek doing working for 6?’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘I would hope so.’

‘My relationship is with Harlow. Call it a special relationship. His father and my father worked together in the Second World War. My father was with the resistance. Harlow’s father was with the SOE. You know how nepotistic MI6 is. Wasn’t your father in the firm?’

Gunnymede glanced at him.

Aristotle moved on. ‘Harlow’s father parachuted into Greece one day and stayed for more than a year fighting the Germans and Italians. They became good friends. After the war Harlow’s father often came to visit. I knew Harlow as a child. I used to beat him with a stick. He wasn’t a very nice boy. Spoilt. Typical upper class wanker.’

‘And now you like him?’

‘He’s tolerable.’

‘How’d you end up working for him?’

‘I was a Greek civil servant for thirty-six years.’

‘Secret services?’

Aristotle shrugged without denying it. ‘Part of the time. I was stationed in many embassies around the world. When I retired, Harlow asked if I’d like to work with the British. I saw it as a kind of family tradition.’

‘You were working for 6 while a Greek civil servant?’

‘I never said that.’

‘You didn’t need to. So, what exactly is your position in the firm?’ Gunnymede asked.

‘I’m nothing but an oily rag to a very large engine.’

Gunnymede looked at him, unsure if he could believe any of it. The floodlights went off, plunging the area in darkness.

‘They’re ready for you,’ Aristotle said.

There was a knock on the window. One of the MI engineers gave them a thumbs up and they climbed out.

Gunnymede awkwardly made his way to the foot of the ladder in his cocoon and an engineer attached clips to hoops on the back of it. ‘Pure silicon carbide,’ the engineer said as he tightened a drawstring. ‘Best RAM there is. You familiar with RAM?’

‘Radiation absorbent material,’ Gunnymede said.

‘It won’t conceal you completely but it shouldn’t raise any alarms. Just another dead bird.’

‘Dead bird?’ Aristotle asked.

‘His radar reflection won’t be much greater than that of a goose,’ the engineer explained. ‘You’d be surprised at the number of birds that die while flying. A normal flying bird has a pattern anomaly that is ignored by radar tracking algorithms. Otherwise early warning systems would be triggering every minute. But when they die and drop it’s out of rhythm and they can attract attention. Russian radar will track him falling but the operator will assume it was a bird strike because of the stealth image.’

‘What kind of bird?’ Gunnymede asked.

‘What?’ the engineer asked.

‘What kind of bird? I’m dropping at 36,000 feet.’

‘Geese?’ Aristotle suggested.

‘Geese fly at 36,000 feet?’ Gunnymede asked, unconvinced.

‘Actually no,’ the engineer said. ‘Geese are around 30,000. I looked it up. The highest ever recorded bird was at 37,000 feet.’

‘What was it?’ Gunnymede asked.

‘A Rueppell’s vulture,’ the engineer replied with some satisfaction.

‘A vulture?’

‘That’s right.’

‘What time of year?’

The engineer was suddenly not quite as confident. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. He held the parachute up for Gunnymede to pull on and buckled it up around his chest and thighs.

‘Do you think the Russians know about Rueppell’s vultures?’

The engineer gave him a pathetic smile.

The final touches were oxygen bottle and mask, a pair of goggles, his helmet and an altimeter which Gunnymede strapped to his wrist, all coated in tiny silicon carbide cones.

‘Up you get,’ the engineer said as he zipped up the final flap of the stealth suit. ‘Good luck.’

‘Enjoy your trip,’ Aristotle said.

‘I’ll bring you back some fake caviar.’

Gunnymede climbed the ladder. The engineer inside the wheel housing attached the harness to the ceiling and helped Gunnymede into position. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve done this before?’ he asked.

‘Nope.’

‘It’s basic enough. The harness’ll hold you into the ceiling. Once the doors close it’ll be like lying in a hammock. Your O2 is here, enough for twenty-four hours. Your suit heater plugs in there.’ He plugged it in. ‘Refreshments here. If you need to take a piss, just do it through this flap onto the door. If you want to take a dump you’re on your own - design budget didn’t stretch