Kitabı oku: «Cold Black», sayfa 2

Chapter 2

Presidential Dacha, Minsk Region, Belarus

Dark hair patted down, burgundy tie, crisp white shirt and dark-blue suit. Sverov admired himself in the mirror. It was important he make the right impression; he was, after all, going to be the first ever head of the Belarusian Intelligence Service – the KGB – to be interviewed by the BBC.

When the BBC had contacted him via the embassy, his initial reaction had been to refuse the journalist an entry visa into the country. However, after a moment’s thought, he’d decided that the potential positive publicity would greatly help the image of Belarus. So he’d replied yes and got his hands on the most recent reports filed by the same journalist to check his credibility.

It was going to be a full half-hour interview for the BBC World programme HARDtalk Extra. Sverov had read with much interest the list of former interviewees, some of whom he greatly admired, while others he would have shot on sight if they ever entered his country. He had advised the President of the benefits this interview would bring and then made him believe it had been his own idea all along. Megalomaniacs like the President, although he never would have admitted to anyone that he thought his leader was one, were easy to manipulate.

Sverov exited the bathroom in the presidential dacha and took his seat in the study. The BBC make-up girl had already applied his, something he found effeminate, but a necessary evil. The sound recordist clipped a microphone to his lapel, a ‘backup’, he had said, to the furry grey sound boom suspended out of shot above his head. The BBC journalist, Simon White, lived up to his name. He was possibly the pastiest individual Sverov had ever met. His thin frame actually looked bigger onscreen but his eyes had a dark intensity.

Sverov had demanded a list of questions a month in advance and made it clear he wouldn’t answer any new ones unless they’d been faxed and agreed. Sverov spoke, in his own opinion, ‘good English’, but had said that, for the actual interview, he would feel more ‘comfortable’ speaking in Belarusian. The producer, however, had asked if the interview could be in English, as this was the style of the HARDtalk series. Sverov accepted his reasoning that, to ‘woo the West’, one must speak their language. For the past month he had been practising with the KGB language instructors. His English was more than ‘good’ – he was in fact fluent – but he wouldn’t have passed for a native speaker. He still had an accent and sometimes paused to find the most appropriate words.

As the crew readied themselves, Sverov noted White’s professionalism, a trait lacking in all Belarusian journalists. This was with the exception of those, of course, who worked for the state-owned Golas Radzimy (Voice of the Motherland) and Narodnaja Volya (The People’s Will). The BBC crew were ready, he was told, to start taping the interview. Sverov nodded and composed himself. He knew in which order the questions were to be asked and had already rehearsed his replies, but he was still sweating and not because of the harsh TV lights. The director gave the cue and White started with his piece to camera.

‘Speaking in 2005, the then United States Secretary of State, Condoleezza Rice, identified six “outposts of tyranny” around the world. These were Cuba, Iran, Burma, North Korea, Zimbabwe, and Belarus. My guest today is someone who was not at all happy with this statement. Ivan Sverov, Director of the Belarusian State Security Service, the KGB. Director Sverov, thank you for agreeing to speak to HARDtalk.’

Sverov nodded. He wasn’t happy with the introduction, either, but had his prepared response to it – the Americans would turn red.

‘Thank you for the opportunity to let me correct the lies perpetuated about my country by the former Bush administration.’

The reply was what White expected. ‘If I may start with what has been said about your President. He has been accused, allegedly, of crushing dissent, persecuting the independent media, political opposition, and rigging elections.’

Sverov frowned. ‘By whom? Certainly not credible governments. President Lukachev has led Belarus for more than fifteen years. He has given us more than fifteen years of stability. Can any of our former Soviet neighbours boast that? Indeed, President Lukachev came to power on his promise to “stop the Mafia”, to root out corruption in the former government. To make accusations of illegal activity against the President is a nonsense!’

Although impressed by the formality of his interviewee’s English, White cut in. ‘What about Secretary of State Rice’s comment labelling Belarus an outpost of tyranny?’

‘Secretary Rice’s assessment was very far from reality. We invited her to see our country for herself. These completely false stereotypes and prejudices were a poor basis for the formation of effective policy in the sphere of foreign relations. On behalf of my government I would like to invite her successor, Mrs Clinton, to visit. Now let us look at the word “tyrant”. What is a tyrant? A tyrant is an individual holding power through a state, a ruler who places the interests of a small group over the interests of others. In this context, President Lukachev has placed the interests of the Belarusian people above the interests of the rest of the world. Let us look at the original meaning of tyrant. In ancient Greece, tyrants were those who had gained power by getting the support of the poor by giving them land and freeing them from servitude or slavery. The word “tyrant” simply referred to those who overturned the established government through the use of popular support. President Lukachev has the popular support. Secretary Rice did not choose her words with care. Perhaps she did not fully understand them?’ Sverov folded his arms. He was very pleased with that reply, especially the wordplay.

White was not perturbed. ‘If I may? The 2007 referendum, which the President won, allowing him to run for a third term, was criticised for being rigged.’

Sverov shook his head in disbelief. ‘Observers were present and they say to the contrary.’

Sverov continued to set out the policies of the Belarusian government and their hopes for wider cooperation with Europe.

White nodded. He was no fool. He had seen the information on the subsequent demonstrations in Minsk, which had been violently dispersed by heavy-handed riot police. ‘Why did the Committee to Protect Journalists describe Belarus as one of the ten worst places to be a journalist?

‘Again, this is based on lies. Let us look at the facts. Since 1994 the President has doubled the minimum wage and combated inflation by reintroducing state control of prices. Is this a bad place to be?’

‘Freedom of the press, is that not important?’

‘All freedom is important. My purpose is to preserve freedom. The state security services exist to preserve freedom.’

White didn’t give up. ‘So why is there no independent press or media in Belarus?’

Sverov tried not to show his anger; the journalist was attempting to lead the interview away from the agreed parameters. Perhaps he had been too hasty to judge White as different from the activists who attempted to attack his government and their achievements? He calmed himself and answered the question.

‘We welcome the media in Belarus; you are evidence of this. Our book-publishing industry is another example of this; it is thriving and we export many Russian-language books to other CIS states.’

White looked at his notes for a moment; the answer had been as expected – evasive. No mention had been made of the many independent newspapers forced to close due to ‘bureaucratic irregularities’, including failure to keep to regular publication dates. He tried a different tack. ‘Is it not true that the problem in Belarus…’

‘Problem!’ Sverov had started to lose his composure.

‘If I may continue? The “problem” is not official censorship, which is explicitly forbidden by your national constitution, but the volume of legislation used to curtail freedom of expression and silence internal dissent?’

Sverov fixed the journalist in the eye, a move the camera did not miss. ‘Such as?’

‘“Discrediting Belarus abroad” and “insulting the President”. These are criminal offences punishable by up to two and five years in jail, respectively.’

‘Yes, they are.’ The KGB Director nodded. ‘These laws protect the reputation and good standing of our country.’

White tried to come in. ‘But…’

Sverov held up his hand. ‘If I may finish? Let me cite one of your own UK laws, “Incitement to racial hatred”. This law makes it illegal to “deliberately provoke hatred of a racial group by distributing racist material to the public or making inflammatory public speeches, creating racist websites, inciting inflammatory rumours about an individual or an ethnic group, for the purpose of spreading racial discontent”.’

There was a pause. Sverov was happy he had remembered the lines word for word. ‘This is exactly what our laws protect against. Inciting racial hatred, against Belarus and its President.’

‘But these laws are being interpreted in a very sweeping manner. Take, for instance, the case of Mikolai Markevich, the editor of the Den newspaper. He was sentenced to eighteen months forced labour in 2002 for allegedly insulting President Lukachev…’

Sverov leaned forward in his seat. ‘Our laws dictate that, for national security reasons, I cannot comment on individual cases.’

‘But would you like to hear what Mr Markevich himself had to say on the matter?’

‘I do not think your audience would want to hear the ranting of a convicted criminal.’

Sverov was on the brink of cancelling the interview but feared the repercussions from the President. He had started well, made some good, persuasive points, and now had to ensure he continued in the same manner. White wasn’t going to make him look small or weak.

White pursed his lips before continuing. ‘The EU has shut its doors to you. Are you not the lonely man of Europe?’

‘Since 1998 we have been an active member of the Non-Aligned Movement, which has some 116 member states. This is the majority of the world community. Belarus, as a NAM member state, is not alone. Belarus has an active economy. We export more than 55% of our gross national product and 80% of our industrial production. There are not many countries in the world with the same coefficients of the export share. By “shutting the door”, the EU is losing a huge amount of trade with us. Therefore, while I would favour Belarus working more closely with EU member states, I believe we would not have much to gain by becoming a member – rather that the EU would gain more.’

‘Surely you can’t mean that?’ White was surprised. This response had been tantamount to Belarus turning her back on the EU.

‘Belarus is fortunate. We have old friends, such as Russia and Ukraine, new friends, such as the other NAM member states, and those whom we are not averse to becoming acquainted with, the EU and the US. However, we are perfectly happy at the moment and certainly not “lonely”. “Our dance card is full,” as you would say.’

‘What about the standard of living in Belarus? Is it not lower than in the West?’

‘By what measure? The number of US-imported goods?’ Sverov shook his head and smiled in what he thought was a scholarly manner. ‘Let us look at the findings of the “Save the Children” report, which compared 167 countries. Belarus has the highest rating for quality of life for women and children among all countries in the former Soviet Union. This is higher even than the new EU member states. Belarus is the leader, in the post-Soviet era, in the production and supply of agricultural goods per person, the GNP share for education, and the share of students of further education among the population. Belarus exceeds all CIS states in the generalised index of human development calculated by the UN. How can we have a “lower standard of living”? Is the UN incorrect?’

White nodded. The Belarusian had an answer for everything, which would make for amusing, if not politically astute, television. He wanted to move the interview on. He would ask about tourism next, then bring up the government ban on certain ‘rock groups’ performing in Belarus.

The interview over, the sound man removed the mic and thanked the Belarusian. Sverov stared at White, who was exchanging words with his unit director. They had far more people than he would have thought necessary recording this programme, but then they were the BBC and, he surmised, must be experts at what they did.

Riyadh, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia

Fouad Al Kabir held his diamond-encrusted Vertu mobile phone in his right hand and counted his worry beads with his left. The call had come directly from his brother, the Saudi ambassador in London. His eldest daughter, Jinan, was safe! Al Kabir gazed out over the city from his high office window and thanked Allah for his daughter’s deliverance.

‘But what of those who took her?’ They had to be punished.

‘Two escaped, the rest are dead,’ replied Umar Al Kabir.

‘You are certain she is not in danger?’ The younger brother wanted the elder’s reassurance.

‘Fouad, it was Jinan who called me herself.’

The sun reflected heavily off the window as it set in the desert sky, a mixture of reds and gold filling the room. Fouad finally let himself relax as Umar relayed what Jinan had told him about how she had been snatched from school and how a man had come from nowhere and saved her.

‘This is a man of honour, brother. He must be rewarded.’

‘I agree,’ replied the ambassador.

‘Where is my daughter now?’

‘She is safe. I will personally collect her, brother; as her uncle I will not leave that to another. I will be with her in an hour.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Do not thank me, brother. We are family.’

Flanked by two large bodyguards on each side, Umar Al Kabir entered his diplomatic Mercedes and ordered the driver to head for Brighton as fast as he could. They would pay no heed to speed limits, enforcement cameras, or traffic police. There had been an attempted kidnapping of a member of the Saudi royal family! Sitting comfortably in his leather seat, Umar Al Kabir dialled a Whitehall number very few people had, and was immediately connected to the British Foreign Secretary.

‘Robert, this is Umar. I have some strange and worrying news to tell you. Someone has tried to kidnap my niece.’

Paddington Green Secure Police Station, London

Left alone in the cell while his details were checked, Fox tried to make sense of the day’s events. He had killed three men, wounded a fourth, saved a child, and ended his marriage, all in the space of a minute. The police had arrived and cordoned off the street, forming a barrier. Arms raised above his head, Fox had approached them and given a description of the remaining X-rays and the Mondeo; however, they seemed more concerned with arresting him, the man responsible for the bodies on the ground. Now, three hours later, he sat in the secure police station being treated like a criminal.

His thoughts again wandered to Sawyer as he relived the scene in his head. Fox had seen the man’s face, had recognised him, and in that moment all his anger, all his frustration, had shot down his arm to his trigger finger. It wasn’t an accident; it had been a conscious decision. However, that would be difficult to prove. Sawyer had been in the way – in his line of sight during a firefight – and was an unfortunate victim of crossfire.

What about the kids’ videos? The fact that Sawyer had decided to run, to leave Tracey, proved he wasn’t a real man. What of his Tracey? This, he regretted – losing her. He could never be with her again, not now she had betrayed him, even if she forgave him for shooting her lover. It was his code: loyalty. Fox wasn’t a man to forgive betrayal; he hadn’t done in the past and he wouldn’t now. Shooting Sawyer was rough justice but in his mind was just that – ‘just’. Tracey would have to accept this and move on.

Fox shook his head and chuckled to himself demonically. Shit, he had felt more alive in that minute than at any other time since leaving the Regiment. Like a boxer making a successful comeback for the world title, he had felt elated. He had killed but more importantly he had saved. Saved the life of an innocent schoolgirl. In the Almighty’s book of ‘good and bad deeds’, he was sure saving her cancelled out ending the life of a terrorist or even a philanderer. Sawyer, a pathetic little man who hadn’t only cheated on his own wife, but taken another’s?

Fox felt bad for Sawyer’s wife, that was all; the man had no children. Fox wasn’t religious but in situations like this, after he had killed, he would sit and reason it out. This, however, had been the first time he had shot a man who wasn’t endangering his own life, an unarmed civilian. His first attempted murder? Perhaps Sawyer was dead; he had been told nothing.

The cell door opened, breaking his train of thought. A uniformed police officer, with greying temples, pointed at Fox. ‘Get up and follow me.’

Fox rose and walked out of the cell; the door was shut behind him by a second officer. The three men walked down a harshly lit corridor to an interview room. The door opened and he was ushered inside. A further two officers were sitting at the metal table.

‘Please take a seat, Mr Fox.’ DCI Mincer was fifty-five and had a round face that tended to put those he questioned at ease. These were enviable traits in a member of the anti-terrorist squad. Fox sat and Mincer started the tape recorder.

‘Interview with James Celtic Fox. Officers present, DC Flynn and DCI Mincer.’

Fox smirked at the second name; Mincer gave him a look that said, ‘I’ve heard it all before’.

‘Interviewee has declined the offer of counsel.’ Mincer started the interview. ‘Mr Fox. Can I call you James?’

‘Only my mother calls me James. My name’s Paddy.’

‘Can I call you Paddy?’

‘Knock yourself out.’

‘Paddy, we’ve checked the information you gave to our desk sergeant and I have a couple of questions.’

‘Fire away.’