‘To be fair now, Phil, it’s always been about the money.’

  ‘No, I mean you can’t claim this as a victory, can you? Sure, you’ve seized three billion dollars of oligarch money, but the first thing your bosses are going to ask is where is it? And they’re not going to be happy when you tell them you haven’t got it, that it’s somewhere out in the ether. This whole confiscation business isn’t so much about depriving the oligarchs of their assets, it’s about seizing and using them, to help fund Ukraine’s fight against Russia for instance. That’s why you need to keep this operation up and running - you need cash to give to your bosses. This is all about making you look good.’

  ‘About making us both look good, Phil. You’ll be the one getting the credit for us.’

  ‘And I’ll be the one putting his life on the line.’

  ‘We’ll be watching over you,’ says Waller. ‘I’ll have an SAS team ready to go in at the first sign of a problem.’

  ‘Which is all well and good unless the first sign of a problem is me getting a bullet between the eyes.’

  ‘They’re not going to kill you until they have their money back,’ he says. ‘And once they have their money back, there’s no point in killing you. What we need to do is to get you back into play so that you can prove that you are valuable to them. But we have to do this quickly. We have a very small window of opportunity and that window is closing. If we move quickly we can get you to Dubai tonight or tomorrow at the latest.’

  Your mind is racing now. Part of you wants to say no, that it’s time to bring the operation to a close and for you to get on with your life. But you know that he has a point. The oligarchs are down three billion dollars and they’re unlikely to just walk away. You don’t have much faith in witness protection, not when the people looking for you are richer than god. So long as there is the possibility that the oligarchs can get their money back, they’re not going to let it drop.

  ‘What exactly have you got in mind?’ you ask.

  ‘Why don’t you pop up to the canteen and get yourself something to eat while I make a few phone calls?’

  ‘Okay,’ you say. ‘You’ll have to show me the way.’

  ‘Not a problem. I’ll take you there and grab myself a sandwich and coffee.’

  ‘And I fly to Dubai today?’

  ‘Today or tomorrow. We need to strike while the iron is hot.’

  You smile at that. Waller is a great one for saying ‘we’ when he means ‘you.’

  CHAPTER 34

  You have no recollection of being in the Thames House canteen before. It’s on the eighth floor, behind reinforced glass that looks out across the Thames towards the South Bank. It is a grey day but from this height you can just make out the top of the Eye turning slowly through the drizzle. The décor is all pale wood and brushed metal, the kind of government-issue modernity that could have belonged to a bank or a hospital. Officers drift in and out in ones and twos, carrying trays, swapping low conversation. Most keep their lanyards tucked inside their jackets. At one end, a few tables are half-screened off, presumably for those who need private conversations while they eat.

  You take fish and chips with a side order of baked beans, and a mug of tea. Waller rifles through a selection of plastic-wrapped sandwiches before finding one he wants. He takes a coffee, pays for the food and drinks, and then heads off to do whatever he has to do. You carry your tray over to a table by the window with a view over the river. The fish and chips is better than the ones they gave you in the police cell. You sit and eat as you stare out of the window. Your mind is in turmoil. Part of you wants to tell Waller that you want it to stop, that enough is enough. You did what was expected of you, it isn’t your fault that the money is out of reach. But you realise that Waller is right when he says that hiding probably won’t work. If the oligarchs are determined to find you, then they have the resources to track you down wherever you are. You’re like a shark, the only way to survive is to keep moving forward.

  You finish your meal and then get yourself another cup of tea. You’re halfway through it when Waller returns. ‘Right, we’re good to go,’ he says. ‘There are three Emirates flights out of Heathrow to Dubai tonight at ten to eight, twenty to nine and ten fifteen. There are seats available on all of them, plus there are BA flights available too. Come with me.’

  You follow him out of the canteen, along a corridor and down in a lift to the third floor. The room he takes you to has TECHNICAL SUPPORT on the door. He gives a quick knock and pushes it open to reveal a windowless room that is lined with shelves filled with electrical equipment. Sitting behind an oversized desk with three computer monitors and two laptops was an Asian guy wearing a white lab coat.

  ‘I don’t suppose you remember Amar, do you?’ asks Waller.

  ‘Sorry, no,’ you say. You hold out your hand and he shakes it.

  His hand is soft, the nails perfectly manicured. He’s good-looking with gelled hair, wearing what looks like an Armani suit with brightly polished shoes and gilt-framed spectacles. ‘We’ve met a couple of times,’ he says. ‘Martin said you’ve had a complete loss of memory brought on by trauma?’

  You nod. ‘Yeah, I was in a car smash.’

  ‘And you can’t remember anything?’

  ‘I can remember facts and figures. But I can’t remember anything that has happened to me.’

  Amar nods. ‘They call that episodic retrograde amnesia, don’t they?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what the shrinks say.’

  ‘It’s not my field, but I’m pretty sure that it’s not permanent, right?’

  ‘Again, that’s what they say. They seem to think that my memory should have returned by now, but there’s no sign of any improvement.’

  ‘Fingers crossed,’ says Amar. ‘So Martin says you need a reliable bug and tracking device?’

  ‘I guess so.’ You look over at Waller. ‘But the Russians aren’t stupid, they’re going to check me over, aren't they?’

  ‘There’s checking and there’s checking,’ says Waller. ‘Amar’s stuff is state of the art, they generally outsmart conventional debugging techniques.’

  ‘What phone are you using?’ asks Amar.

  You take out the phone you retrieved from Nikolay Lazovsky in the warehouse and give it to him. Amar studies it. ‘Okay, what I’ll do is replace the battery with one of our units that contains the transmitter and GPS tracker. It looks virtually identical, the one downside is that there’s a slight loss of power to the phone itself so you need to be charging it at least once a day. The transmitter and GPS will work even when the phone is switched off, and actually works independently of the phone, by that I mean if you remove the battery it will continue to transmit.’ He looks at Waller. ‘Give me an hour. I’ll have this done and have a watch to go with it.’

  ‘You’re a star, Amar,’ says Waller.

  Waller takes you down a corridor to a lift and up to a fifth floor office, this one with OPERATIONAL SUPPORT on the door. He knocks on the door and opens it to reveal a windowless room with a dozen workstations. A woman with shoulder length chestnut hair wearing a charcoal grey suit stands up and hurries over. ‘Phil,’ she says, brightly. ‘Lovely to see you again.’

  ‘This is Heather Griffiths,’ says Waller. ‘Our documents wizard. Or wizardess, I suppose.’

  ‘A female wizard would be a witch, Martin, so let’s not go there. But I will accept sorceress.’

  ‘Then sorceress it is. Phil has severe amnesia at the moment, to be honest he remembers very little about us.’

  ‘Oh that’s terrible for you,’ she says, patting you on the arm. ‘So really, you don’t remember me at all?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ you say.

  ‘What about the five hundred pounds you borrowed from me? You will be paying me back, won’t you?’

  ‘Sure, yes, of course,’ you say and then you see from the look in her eyes that she’s joking and you laugh. ‘Nice one,’ you say.

  ‘It was worth a try,’ she says, and winks at you. She goes over to her workstation and picks up a yellow padded envelope. ‘Martin says you need everything.’

  ‘We think most of his documents are at his house and we don’t want him going back there at the moment,’ says Waller.

  Heather takes a passport from the envelope and gives it to you. ‘This is an exact match to other Rob Johnston passport we gave you, including Dubai exit and entry stamps.’

  You flick through it. ‘It looks real,’ you say.

  ‘It is real,’ she says. ‘One hundred per cent genuine.’ She takes out a driving licence and gives it to you. ‘A totally clean licence is a red flag these days so you have a few speeding points, but nothing to worry about.’ The third item she pulls out is a dark brown Louis Vuitton wallet. It is slightly scuffed as if it has been well used, which is a nice touch. You flick it open. There are several debit and credit cards, all in your name. ‘They all have the same PIN, which is the Rob Johnston year of birth. Easy to remember but feel free to change it. Martin says you need some cash so I’ve got you pounds and Euros and dollars. Plus twenty thousand United Arab Emirates dirhams.’

  ‘The final item is a manila envelope containing a thick wad of banknotes. Heather picks up a clipboard and pen from her desk and gives it to you. ‘Do I sign as Rob Johnston or as Phil Dodds?’ you ask.

  ‘As Phil,’ she says.

  You pause as you stare at the form listing everything she has given you. You frown.

  ‘Are you okay, Phil?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m not sure that U know how I sign my signature,’ you say, gripping the pen tightly. ‘At the police station I signed as Robert Johnston and I did it automatically.’

  ‘So try to do Phil Dodds automatically, don’t think about it, just do it.’

  I do as she says, and it works, I sign as Phil Dodds and it’s a totally different scrawl to when I signed as Rob Johnston.

  She smiles and takes the clipboard from you. ‘Excellent,’ she says, sounding like a primary schoolteacher praising a slow child who is doing his best.

  ‘Right, let’s pop to my office and we’ll have a final chat,’ says Waller.

  ‘That sounds ominous,’ you say.

  He smiles. ‘Final as in the last chat we’ll be having in Thames House,’ he says.

  He takes you to his office and sits down in his high-backed executive chair, nodding for you to take one of the wooden chairs facing the desk, but again you don’t feel like sitting. You walk over to the window and look out over the river, wishing that you were on a boat heading out to sea, putting all this behind you. You don’t feel like you’re in control, it’s as if you’re a piece on a chessboard being moved by people who may or may not have your best interests at heart. And not a rook or even a bishop or a knight. You’re a pawn, and chess doesn’t usually work out well for pawns.

  ‘Right, so Sokolova and Karpov have moored their vessels at Mina Rashid,’ says Waller. You turn to face him, folding your arms. You don’t care if he thinks that it’s a defensive gesture because at the moment that’s exactly how you feel - defensive. ‘It provides a bit more privacy than the Dubai Harbour Marina. Usually you stay at the JW Marriott Marquis, which is about a half hour’s drive from the marina. That was one of the places where you first started trawling for Russian clients. The problem is of that if you have lost your memory you won’t know that the Marquis is your regular hotel.’

  ‘Well following that logic, how do I know about Sokolova and Karpov if I’ve lost my memory? I can’t tell them the truth, can I, that you filled in the gaps for me?’

  ‘You can say that you went back to the house and you had a diary. A Filofax, maybe. You can’t access your hard drives because you’ve forgotten your passwords, but their names were in the diary. You think that it’s their money that’s gone missing, but you’re not sure. But after what happened in the warehouse, you want them to understand that what happened wasn’t deliberate. It was an accident, and you want to make it right.’

  ‘Glossing over the fact that what happened in the warehouse was that I shot and killed four of their men.’

  ‘Men who were torturing you for information that you don’t have.’

  ‘So they’ll see it as self defence?’

  ‘They’ll understand why you did what you did. And the fact that you’ve gone to them, lends credence to whatever you tell them.’

  ‘So where will I be staying?’

  ‘The QE2,’ says Waller. Your jaw drops and he grins at your reaction.

  ‘Where?’ You can hear the confusion in your voice.

  ‘The cruise ship. Well, the retired cruise ship. It’s moored at Mina Rashid and is now a hotel, fine dining and entertainment complex.’ He taps on the screen to show you the massive cruise ship which is moored at the far right of the marina. ‘Your support team will be there, too. The rooms onboard the port side have a good view of the superyachts so we’ll have you under observation and be close at hand.’

  ‘Support team?’

  ‘Four members of the SAS who will be flying out with me. Plus two MI6 officers who are based in Dubai.’

  ‘When will I meet them?’

  ‘I thought about that and have decided that it’s probably best you don’t,’ he says. ‘Once the Russians know you are in Dubai they’ll put you under the microscope. They’ll be checking to see if you came alone and any hint that you didn’t will blow the whole operation and put your life at risk. You’re a good undercover agent, Phil, no question about that, but when you see a face you recognise micro expressions can betray you. So if you do cross paths with any of the support, I don’t want to risk you giving yourself away. Also you’ll be flying to Dubai on your own. One of the first things they’ll do is to check the flight to see who else was on it. So you’ll be booking the ticket under your Rob Johnston name using the Johnston passport and credit card. We’ll drop you in Central London and you’ll take a black cab to the airport. At the other end you’ll take a cab to the QE2.’

  ‘So I’ll be on my own?’

  ‘On the plane, yes. It has to be that way because we don’t know how good their intel is but we can assume it’ll be money-no-object good. But we’ll have you under surveillance from the moment you arrive in Dubai.’

  ‘How will you be getting there?’

  ‘Private jet. There’s specialist equipment we’ll need that we don’t want going through airport security. And going private means we’ll get there before you. The plane is already fuelled and the support team are on board.’

  ‘Will you be on the QE2 as well?’

  Waller nods. ‘It’s the perfect venue because it overlooks the marina and it’s within sniping distance. That’s why it’s best you don’t meet the guys, if you pass them in a corridor there’s a chance you might give yourself away.’

  You nod thoughtfully. What he says makes a lot of sense but it does worry you that you’ll be on your own.’

  ‘Phil, we’ll have the extraction protocols in place, there’s no need to worry. This isn’t my first rodeo.’

  You’re tempted to make a joke about cowboys but it probably isn’t the time or place for levity. ‘Who was my boss at the NCA?’ you ask.

  ‘Superintendent Tony McMullen, the director of the Proceeds of Crime Centre.’

  The name and job title mean nothing to you. ‘Where’s he based?’

  ‘Citadel Place. Tinworth Street. SE11.’

  The address means nothing either.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I thought it might be helpful if I met him. It might trigger something.’

  ‘It didn’t trigger anything when you met me. Or when you came to Thames House.’

  ‘That’s true. But it’s worth a try, isn't it?’

  ‘I’m not sure if we have the time, to be honest. We need to get you to Dubai ASAP.’

  You smile. The fact that he says “to be honest” worries you. It’s as if he has a choice, he can be honest or not. It just seems a strange thing for him to say and you don’t like the reassuring smile he is giving you, as if he hopes the smile will make you take what he is saying at face value. ‘I think we should make the time,’ you say.

  Waller grits his teeth and for a second or two it looks as if he wants to talk you out of it, but then he shrugs. ‘Why not?’ he says. ‘Let me call Tony and see if he’s free.’

  CHAPTER 35

  It turns out that Tony McMullen is free and keen to see you. Citadel Place is on the other side of the river and is a fifteen minute walk from Thames House but Waller insists that you go in an MI5 car, a black BMW Seven Series which sits so low to the ground that you are sure it’s armoured. You and Waller sit in the back as the driver, a middle-aged bald guy in a grey suit takes you across Lambeth Bridge and along Albert Embankment before easing the car into Tinworth Street. Citadel Place is a modern complex of glass, steel and pale brick arranged in clean lines. No flashy signage or grand entrance, just a discreet plaque identifying the building’s function - National Crime Agency. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d drive right past. The security is discreet. Recessed windows, CCTV domes watching from the corners, a pair of reinforced glass doors set back under a shallow canopy, bollards protecting the front, a keycard panel by the door, frosted glass so you can’t see much inside. As you and Waller approach the entrance someone inside buzzes you through.

  The lobby is minimalist and bright - white walls, a highly polished floor, no unnecessary decoration. Just a reception desk, a security barrier, and armed officers in dark suits with earpieces. Their eyes track everything. Waller hands over his ID to one of the officers at the reception counter. He scans it, checks a screen, then nods. ‘Mr McMullen will be right down.’ He gestures at a seating area. You and Waller drop down onto a low grey sofa but you’ve no time to get comfortable because within a minute a grey-haired man in a dark blue suit steps out of a lift and walks over with a slight limp. He has the look of a bank manager, with rounded shoulders, a greyness to his features and a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose. He smiles at you revealing greyish teeth, and offers his hand. You stand up and shake. You smile too but you don’t remember ever seeing him before.