The Will Of The People (Conspiracy Trilogy Book 1) by Christopher Read Page A

be on time. He
trusted Nabiyev – as much as he trusted anyone – yet he always felt
the younger man was far too relaxed over the potential dangers.
Eglitis had no illusions as to his own fate, merely unsure whether
it would be a consequence of the demands of August 14 or the fragility of his
failing heart.
    Nabiyev gave a
smile of welcome, his hug and triple kiss suggesting to the casual
observer that Eglitis was at the very least an old friend, or more
likely the two of them were father and son. Nabiyev sat himself
beside Eglitis, a box of sushi offered as part-apology for his
being late.
    With a wave of
his hand Eglitis declined, keen to keep their meeting short and to
the point. “I need information not food. Baranovskiy and
Nazarenko?”
    “Baranovskiy’s
dead,” Nabiyev said dismissively, “but Nazarenko’s still talking.
We need to assume the FSB will extract everything he knows within
the next forty-eight hours.” He gave Eglitis a hard look, “The
attack on British Boeing was unfortunate; we cannot afford to
antagonise potential allies.”
    Nabiyev’s
casual indifference as to the sacrifice of his fellow conspirators
instantly annoyed Eglitis but he knew it would be pointless to
speak his mind. “A regrettable mistake,” he said quietly. “One we
must learn to deal with. Has Nazarenko told the FSB where he was
trained?”
    Nabiyev waved
his hand uncertainly, “I get to learn some of what the drugs and
beatings have revealed, but not all. As I said, it would be best to
assume they will eventually discover everything.”
    Eglitis gave a
brief nod of agreement, “What else?”
    “There’s to be
saturation security coverage of a random district, changing each
day. Tomorrow it’s Presnya in the centre, then Konkovo in the
south-west; I’ll try to update you when I know more...”
    The briefing continued, Eglitis getting a feel for how the
search for August 14 was progressing. Their survival depended on staying one step
ahead of the police and the FSB, and it was ironic that Nabiyev had
been pulled from his role in counterintelligence to help monitor
the FSB’s own investigation into August
14 . Paradoxically, that had severely
limited his usefulness, information often trickling down to him far
too late to be of any real benefit.
    After some twenty minutes, they parted as they had met,
Eglitis waiting a further five minutes before shuffling his way
along the path, heading south towards the Kashirskaya Metro. It was
time to prove that the FSB’s recent success would do little to stop
the terrorist attacks, August
14 ’s reach extending far beyond the
confines of just Moscow.
     
Marshwick, England
    “Michael, I’m
so pleased you’ve called; come in and sit down, and I’ll put the
coffee on.”
    Jessica’s
welcome was one not to be denied and Anderson took his usual seat
on the sofa, placing the Commander’s book on the coffee table in
front of him. He knew he wouldn’t be allowed to depart Marshwick
with nothing more than a thank you and a simple goodbye, just
hoping that he could persuade Jessica to leave McDowell and
Erdenheim well alone.
    “Coffee will be ready in a minute,” Jessica said, returning
from the kitchen. “Now, how are you? What about a bite to eat? You
can’t go back to London without something inside you. Or did you
eat at the Farriers ? Is it London, or did Charlotte tell me you were heading off
somewhere else?”
    Anderson
randomly picked which questions to answer, “I’m fine, Mrs Saunders;
I’ll have something to eat later, and it’s Bristol.”
    “Jessica,
please... Bristol, of course; now I remember.” She gestured towards
the book, “Did it help after all?”
    “I’m afraid
not; certainly nothing leapt out at me.”
    “It could have
been an impulse buy, I suppose, unlikely as that seems. It took my
husband three years to propose and another two to actually walk
down the aisle. George being impulsive meant having to plan less
than a month ahead.”
    Anderson