A Mole in the Hand

By Walter Frederick

A Mole in the Hand

Could there be a coup d’état in Britain??

It is 2014 and Britain is being torn apart by civil unrest as Trades Unions and protest groups join forces to fight austerity measures. The Coalition Government nears the end of its first term, and city centre riots force the imposition of special powers with nightly curfews.

Richard Mastin, a public relations expert, is visited by an American friend now a senior CIA Officer. He issues Mastin with a challenge, and within days he uncovers a plot for a British coup. Mastin is pitted against ex-KGB officers, preparing to unleash hundreds of moles, under cover for decades.

Mastin discovers MPs, senior civil servants, and police officers - who were recruited during the Soviet Era.

Mastin’s life and family are threatened. He enlists help from old British friends and new American friends. Key recruit is beautiful TV Producer Juliana Weston.

He crosses the Atlantic to fight the planned coup. In a dramatic ending he flees to rural Tuscany with all of the computer files without which the coup cannot be launched.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Walter Frederick
• Release date: Nov 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301541317

Walter Frederick

Roger Boaden (aka Walter Frederick) was born in Newark, Nottinghamshire, England. He spent thirty years working for the Conservative Party, and during that time managed three election campaign tours for Sir Edward Heath, followed by three for Baroness Thatcher (Margaret Thatcher). He also held a number of key posts in the party's organisation. In 1988 he left to lead the successful campaign, widely supported by the general public, to modernise England's outdated and restrictive Sunday trading laws. He has two daughters from his first marriage, Vicki and Fiona, and five grandchildren. In 2002 after serious ill-health he moved with his second wife to France to live in rural Haute Vienne, to the south of Limoges. It is there he finished this book, and he is now working on the follow-up for his central hero Richard Mastin, entitled 'Sand in my Shoe'.

Book preview

A Mole in the Hand

by

Walter Frederick

Published at Smashwords by Walter Frederick Copyright 2012 through 2023 Walter Frederick

Cover Art: Roger and Maria Boaden and Barry McKenna All rights reserved

Learn more about the writing of this book by visiting http:/www.walter-frederick.me

ISBN: 9781301541317

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored, or introduced into any retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form or by any means (digital, electronic, scanning, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. The people and events portrayed in this work of fiction are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and the trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Table of Contents

Preface In the Beginning

Chapter 1 Lucy

Chapter 2 Spencer

Chapter 3 Julia

Chapter 4 Mikhail

Chapter 5 The Helicopter

Chapter 6 Some Moles

Chapter 7 Lot of Money

Chapter 8 The Keegans

Chapter 9 Back Home

Chapter 10 Return to Work

Chapter 11 Tomlinson

Chapter 12 Tom Prince

Chapter 13 Group of Six

Chapter 14 Charlie Weston

Chapter 15 More Tomlinson

Chapter 16 Albuquerque Again

Chapter 17 On to New York

Chapter 18 Ikanov

Chapter 19 Downgraded

Chapter 20 Robin Hicks

Chapter 21 Home Secretary

Chapter 22 Swindon

Chapter 23 Making Up

Chapter 24 Lance

Chapter 25 Listening In

Chapter 26 The Bomb

Chapter 27 Return of Julia

Chapter 28 The Report

Chapter 29 Death of a Gentleman

Chapter 30 Council of War

Chapter 31 Another Bomb

Chapter 32 Croatian Blonde

Chapter 33 One More Sighting

Chapter 34 Onslow Breaks

Chapter 35 Claire Mystery

Chapter 36 House in Dulwich

Chapter 37 D Day Confirmed

Chapter 38 Another Council of War

Chapter 39 Blackwell

Chapter 40 Claire Comes Back

Chapter 41 Being Prepared

Chapter 42 Final Data Set

Chapter 43 Uncle Jimmy

Chapter 44 A New Mastin

Chapter 45 An Unhappy Russian

Chapter 46 Tuscany

Chapter 47 Family Arrival

Chapter 48 Getting Ready

Chapter 49 Maggiore Bonetti

Chapter 50 Defensive Tactics

Chapter 51 First Contact

Chapter 52 The Real Battle

Chapter 53 Final Episode

Chapter 54 Marrying Julia

Chapter 55 Return to England

Chapter 56 Epilogue

Preface In the Beginning

I have long been fascinated by British born spy Sir Anthony Blunt. It appears, apart from the few officers in the MI5 who harboured suspicions about him; it was not known he had spied for the Soviet Union until 31 years after his recruitment, and the public were not told of his treachery for 46 years.

It is true Sir Anthony Blunt, 1907 to 1983, was a world renowned art expert and art historian.

He became the Surveyor of the King’s Paintings in 1946, the leading Royal expert on art, a post he retained when Queen Elizabeth II succeeded to the Throne.

It is true he was related to the Queen Mother and through her to the Queen herself.

It is also true Sir Anthony Blunt was a traitor.

A dedicated Marxist as a student at Cambridge in 1926; he joined the ‘Cambridge Apostles’, a secret society which was strongly Marxist. In 1933 he went to Russia, and it was probably there he was recruited by the NKVD (the forerunner of the KGB). He then became the KGB’s chief ‘talent spotter’ as a member of the Apostles.

It is widely acknowledged he was one of the Cambridge ‘Circle of Five’ British spies - Guy Burgess, Donald Maclean, Harold ‘Kim’ Philby, and John Cairncross - with Blunt being thought of as the ‘fourth’ man. Some also believed it was Blunt who had in fact recruited the other four.

Blunt was interviewed by the MI5 several times, but it was not until he was exposed in 1963, by an American, Michael Straight, one of those Blunt had also recruited at Cambridge, that he confessed to the MI5 in 1964. MI5 granted him immunity from prosecution. It is said his immunity came from his exposure of those he had recruited - but as we do not know whom he did name, it is not unreasonable to speculate about those he did not name.

Some observers think he was turned, but we mere mortals will never know the real truth. We do know he continued to work in Buckingham Palace, meeting regularly with The Queen to discuss the Royal Collection of art.

In 1979, on becoming Prime Minister, Mrs. Thatcher answered a Parliamentary question by exposing the ‘fourth’ man as Blunt, and the removal of the knighthood awarded to him in 1956, followed. There can be no doubt Blunt was a Soviet Russian mole hidden from view for a total of 46 years, spending three-quarters of that time working in Buckingham Palace, and I cannot help wondering how many more he recruited there!

Given what we do know about Blunt, it is logical to speculate the Soviet Union did not stop with Blunt and his four fellow conspirators but continued to recruit many British citizens to operate as undercover moles over the next sixty years.

It is therefore also logical to speculate hundreds, if not thousands, of people became moles. Many probably in highly privileged positions like Blunt. Many of them still alive today!

Even now waiting for the call to act to fulfil their ideological objectives!

I wonder where those moles are right now.

Walter Frederick

Chapter 1 Lucy

A mouse hunting for food was oblivious of the cat hidden in a dark corner watching its progress along the street. The cat’s wait was cut short, as something startled the mouse, and it disappeared down a convenient hole.

There were other movements in the shadows of this quiet Westminster back street.

A figure in black, using all available cover, moved quickly along the street, stopping every few steps to watch and listen for other movements or noises.

The cat squeezed under the gate into the safety of Deans Yard. It was disturbed by two other shadowy figures moving with equal skill and silence some distance behind the first.

Reaching the corner of Barton Street, the first figure took two small packages from a rucksack, placed one in a shaded corner of the steps of a house just in Great College Street, and a second in a corner by a step of a house in Barton Street.

Moving silently from shadow to shadow the figure turned into Cowley Street and pushed two more packages into the soil of window boxes outside two other houses before moving on.

The near total darkness gave additional cover, but as the figure reached the corner of Cowley Street, a spotlight from a Police vehicle patrolling this sensitive area during the curfew, enforced the use of the deeper shadows afforded by some basement steps.

The figure turned into Great Peter Street. The other shadows following quickly caught up.

Each seized an arm, and one rammed a pistol into the captive’s neck. There was a gasp of pain.

The shadow without the gun pulled down the balaclava covering the captive’s face.

Well, well, it is our Lucy. Keep moving you silly cow, and we won’t hurt you. A friend of yours wants a chat.

Piss off! she hissed back.

Shut up and come quietly. Remember the last time we had to meet like this? Don’t try your fancy tricks ‘cause my friend here knows a few tricks of his own.

She looked at the other figure. All she could see were the cruel looking eyes above the dark cloth of his balaclava.

Her shoulders sagged, OK I’ll come quietly. That’s better darlin’, not far to go.

They moved quickly around the back of two buildings, into St. Anne’s Lane, and then into Pye Street.

They crossed over the road, and unlocking a door, entered some empty derelict offices, which were awaiting demolition.

Inside they pushed her down several flights of stairs, into a sub-basement, and along a corridor.

As they moved deeper inside the building she could see light, feel warmth, and hear the growing sound of activity coupled with the hum of equipment.

They turned a corner and entered a large room.

This had once been an open-plan office area of some size, and now a number of people were sitting at desks, several of them with multiple computer monitors.

She stopped and tried to pull away.

In one corner was someone she feared.

Her escorts pushed her across the room and threw the packages she had been hiding onto the desk in front of the man lounging in the corner.

Dearest Lucy so glad you could finally come to see us. Sit down. Go fuck yourself!

Now, now, that’s no way to speak to your one and only brother. You of all people should know it’s impossible for me. But if its sexual excitement you want, there’s a few of the lads here wouldn’t mind obliging.

The Warburton twins had built a reputation as ‘hell raisers’ in the decade before the terrorist inspired disturbances began.

From a blue-blooded family, they had never been short of money. They rebelled against their privileged backgrounds and set about campaigning against anything associated with the establishment.

Lance Warburton was a natural leader, and he now controlled a group of activists seeking to bring about change by undertaking vigilante operations against the troublemakers.

Lucy had originally joined the same group, but now preferred to operate alone, conducting minor acts of what she described as civil disobedience.

We’ve a job for you. I know you like planting your silly little explosive fireworks on the doorsteps of MPs you don’t agree with, but honestly these escapades of yours are becoming a nuisance for us, as we need friends right now and not enemies. The new security people are making it harder for us because of you.

He pushed the four packages to one side.

Do you remember Richard Mastin when he worked for the Tories? She nodded.

There are vacancies on his staff in the PR Company he now owns. I want you to get one of those jobs. Get close to him. Keep in touch, keep your head down. Some weeks down the track, we’ll contact you again to let you know exactly what we want from Mr. Mastin.

Lance smiled at his sister and paused.

Of course, it means cleaning yourself up a bit, becoming rather more ladylike, and behaving.

She pulled a face at him.

Lucy, are you listening?

She glowered at him. She was afraid of him, but her anger was now under control. "Don’t be stupid. I can be more use to the cause out on the streets. I’m worth ten of your

wankers here."

What I have just asked you to do is not a request. Unless you don’t know it we’ve now put ourselves effectively on a war footing. You don’t have a choice. And, nor do we.

She pulled a face again.

Are you saying you want me to spy on him?

Lucy smiled, I suppose it might be fun to see Richard again. I knew him years ago, just after his wife died. He probably won’t remember me, but I had a crush on him at the time. Hey hang on! Why do you want to spy on Richard, doesn’t he do work now for both Parties?

Yes, at least his PR company does. For the record however, I want information which only he can supply, and I also would like to offer him some protection since we believe he’s about to become a major target.

Chapter 2 Spencer

Later that morning and within walking distance from where Lucy’s encounter had taken place, Richard Mastin flung open his office door and bellowed at the top of his voice.

For Christ’s sake, can’t you lot keep the noise down out here?

He stopped, and stared at the tall, grey-haired man who moments before had been shouting at Janet Wheatley, his PA.

My God, is that you? Spencer?

Sure is Richard old buddy. Sorry about the shouting, but this woman has been a real pain, and would not listen to what I had to say. So, I pushed her a bit.

Janet Wheatley’s mouth dropped open at Richard’s reaction.

She was a small well-proportioned woman, in her early forties, and being short in stature she looked quite tiny against the towering height of her boss, and the man she felt was an intruder.

Richard Mastin was tall, almost six feet three inches in height, and slimly built. He was in good physical shape, and as a result looked much younger. He had dark brown hair streaked with some tinges of grey.

His face had a rugged appearance, and his warm friendly brown eyes had a humorous twinkle, which gave him a level of charisma attractive to everyone who knew him.

His problem at this moment lay in the task he was struggling to complete. Two days before he had been summoned to a meeting with Government Ministers. They wanted his detailed assessments of half-finished statistics by the weekend; the best part of a whole month’s work squeezed into three days.

When he started the analysis he had made good progress, but the pressure of other meetings, coupled with the demands of colleagues, who were working hard to provide backup material, had put him way behind schedule.

The shouting between Janet Wheatley and his visitor, Spencer Boyd, had destroyed his concentration, and he felt he had to stop it.

Richard, you know I wouldn’t have disturbed you if this man hadn’t been so insistent. He was adamant he had to see you at once, so I went downstairs to sort him out.

Janet glowered at the intruder, He was beginning to cause a problem for the security people, after I told them you could not be disturbed today. He insisted on speaking to me privately! He told me he must talk ‘with’ you this morning on a matter of extreme urgency. He intimated he was prepared to camp out in the entrance hall until you left the office!

Hands on hips she frowned at the visitor, So, I brought him up here to try and reach some kind of a ceasefire. I explained your predicament. He gave me his card, and then ordered me to give it to you at once, and he shouted. So I shouted back!

Janet Wheatley was close to tears of frustration.

Here it is. She slammed the card into Richard’s hand.

Richard looked at it - ‘Spencer Boyd, Central Intelligence Agency, Regional Director.’

He smiled and patted Janet’s arm. Spencer Boyd was a name from the past, last seen more than twenty years before.

They first met decades before at an International Youth Conference in the improbable setting of Åland, a tiny Finnish Island off Sweden’s Baltic Coast.

Calm down Janet, it’s OK, I guess a little break would actually do me good. Do you think you could possibly rustle up a fresh pot of coffee for us? Please?

My God; you haven’t changed one bit!

Janet smiled as the two men used the same expression at the same time. She was looking at two men of similar ages, height, and build.

‘Mmm, could almost be brothers.’ she said to herself.

She couldn’t concentrate. She had realised what the ‘firm’ this man Boyd worked for, and that troubled her a lot. She could not think of reasons why someone from the CIA would wish to see Richard with such great urgency.

Spencer, it’s really good to see you after all these years.

You too Richard, replied Spencer. before beginning; can I ask; is this room clean? If you mean what I think you mean, it was swept the day before yesterday. We bring the spring cleaners in once a month to check everything. They even listen for signals in all directions, any overlooking windows across the Square for example.

Richard shook his head, I’m working on something special for the Government at the moment, and we thought it appropriate to call the cleaners in a bit earlier than usual this month, particularly in the light of the on-going disturbances we’ve experienced. So, you can relax!

Yea I read something about you working for both sides.

Richard smiled, When I left the Tory Party I set up this company with a leading Labour Party man Geoff Johnson. We’re partners. He looks after the Labour account whilst I concentrate on the Conservatives, and now the Liberal Democrats.

Richard paused, Things have been so difficult here since our inconclusive election, and the establishment of the new coalition. Geoff looks after Labour, and I deal with the Government.

The CIA man looked hard at Richard, What I have to tell you is classified. I had you checked out in DC before flying over, so I could have permission to talk with you openly. I have my clearance from the President no less.

Spencer stopped, I have to apologise for pressurising your lovely PA. She’s very good by the way. I’ve a gut reaction time is not on our side, and I do need your help!

Spencer, I’m sure glad that I do check out! drawled Richard in a poor attempt to imitate the American’s accent.

I’m due in Downing Street in a few hours, followed by a critical conference this weekend. So you’ll have to forgive me; we’re about to take decisions which could probably keep me fully occupied for the next couple of months!

He pulled a face, The riots have got worse here because of the economic crisis. There have been savage public spending cuts, causing much hardship. The Government are becoming jittery as their promised election deadline draws closer. They want to know whether they should call a snap election or not, and unfortunately I need to present the polling research data to them.

Richard turned over his papers, When the coalition began they committed themselves to a fixed term and set a date. However, the troubles have got so bad, some in the Government have been pressing to try and call an earlier election to give them a new mandate. We were employed to do some research. I think we will be telling them to hang on as originally planned.

Spencer frowned at Richard, Pity about the weekend, I was kinda hoping you’d come stateside with me, like in the next coupla days.

Spencer, even if I could drop everything I need more of an explanation than that.

Sure, sure, Richard, explanation coming up, but first could I take some coffee on board? At that moment Janet came in with coffee. Boyd stood at once and crossed over to her. Janet, I hope you will allow me to call you Janet, please accept my sincere apologies. In time you might understand why I needed to speak with Richard so urgently today. By the way, I thought you stood your ground in a magnificent way.

Janet left, smiling to herself.

Spencer began his story, Some years back, you had regular contact with a guy in the Soviet Embassy, by the name of Mikhail Limonov. Do you remember him?

Richard nodded.

He was one of those KGB people thrown out when there were the tit-for-tat expulsions with the Soviets before the collapse of what President Reagan called the evil empire. You probably discovered how suddenly all contact with him was broken off totally, as if he had disappeared without trace.

Spencer smiled, Well, he didn’t disappear. He went back to Moscow for a time. After that he popped up in Helsinki, Ankara, Brussels, and Lisbon. And then he really did disappear from view. We assumed he’d gone back to Moscow with a high-flying posting.

He drank some coffee, When Gorbachev took over, Limonov emerged as the No.4 in the KGB with particular responsibility for Western Europe, specialising in English. Following the attempted coup against Gorbachev, we thought he might have been eliminated, particularly in view of his seniority in the KGB. But no, he emerged as one of the top figures in the re- structured security service which followed the disbandment of the KGB.

Spencer drank more coffee, He became a pretty important guy, because first Yeltsin, and then Putin, kept him on as Number Two in the new service. And then, he survived even after Putin changed the constitution to give himself the chance of a term in office as Prime Minister, before becoming President again.

He stood up and walked over to the window, One week ago Limonov came to see us with direct orders from the top! His brief is to work with us to defeat those we suspect are trying to create revolutions in several Western countries, including your own. Since the credit crunch and the world economic crisis there have been some massive increases in subversive activity, as you well know here in the UK.

Richard tried to intervene, but Spencer stopped him, Limonov has developed considerable expertise on Islamist terrorism, and we now know he has vital information to share with us. He is convinced that much of what has been happening is orchestrated by ex-KGB operatives, remember he’s one himself. He’s given us a lot already, but he’s holding something back!

It took Richard time to absorb the significance of this information, as he also stood looking out of a window.

His own links with the Government had made him sensitive to all aspects of security. His mind went back to his own positive vetting because of his links with Limonov.

Spencer turned and touched Richard’s shoulder, Hey Rich’, can you hear me!

Richard jumped.

Sorry Spencer, I was day-dreaming a wee bit. I was thinking back to the time when the security services here interviewed me about my knowledge of Limonov. Forgive me, it’s rude to daydream. Please go on.

Spencer resumed, Limonov is in my safe keeping right now. One of the reasons why I’m so jumpy about security is because his mission has to be kept secret. The Russians believe some of his former colleagues are desperate to get to him. Because of their fears we have him under tight wraps at a secret location.

He sighed, They’re so tight; you are only the ninth person outside the National Security Council and the President, to know Limonov is even in the States. There’s a complication, or at least the potential for one. Some of our leading conservative politicians, who will never accept the Cold War ever came to an end, seem to have gotten wind of something going on.

Spencer shook his head, Those guys, and they’re quite senior in Congress and the Senate, will not accept that someone with Limonov’s track record can ever be trusted. If they could prove we’ve got him with us, they’d cause us some difficulty. We also know there are ex-KGB agents still running around in the system. Most of them have stacks of money laundered away in Banks all around the World.

He paused, We’ve been debriefing Limonov piece by piece. And we’re also seeking information of use to our Allies, particularly in the light of his mission to us. I have to tell you when I was first briefed I was sceptical.

He paused again, So, I understand how you must be feeling right now. One thing I know is this is the real world we live in. It might read a bit like a Grisham or Clancy novel, but it’s very real, frighteningly so!

Spencer took Richard’s arm, Three days ago I noticed inconsistency in his reporting to us. He’s only served in five EU Capitals; First London and Brussels, and then before they became members of the Community, Helsinki, Warsaw, and Lisbon.

Spencer sat down at the desk, He gave us a lot of information in four EU countries but came up short on what he was telling us about the UK. I challenged that inconsistency, and after a while he agreed he would come across with the information. But only to one person. I’m afraid it was you!

Spencer stopped and watched Richard’s face as this information had its effect.

He went on, To date only Limonov, me, and now you, know that conversation ever took place. Two days ago, I pressed Limonov hard to say why he would only talk to you. At first he closed right up. Only after repeated questioning would he say more. He said, ‘Tell Richard the information could affect him personally, and only he will know how to deal with it. Since Richard is a friend of mine, and a friend of yours as well, please contact him, and ask him to come to me’.

Spencer got up slowly, I’ve precious little time to convince you to come and talk to your old buddy Limonov. I’ve a nasty feeling the information he’s got is crucial for us all! I got the next available commercial flight over to see you. I could have called up a special flight but suspected that might be spotted. So, here I am old buddy.

Richard crossed to the cabinet to pour more coffee.

He stood for several moments, drinking his coffee, staring out of the window at the Square below, deep in thought as he pondered what he had just heard, and the request made of him. He knew there was no way he could consider it, at least for some time.

Richard understood the gravity of what could be at stake, only too well, and he also knew somehow or other he would have to make the transatlantic journey. He turned back to the American, his face furrowed in doubt.

Spence, I’m at a loss for words. I don’t know what to say.

Don’t say anything. Limonov clearly rates you. I guess you’ve no choice, but could you try and get released?

Richard pulled a face, Sorry, I cannot say yes, and I cannot say no. If they decide to call an Election now, then there’s no way. If they accept our advice and put it off, and by the way that remark is highly classified; then, I could try and get a flight. We’ll have to wait until after the weekend.

OK Richard, guess I’ll have to live with that. On my flight over I tried to second-guess Limonov. I’ve assumed he knows there are one or more former KGB moles in key positions in your Party, and yet buried from view. If we’re correct in concluding it is these kinda guys who could be involved with many of the troubles, and if there are some moles in deep cover inside your Party, then you’ve got some very real problems!

Spencer sounded anxious, Just think about it, someone who has been in place for a long time was probably feeding the Soviets for many years, maybe even decades. Then, following the fall of the Communists, switching allegiances to new masters, who because they are ex-KGB operatives still having similar objectives to before. Ideologically there’s no change for them. They could be a serious threat.

Richard shook his head, but Spencer continued, If the other information Limonov has given us is correct, the old KGB hardliners are almost certain to be those who are behind the disturbances in several countries. Limonov is convinced they’ve linked up with the Chechens and through them with what’s left of the El Qaëda network!

Spencer, what are you telling me? Richard could scarcely believe it.

Let me spell it out, replied Spencer, if we’re right, then this could represent a very serious challenge to your Party, and maybe even your own Government!

Richard knew it could be true.

Britain’s economy was in deep trouble.

There had been mass strikes, particularly by public sector unions; there had been some prison riots, and there was nightly anarchy on the streets of Britain’s Cities.

The riots in the summer were but a small foretaste of what followed, and how easy it was to cause a situation.

The new get-tough policy wasn’t working, and many were beginning to think Britain was becoming ungovernable.

Richard knew of information available to Ministers that the Irish National Liberation Army, the INLA, who had never accepted the Good Friday Agreement peace accord in Northern Ireland, had armed Militant and Socialist Workers Party activists. He thought, ‘Put that together with former KGB agents able to influence policy, and …’

Richard shuddered, Haven’t things eased off a lot since the Cold War came to an end? Since the Soviet Union fell apart with the new Federation and the new Republics, I thought all of this had diminished the need for the spying games.

Richard, how much do you know about your MI5 and MI6? And you live in what is supposed to be an open democracy! When they disbanded the KGB, they had no idea what happened to all the hardliners.

Spencer looked worried, Unfortunately, there was no purge of key officials following the attempted coup against Gorbachev, as there would have been had Stalin still been around. It’s our view that a lot of those hardliners simply stayed in business, faded quietly from view, and went underground, often with crucial information and, a pile of cash.

He poured more coffee, Despite the fact Yeltsin disbanded the KGB and formed a new security service, many of those old KGB men stayed around, but with new, and possibly even more sinister objectives.

Spencer drank from his cup, In effect they privatised a whole army of highly trained agents, all of whom had built up bank accounts to wait for the day when they could begin the revolution again. When Putin won his first election he promised to deal with Chechnya, but things just got worse and worse.

He pointed his finger at Richard, We’re pretty sure they are the people behind all the disturbances. We believe they must be stopped, and it looks as if your old friend Limonov is a key player in that battle. The problem is, as yet, we don’t know exactly why.

Spencer paused again, You know, 9-11 changed the rules of the game, and many other changes have had to come in the wake of the credit crunch, not least the dramatic events in the Middle East.

Spencer held his friend’s arm again, I’ve worked in the CIA a long time now. I’ve got what is largely a domestic role, brought about because of the destruction of the World Trade centre.

He held out his hand to Richard, So, old buddy, please come and help us, when you can?

Chapter 3 Julia

"Welcome aboard this American Airlines flight Airbus 380 to Dallas Fort Worth. Our flying time is seven hours, and drinks and meals will be served, details of which you will find in the pocket in front of you.

"Please observe the overhead signs until they are switched off. If you need any assistance please call me through the help button in the armrest panel of your seat. I’m Nancy, and I and my colleagues are at your service. Have a good flight now."

The drawl of the flight attendant’s announcement pulled Richard from the daydream he had been in since taking his first-class seat in the giant Airbus at London’s Gatwick Airport.

Four days had passed since his dramatic meeting with his old friend Spencer Boyd. Those four days had been hectic.

The first two were in meetings with leading Ministers. The reports from his company had helped to substantiate the case for those opposed to an early Election.

They decided to delay until the previously committed date in 2015. That gave him the opportunity to fly to the USA.

Janet had been marvellous. Making calls to cancel meetings, booking the flight, and helping Richard organise arrangements for his daughters, Claire, and Annie.

Apart from these three, there hadn’t been a woman in his life since his wife was tragically killed some years before.

He had married relatively late in life, and her death had brought him closer to the two teenage girls. Now, he split his time between his Dolphin Square apartment and their house in Tonbridge.

Janet came to the rescue. She had no immediate family of her own, and she had no hesitation in volunteering to arrange for the girls to stay with her in her house in Dulwich, a short distance from their school.

From the moment his meeting with Boyd ended, Richard knew he had to travel to see Mikhail Limonov.

He pinched himself as the silver jet roared down Gatwick’s number one runway and lifted off into the cloudless Sussex sky. He felt a deep sense of foreboding, realising he was being pitched into the unknown.

The Airbus lifted into the clear sky. He couldn’t help worrying at thoughts of what lay ahead. He knew his own fear of the unknown could be greater than fear itself.

He pulled himself out of his daydreaming and looked around.

He had decided to travel first class and was sitting in the window seat of one of the pairs of seats in the spacious cabin area. He glanced at his neighbour and jumped.

He was looking straight into the eyes of an attractive smiling face. His shock showed because she laughed.

No need to look so surprised, I have been here almost as long as you, but you were miles away. Please accept my apologies if my appearance appears to shock you so much.

Richard struggled to recover his composure.

"Oh no, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, I .... well, erm, what I mean is You’re

correct. I was miles away, and well, erm, I was totally unaware of your arrival. I didn’t quite expect to find someone as stunning as you sitting next to me. Oh God, will you listen to me, please forgive me again, that sounds rather like a poor attempt at a chat-up, so perhaps I’d better shut up."

No, on the contrary, she replied, I’m very flattered to have such an instantaneous affect upon any man. Hang on a minute; don’t I know who you are?

Oh I’m sorry yet again; perhaps I should have introduced myself.

She stopped him with a gentle touch on his arm, No need, I know exactly who you are, in fact I have to admit I have you at a major disadvantage, I know a great deal about you!

Richard’s heart missed several beats.

Spencer had warned him to look out for coincidences, and now here was one which sounded a cause for alarm.

Forgive me, I didn’t mean to be rude, please don’t look so alarmed. Again she touched his arm, this time holding it with a reassuring squeeze.

I should explain. My name is Julia Weston.

Her smile was infectious, "I’m a Television Director, and I’m en route to work on a new feature based in Dallas. By coincidence I’ve brought a file with me for another project which I will be studying over the next few days, and amazingly you are a part of that file. I’ve a detailed biography of you, and already, I’ve started reading you up. You are Richard Mastin. You are the CEO of a major PR Company, which you set up after you left the Conservative Party Organisation.

Julia’s smile continued, Having worked particularly close to more than one Conservative Prime Minister is something which makes you a pretty unique and influential figure in politics today. You were born in Italy of an Italian mother and an English father. Your parents were killed when you were very young and you were raised by your maternal grandmother in Italy, but you were educated in England.

She shrugged her shoulders and laughed, You are a widower with two teenage daughters. Now it’s my turn to apologise. It’s just dawned on me why you looked so guilty when I said I knew who you were. You thought you had been caught slipping off for a holiday before the Election breaks.

Julia smiled at him, Forgive me, but your face went through so many changes of emotion, it really is quite funny.

Recovering rapidly, Richard smiled.

Actually, there isn’t now going to be an Election. In fact he said, looking at his watch.

The announcement is being made in a couple of minutes time. So you see, I’m not skiving, I’m having well-earned rest.

They were both still laughing; he with relief; she with amusement, when the first refreshments arrived. Afternoon tea. The flight attendants busied themselves serving the various items for tea; Richard started thinking about why he knew Julia Weston.

He was naturally reticent to make small talk at any time, and particularly so with a complete stranger, but the recent exchanges between them had made him feel at ease with her.

As the cabin staff moved away with their trolleys, he turned towards her and snapped his fingers.

I’ve got you now; aren’t you Lady Juliana Weston? Everybody’s Queen of the Debs; about to be married many times over; never out of the gossip columns; talked of as being the bane of her poor Father’s life.

Richard smiled, One day disappearing from view; then reappearing as an up-and-coming TV Director; the only child of the fifth Earl of Newark, a former Secretary of State for Defence.

Touché! she smiled, "actually, not bad, not bad at all, considering my information about you is detailed research done by my researcher, and all itemised in a fat folder. As for the Lady thing, I’ll tell you something I have never told to another soul. When my father sent me off to boarding school at eleven, I knew no better than to introduce myself as Lady Juliana. Well I got one heck of a lot of stick for being such a snob, and I quickly dropped the lady bit, and then decided to become Julia, and Julia it’s been ever since!

She smiled, You are of course quite correct, I was baptised Juliana. I am Juliana Christiana Isabella to be precise. Three names which date back to the thirteenth century in our family, but I have found over the years that plain Julia is easier for everyone, and, I happen to like it better.

Her brow became furrowed, They were the names, I think of three of my twelfth great aunts. My mother decided to use me to preserve family history when she discovered she could have no more children after giving birth to me.

Richard smiled at her, Thirteenth century, that’s impressive. It must make for some fascinating family history.

I guess it does, but then your family history must also be interesting. How come the spelling of your surname, M A S T I N, unusual, where does that come from?

I agree it is odd. I’ve done some family tree research to find out why when I discovered a relative who spelt his surname differently. It seems my fifth great grandfather, William, and his wife Hannah, were both illiterate. They could only make their marks on the parish register in Nottinghamshire for their marriage, and they went on to have six children. There were different spellings of their surname recorded in parish registers.

He paused as he thought, William was a Sawyer, which involved moving around a lot, so each child was born in a different parish. As William and Hannah couldn’t read they could have no idea of the spelling of his name, only how it sounded, and I suppose different parish clerks interpreted what he said in different ways. It seems as if I ended up with one of the Mastin bits of the family.

Julia touched his arm, What’s the background to your Italian connection?

Richard laughed, "My father landed in Italy at the end of the War. He was a captain and was at the