Going Rogue, page 21
part #2 of Tom Novak Series
‘I have a little knowledge. Not nearly enough, Mr Zelenko.’
‘I will leave you some literature. You will need to learn its history, where it comes from, and its inspirations. Azov is now toothless, their corrupt leaders subservient to the government. What do you know of Rodnovery, Major?’
‘Nothing. I am sorry for my ignorance,’ McEwan said sheepishly.
Zelenko’s eyes flashed with passion and his face flushed a deep red. ‘Rodnovery, Major, is the pure Slavic national faith, which has inspired our culture and aims. You may have seen our Azov insignia, that some may liken to the swastika. Azov’s founding member taught of our historic mission to lead the white races of the world in a final crusade for their survival. It is a tragedy that he, too, has become soft and has allowed a great fighting force to become impotent. These are the things you must learn, Major, for you will lead our new Foreign Legion. We will recruit skilled and battle-hardened fighters from across the world who share our ideals: to rid our country of the influence of the Zionist and make Ukraine racially pure once more. Azov will be reborn as it was intended, as a force for the pure Slavic and Aryan race. Your task, Major, is to recruit and train, from all over the Aryan world, a new breed of soldiers to join the new Azov Foreign Legion. Together with the true Azov patriots who will defect to us, we will strike deep at the heart of the Jew, the Muslim and the corrupt Ukrainian government and bring them to their knees.’
39
Back at the team’s HQ, Tom checked his email and, sure enough, sitting in his inbox was a message from DI Jennings. There was nothing in the body of the email, just a word document attached underneath the inspector’s signature block.
He opened the huge document, which ran to several thousand pages. A brief scan showed that it included a great deal of raw data dumps from mobile phones and other devices. It seemed that DI Jennings had taken Tom’s request for all the intelligence on Operation Kavanagh quite literally, possibly with an element of mischief. A case of, “Have that ya bastards!” Despite the truculence it almost made Tom like her a little more.
The amount of data on the file demonstrated the problem with the tech that everyone carried around with them each day. Without necessarily appreciating it, everyone is now walking around with what amounts to a supercomputer in their pocket. From a law-enforcement perspective it was a double-edged sword; each phone contained a great deal of relevant information, but it tended to be hidden within many gigabytes or even terabytes of irrelevant information that needed to be effectively sifted. That couldn’t be done manually or, quite literally, you would never do anything else.
Tom forwarded the email to Tiny and continued scanning the document. To say it was comprehensive would have been an understatement. There was no way this could be managed manually.
He stood and made his way over to Tiny who was scrolling through the document with a weary look on his face.’ You twat!” Tiny spat, sarcastically.
‘I know. I think DI Jennings took me at face value when I asked for everything. Is there anything you can do with it?’ Tom asked.
‘Not without an army of analysts, or access to major software that we don’t have. She’s taking the fucking piss, Tom.’
‘Can you put it all on an external drive together with our own data dump?’
‘Do you think we should? That’s a lot of very sensitive data in one place.’
‘See if you can, mate. I think I have an idea of someone who can help. In the meantime, just play about with it. We need to tie Zelenko with the ADF. It could be the key to the whole thing, mate.’
‘You’re a dickhead, Novak, but I will see what I can do.’ The big Mancunian looked glum, but Tom could detect him getting enthused by the challenge.
‘I’ll make you a tea,’ Tom said with a smile.
‘Least you can fucking do,’ grumbled Tiny.
As Tom waited in the kitchen for the kettle to boil, he dialled a number on his phone which was answered quickly.
‘Well if it isn’t my favourite Englishman. Hello Detective Sergeant Novak,’ said an American-tinged voice with a German accent.
‘Hello, Pet. How’s the most gorgeous, attractive computer expert ever known to the CIA doing? I’m not English, by the way.’
‘I take it from all the compliments you need something. Why is it you only reach out when you need a favour, huh? Lucky for you I am in England; I got in from The Hague two days ago.’
‘Excellent. Can we meet?’
‘Are you buying?
‘Of course.’
‘Then we can meet. I’m starving, how about dinner?’
‘You’re always starving. How about Covent Garden at seven tonight?’ Tom felt himself smiling. Pet always made him smile.
‘It’s a date, Detective. Bring your wallet; the CIA have curtailed my expenses fund.’
‘I’ll bring my wallet if you bring your computer and your sparkling personality.’
‘Hey, my sparkling personality always comes. I take it there is a work issue?’
‘A bit, but nothing over the phone. I’ll see you later.’
*
Tom arrived outside Covent Garden tube station a little before seven. He was always early; the Marines had drilled into him the fact that if you aren’t five minutes early then you are late. Fortunately, Pet was a good timekeeper as well; Tom felt just a little lurch in his stomach when he saw the slight, impish figure of Pet emerge from the tube station just a few minutes after him. She hadn’t changed since they had last met, other than her dyed red hair was longer and, if anything, even more vivid in colour. Her statement spectacles and pierced nose, together with her combat jacket, Doc Martin boots and long, ragged scarf set off the funky punk look perfectly.
Pet was a deniable CIA computer expert. There was nothing she couldn’t do with any type of IT from hacking to analysis to data mining. She had been recruited as a youngster in Germany after she had been caught breaking into the CIA mainframe. They had been so impressed with her skill that, rather than jailing her, they gave her a job.
Technically, she was a “consultant” to an American tech company in the City. In reality she was a troubleshooter who solved problems encountered by field agents anywhere in Western Europe. She had met Tom when Pet’s boss, CIA Section Chief Mike Brogan, had assigned her to help Tom out of a very sticky situation the previous year. Mike had owed Tom, big style, from a time way back in Iraq in 2005 and Tom had called in the favour when he needed it the most.
‘Tom!’ she exclaimed excitedly, flinging her arms around his neck and hugging him warmly.
Tom hugged her back a little awkwardly. They had formed a close bond while working together and, despite a little apprehension, he was really glad to see her once more.
‘How’s my favourite hacker?’ Tom smiled, looking into her sparkling jade-green eyes.
‘I’m good. Glad to be back; The Hague is so dull!’
‘Well I am glad you’re back; I have a problem I could do with solving.’
‘No chance, man. Not until we eat. I genuinely am starving; I’ve not eaten for about two hours.’
Despite Pet’s willowy frame, Tom had never seen anyone eat quite as much as she did.
‘I want Mexican food. There’s one close by; come on, let’s go,’ she said, grabbing his arm and leading him quickly away.
The restaurant was only a five-minute walk and Tom felt good to be comfortably walking through the city with an attractive young woman after all the stresses and strains of the past few weeks. The place was brightly lit and buzzing with activity, the air full of spicy aromas. Tom realised that he was absolutely starving, not having properly eaten that day.
They sat in a booth and ordered beers and nachos with Burrito’s to follow. They clinked the bottles of Corona with the lime wedges jammed in the top.
‘So, how you been, Detective?’ Pet asked through a mouthful of crisp, warmed nachos.
‘Good. Busy, you know.’
‘I’ve been watching the news. I imagine that’s why you’re here?’
‘Well that and your sparkling company, Pet. Obviously.’ Tom smiled and took another swig of the cold lager.
‘From what I hear, you guys stopped a major terrorist gang from almost destroying the economy.’
‘Well, we ruined the gang but it cost seven cops their lives,’ Tom said seriously.
‘I read about that, too. One was a friend of yours. I’m sorry, Tom.’ She looked at him with a sympathetic gaze but at the same time she was searching his face for any trace of emotion.
Once again Tom was tortured with the memory of Jaco being executed and the knowledge that, as a result of Tom introducing him into the gang, Jaco’s wife was now a widow and his kids were without their father. He was once again gripped by a resolve to sort the situation out, once and for all, whatever the cost.
‘He was a good man,’ he said. ‘So were the other six cops they killed springing McEwan from the prison van.’ His tone did not change but the tension in the delivery was still detectable.
‘Any idea where he is?’ Pet asked, and Tom couldn’t help but think that she probably knew more than she was letting on.
‘Not really. We think the man behind it could be a Ukrainian oligarch. There’s a money trail that leads back to him. What we haven’t done is prove it or trace where he is.’ The frustration was visible in Tom’s voice.
‘I take it you mean Oleg Zelenko?’ Pet said, her face blank and innocent.
Tom smiled and sat back in his chair. ‘Go on. What do you know already?’
‘Zelenko has been on our radar. Something to do with some RPG-7 copies the US supplied to the Ukrainian national guard. My bosses were not happy to see one of them used on the streets of London. So what do you need from me?’
‘If I give you two sets of raw intelligence data and metadata can you use some of your eDiscovery software you designed to make some sense of it all? I have a drive in my bag but there’s so much data from phone and computer downloads we can’t make sense of it. I know somewhere in there is the key to where McEwan is and who financed and directed the whole thing.’
‘I can certainly try. But what will you do with whatever I find out? You know it won’t be admissible if it’s come from CIA intelligence sources. I could try to parallel-prove it with open source data from the web, and there are other options. But let’s say I prove that everyone is in the Ukraine? You won’t be able to extradite him without a massive fight.’ She looked firmly at Tom, holding his gaze.
‘I’ll improvise. I’m good at that.’
‘I know you’re good but you can’t go off on your own and fight a war against a Ukrainian oligarch, Tom. You can’t fight the world’s battles. Let the diplomats handle it.’ She spoke softly but firmly.
‘I just want to know where they are and whether we can prove that Zelenko ordered the bombings and the springing of McEwan. It’s not right that Zelenko and McEwan are walking about freely whilst seven of ours are in the ground. It’s just not right.’ Tom spoke with a force and conviction that surprised her. Something in him was changing.
‘Look, I’ll take a look at the data and cross-reference with any findings we have that I can get Mike B to release. I’ll get back to you. Now let’s eat and talk about something else. It’s always shop talk with you, and it gets a little dull. Always the same with you English.’ She smiled.
‘I’m not English,’ they said together and laughed.
*
Tom’s sleep was interrupted by his phone buzzing on his bedside table. He sleepily reached for it, checking the time as he did so.
‘Pet, it’s not even 7am. I’ve got a hangover after the beers you made me drink,’ he said groggily.
‘No Englishman can keep up with a German who wants a beer.’
‘I’m not Engl—’
Pet interrupted. ‘I know you’re not English. I’m teasing your sorry, lightweight ass. I have some results for you on the data. It was easy,’ she said smugly.
They’d carried on drinking in a bar close to the station, ending up quite inebriated before heading off on their separate ways just before midnight. Tom’s head throbbed; even though he enjoyed a drink, he’d never been a heavy drinker.
‘When did you process the data, then?’ Tom asked. ‘You were pissed last night.’
‘As soon as I got in last night. I work better when I’ve had a drink. I ran everything you gave me through a simple algorithm I developed a while ago that uses some AI tech. It cross-references everything and then screen-scrapes throughout the web for any mentions of the raw data. Account numbers, phone numbers, IMEI numbers, IP addresses, all that kinda shit. I then ran a comparison along the relevant databases Mike said I could run it on. I have a summary of conclusions that the computer has automatically generated. I also have a flowchart showing how your own analyst could come up with most of the same conclusions from stuff you could access legitimately. The information is all out there and readily accessible from the data you supplied and the open source intel. Your people just need to know where and how to look for it. If it’s any consolation, you’d never have got there without my help.’
‘That’s bloody amazing, Pet. So, what are the headlines?’
‘Basically, Zelenko was responsible for all of it. He financed it, recruited McEwan, and provided the locations for the testing and storage. I can link most of it to him via the money movements. I can’t prove it, but my feeling is his intention was to cause instability and profit from it by shorting currency and benefiting from property price crashes. It’s all summarised in the report you’ll be getting soon. I also know where McEwan is now.’
Tom was stunned. ‘Where?’
‘Ukraine. He’s in a dacha a short way outside Lviv. It belongs to Zelenko, although he seems to spend most of his time in the fleshpots around the world. It’s all in the report.’
‘How much is admissibly provable?’ This was key. If it couldn’t stand up in court, it didn’t matter how much information Pet could produce.
‘Well, against McEwan we have plenty; but it’s not as if you need evidence against him, is it? Against Zelenko it’s a little more complicated. I can prove ownership of some properties and of monies being paid to McEwan and some others. There’s enough for a warrant in the UK but it’s another matter whether that would satisfy a court in Ukraine. Zelenko wields enormous power over there and has many powerful allies. They would never let him be extradited despite the UK’s bilateral treaty; all the intelligence is that he has the judiciary in his pocket. You’d also have to prove that McEwan was actually in Ukraine, which I doubt you could. Added to all that, Zelenko has the protection of an off-shoot of Azov.’
‘Who?’
‘Detective, you should keep up with international affairs a little more. Azov are an overtly racist and xenophobic militia that is now part of the Ukrainian army. They wield a great deal of power and actively promote Slav and Aryan supremacy. These are bad people, Tom. Their overt aim is to create what they consider to be a racially pure Slavic state. It feels a lot like Nazi Germany.’
‘Thanks, Pet. Can you send me the conclusions and flowchart? I’ll get my people on to it right away.’
‘Sure thing. But what are you going to do with the information? There’s no way you can get either McEwan or Zelenko as things currently stand.’
‘I’ll improvise, Pet. Something will come up.’
‘I do hope you’re not planning something dumb. At best, you could cause an international incident. At worst, you’ll get killed.’
‘I’m planning nothing, Pet. Just want to solve this case.’
Pet hesitated a second before speaking again, a tinge of anxiousness in her voice, ‘There’s something else you need to be aware of, Tom.’
‘Why am I getting the impression I’m not going to like this?’
‘CIA surveillance chatter coming out of Ukraine is suggestive of the fact that a number of criminal factions with a global reach are being reached out to by someone within the country. It seems that a large reward is being talked about to identify an undercover police officer who has cost a certain oligarch a great deal of money. It’s not totally clear, but it isn’t much of a stretch to assume that they are talking about you, right?’
Tom sighed. ‘Is there anything to suggest I’ve been identified?’
‘No, but the picture is incomplete. Zelenko has huge resources. People will be trying to unmask you so you need to take care. Large amounts of money tend to loosen lips, Tom.’
‘Thanks for everything, Pet. Now I have to run, call you soon.’ He hung up.
His hands curled up into tight fists, nails biting into his palms. He knew what that meant. Zelenko was richer than Croesus and it seemed he was willing to deploy his wealth to identify him. If it was true, it would only mean one thing: he’d be looking over his shoulder forever. No way, he thought.
It seemed they had all the evidence they needed to wrap the whole thing up, but no practical way of deploying that evidence. If they couldn’t get McEwan and Zelenko back to the UK, then the bastards would get away with it and be free to keep spreading their poison. He also had to accept that, whilst Zelenko was a suspect, the chances of proving the case against him were minimal, even if they could extradite him.
Tom had been born and raised at a time in Bosnia when extremist militia groups held enormous and damaging power. His father had been murdered for refusing to join a bigoted and racist militia, forcing Tom and his mother to flee his homeland. Hundreds of thousands of innocents had died and his country decimated. His mind turned to Freddie, Jaco and the other dead police officers and, of course, the dozens of innocents that this evil gang had murdered.
It wasn’t right. They were going to pay.
