The Maddalena Project

By Barry Hunt

“You still don’t understand, do you Daniel?” he said. “The Maddalena is a good organisation. It sorts out the messes politicians make. Without us the world would probably have destroyed itself long ago. The Cuban missile crisis, the end of the cold war; you name it, the Maddalena sorted those things out. We’ve changed the world; made it a better and a safer place. The Maddalena is too important, too necessary to risk being exposed for what it does.”
“I don’t care,” said Daniel angrily. “If the Maddalena’s filled with men like you who are prepared to kill just to keep their operations secret, perhaps the world is better off without it.”

Having just retired from the police force, Detective Chief Inspector Charlie Watts is unexpectedly called upon to help his friend, Daniel Rankin of MI6. One of their agents has gone missing in Venice and Daniel wants Charlie to find her. The search takes him to the order of the Maddalena, a secret international organisation with links to the Brotherhood of Freemasons. However, if the Maddalena is to preserve its power and continue influencing world affairs, it is essential that its true nature remains totally secret and the public never becomes aware of the covert operations it carries out.

The missing MI6 agent, an inexperienced new recruit, has accidentally stumbled across evidence of the Maddalena’s current project. They are planning an operation to secure energy to the West for the next fifty years, a project that will involve changing the map of Eastern Europe and forge controversial new political alliances. Some members of the Maddalena believe the agent’s discovery means she should be silenced but not everyone wants her dead and she finds help in the most unexpected of places.

As she goes on the run for her life, an ambitious KGB Major in Belarus makes an alarming find. He begins an investigation which leads to the highest levels of government and the Secret Service, uncovering a conspiracy which is going to alter the destiny of his country. The Major knows he has to act quickly if he is to prevent the start of a revolution but, now he has identified some of those involved, he doesn’t know who he can trust to help him.
This exciting, fast-paced thriller takes the reader on a chase through Italy and Eastern Europe. It is a race against time and people are going to die as the Maddalena tries to keep its existence and its operations secret whatever the cost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barry Hunt
• Release date: May 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310487149

Barry Hunt

Born in Bristol, Barry was educated at the Cathedral School and then read English at St Peter’s College, Oxford. After graduating, he worked in the Civil Service before teaching at a Bristol Secondary School. Thinking he would like a change of career, he later qualified in Law at the University of West of England, but decided to remain in education. He expanded his teaching to include Law as well as English and Drama. Barry is a keen amateur artist and has illustrated a number of texts for others as well as providing paintings for websites. He has also worked on set design for local drama groups and written several plays, including one musical. A few years ago he took early retirement to concentrate on writing. Following a trilogy of books for young adults, he started to write action thrillers and ‘Countermeasures’ is the fifth story featuring DCI Charlie Watts and the MI6 agent, Daniel Rankin. Barry still lives in Bristol where he enjoys spending time with friends, visiting the theatre, gardening and water-colour painting.

Book preview

The

Maddalena

Project

– BARRY HUNT –

The Maddalena Project

Copyright © Barry Hunt 2015

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by photocopying or any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from both the copyright owner and the publisher of the book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and 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 authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

The right of Barry Hunt to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 and any subsequent amendments thereto.

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Prologue

If there had only been one of them Libby was sure she could have escaped. Even in the dark she knew her way around the maze of back alleys and canals of Venice better than some of the residents and she could move fast when she had to. But only a couple of minutes after becoming aware she was being followed, Libby had seen the second man striding purposefully toward her from the far end of the Rio Tera Farsetti. For a moment he was silhouetted against the flickering light from one of the overhanging streetlamps and then suddenly his face was revealed by the pale blue glow cast from his mobile phone. Even at that distance, she could tell he was staring at her and instinctively knew the two men were co-ordinating their approach.

Although it was nearly one in the morning, the area around St Mark’s Square would still have had tourists spilling out of cafés and restaurants; however, the narrow alleys surrounding the Cannaregio district and the Ghetto were deserted. No one wandered through this part of Venice in the dark if they could help it. Libby felt her heart quicken. She was alone. Apart from the two men now closing in on her.

She had been making for the nearby Campo San Marcuola where she intended to take a water-taxi back to the hotel but now, on a sudden impulse, she turned abruptly right into the Calle Nova and immediately began to run. She needed to get to the Ponte delle Guglie if she was to get off the island. It was the only way out unless she tried to double back and take the long route round to the Rialto. Once across the bridge it was only a short distance to Ferrovia, the stately railway station of Venice overlooking the entrance to the Grand Canal. There was safety in numbers and Libby knew even at this time of the night there were bound to be other people on the concourse looking for transport. She turned to glance behind her. The alley was still empty. And then she realised her mistake.

Now she had turned off the main street, the detour would take her further away from the bridge. The man in front of her must know that was her only way out and he was closer to it. She was doing three sides of a square; he just had to walk back along the way he had come and he would reach the bridge before her! She stopped and swore. Did she still have time to double back to the Rialto? She looked round again and saw the distorted shadow of the other man hit the alley wall behind her as he turned the corner into the Calle Nova. Too late! She couldn’t go back now; she had to go forward. She started to run again.

Chapter One

Charlie Watts stood at the end of the Cobb and shielded his eyes against the sun as he looked out to sea. Charlie wasn’t his real name, it had been given to him when he first joined the police, but he had been called it for so long now even he didn’t think of himself as anything else. He was trying to recall a film he had watched with his wife many years before. He couldn’t remember the name but there was one scene which had stayed in his mind. It showed a woman in a voluminous, black hooded-cloak standing exactly where he was now. She had stared forlornly at the horizon as a ferocious storm lashed her frail body. Tremendous waves had crashed wildly up the sides of the Cobb, throwing spray high into the air and threatening to wash her into the sea. Then she had turned her head to look back at the shore. Her pale face held a melancholic beauty that had haunted him ever since and, for some reason, always came to mind whenever he was feeling sorry for himself.

Charlie looked down at the calm sea below him. The waves were lapping gently against the stone promenade and it was hard to believe they could ever have been as terrifying as the film portrayed. He could smell the saltiness in the air and heard the muted cries of excited children on the beach mix with the screech of gulls wheeling overhead. He plunged his hands deep into his pockets and thought it had been a mistake to come here. When his wife had been alive, they had often taken the drive down from Bristol to Lyme Regis over a weekend. In those days he had known a lot about fossils. Walking along Monmouth Beach, he would often find something he could explain to Mary and she always pretended to be interested. Then she had died. Just after she had been diagnosed with cancer, they had come to the small B&B overlooking the bay to think about what they were going to do. They had made some tentative plans but the prognosis had been cruelly wrong. Within four months she had passed away. That had been almost three years ago but this was his first visit to Lyme Regis without her and now he wished he hadn’t come.

‘The French Lieutenant’s Woman’, said a quiet voice behind him that he recognised.

Daniel? said Charlie, turning round in surprise.

Everyone thinks of it when they stand here, said Daniel. It’s become as much a part of the place now as the fossils.

He grinned and reached out to shake Charlie’s hand. Daniel was in his early fifties and the sides of his short, brown hair were already brushed with white. He was wearing lightweight trousers and a short-sleeved shirt like the other holiday-makers but his pallid face and arms looked as if they had only just left the office.

How are you? Charlie asked, genuinely pleased to see him. What are you doing here?

I needed a break.

Charlie looked carefully into Daniel’s eyes. He didn’t believe him. As a high-ranking officer in MI6, Daniel had a stressful job and Charlie could understand the need to get away occasionally; but Daniel was not the sort of person to seek escape in somewhere like Lyme Regis. Anyway, as a former police detective Charlie didn’t believe in coincidence.

This isn’t a chance meeting, is it? he asked bluntly.

No.

Charlie sighed. Some of the pleasure at seeing Daniel again had evaporated. The last time they had met was six months before when they had worked on closing down Asadullah, a small terrorist cell operating in Bristol. Charlie had been investigating the death of a young woman and their paths had crossed when he learnt that she had been working for Daniel. That case had been resolved but not to Charlie’s satisfaction. A series of behind-the-scenes deals had been struck between the Secret Service and the terrorists. Charlie knew justice had not been done and the frustration and disillusion at the cover-up had accelerated his decision to take early retirement. However principled it may have seemed at the time, Charlie now realised he had made a mistake to stop working.

Being a policeman was in Charlie’s blood. He had never done anything else and never wanted to either. And he was good at the job. Joining the force long before it became hi-tech, he had learned to rely on his instinct and it seldom let him down. His colleagues may have thought he was old-fashioned but they soon came to respect him when they found more often than not he was right. They had been trained to follow the evidence to see where it led, but Charlie believed in his gut; if that told him he was on the right track then he was sure the evidence would eventually be found to back it up.

Now he had been retired for three months and he missed the job. Unlike most people who retire, he didn’t really miss the people; he had tended to work alone and had enjoyed the challenge that presented. Nowadays the most important decisions he had to make were what cereal to have for breakfast and what clothes to wear.

Fancy a drink? Daniel asked.

Why not, said Charlie. I’m staying at the Royal Lion, we can go there.

Daniel nodded and followed Charlie as he led the way back along the gentle curve of the Cobb to where it joined the shore. The hotel was on Broad Street, straight ahead of them and only a short distance away.

So why are you here? Charlie asked as they threaded their way through the tourists and holiday-makers.

You mean apart from looking up an old friend?

Charlie gave him a withering look.

OK, said Daniel. You’re right. There is something else, but not here. Let’s get somewhere quiet.

The Royal Lion Hotel still retained much of its outside appearance as a coaching inn from the early seventeenth century but the air-conditioned interior was a dramatic and immediately refreshing change from the bright, hot street. Charlie went straight through to the Inn, the main bar situated on the ground floor, and ordered two halves of lager. The low-ceilinged room was empty apart from a middle-aged couple sitting at a table in the alcove one side of the empty fireplace. Charlie carried his drink to the window-seat on the other side, settling himself on the bench with his back to the window. Daniel pulled out one of the wheel-back chairs opposite and sat down.

How’s retirement suiting you? he asked. Keeping yourself busy?

I do a bit of this and that, Charlie replied vaguely. Why are you here?

Daniel paused to take a sip of his lager. He set the glass back on the table and looked at Charlie. He appeared uncharacteristically hesitant.I’ve got a bit of a problem, he said, and I was rather hoping you could help me out.

I’m retired, said Charlie.

That’s just what makes you right for the job I have in mind.

Daniel felt some slight relief that Charlie had not refused outright. It was a good sign, but then he knew people like Charlie couldn’t just stop and turn off the adrenalin; they always needed to make demands on themselves, feel the rush of excitement. He had been relying on it.

This isn’t anything official, Daniel continued. Think of it more as a personal favour.

What’s the problem?

Someone working for us has gone missing. We need to know what’s happened.

I’d have thought you were more than equipped to find that out for yourselves, said Charlie. You don’t need me.

Yes, I take your point, but missing persons is more of a police matter. It’s not something we tend to deal with much. I thought you might have had some experience in this sort of thing.

A long time ago, said Charlie, but I expect you already know that.

Charlie was right. Before coming down, Daniel had looked through a file of the ex-detective’s old cases. It had only confirmed what he already thought; that Charlie was the right man for the job.

You mean the Trevelyan case, Daniel said with a grin.

Dominic Trevelyan had been a successful businessman. He had made a fortune in manufacturing car-parts but then over-reached himself. The market crashed along with his investments and, after securing some substantial loans, he then disappeared. It seemed he had committed suicide by drowning himself in the sea. But Charlie had not believed the evidence was telling the true story. The body had not been recovered and Charlie’s instinct told him Trevelyan was still alive. Working patiently over several months, he had eventually tracked him down to a small hotel in Scotland. It was one of the cases which had helped to accelerate his career but it had been a long time ago.

Why don’t you start by telling me exactly why you want my help, Charlie said.

Daniel leant forward, resting his arms on the table. He knew Charlie was interested now.

First, he said, I know you’re honest and I can trust you. You’re a man of principle.

Flattery? Charlie asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, just stating a fact. Believe me, in my line of work those qualities are not as common as you might think. I know what you thought of the Asadullah business and why you resigned. Not many men would have done that."

Or come to regret it, added Charlie quietly.

That’s as may be, but it does mean you are now free to act on your own if you want.

To do what?

Ever been to Venice? Daniel asked.

No, said Charlie. Mary and I didn’t fancy abroad much. We took our holidays here.

I think you would like it, Daniel continued. Beautiful place, almost unchanged since the Renaissance so I’ve been told.

What’s in Venice? Charlie asked.

Not so much what as who, said Daniel. It’s the last known whereabouts of our agent.

Charlie took a long sip of lager and put his glass back down on the table. He knew Daniel’s role in MI6 was to do with internal investigations. Much of the work was background research on possible new recruits, but occasionally it became necessary to look at people who had been in the job for some time. Other countries and organisations constantly sought to infiltrate MI6 and turn its agents, sometimes with the intention of finding out what they knew and sometimes wanting to place misinformation. Occasionally it was both. It was a secret world Charlie was unfamiliar with and one he didn’t like. He had looked behind the curtain once and seen how it operated and that had been enough.

Tell me about him, he said.

Her.

Your agent is a woman?

Yes. Daniel hesitated a moment before continuing, We can call her Libby.

And what was Libby doing in Venice?

I’m afraid I can’t tell you that just yet. I need to know you’re on board before I can go into details.

Charlie had thought that would probably be the case. It was frustrating not to know what sort of thing he might be getting himself into if he were to help out, but he supposed in Daniel’s world it was inevitable.

You’re not exactly making this easy, he said. What do you expect me to do?

I want you to find her.

That could be difficult, especially if she doesn’t want to be found. He paused to look Daniel in the eyes before continuing, She could be working for the other side.

She isn’t.

You sound very sure about that.

I am.

Charlie hesitated. Daniel had seemed certain but he could tell the MI6 officer was holding something back and he wondered what it was.

Well, I hope you’ll understand if I don’t quite share your conviction at this point, he said, thinking of the case they had previously worked on together. Remember, I’ve already had some experience of the people in your organisation and that was not entirely reassuring.

I‘m very sure about this.

And just why is that?

Daniel looked away and for the first time seemed uncomfortable. He shifted in his chair and took another sip of lager before answering.

Libby is my daughter.

*

Charlie had never liked flying. The last time he had boarded a jet was thirty years before. That had been his first flight and at the time he had been looking forward to it, deliberately choosing a window seat to get the most of the experience. However, no sooner had the plane left the ground and angled itself sharply to make its steep ascent than Charlie had felt a fear and a rising panic he had never known before. Then he had been sick. He had not flown since. Until now.

Are you alright?

Stewart McGill was sitting next to him and sounded concerned. He was in his late-twenties and already a seasoned traveller through his work for MI6. He had not been pleased when the director had said Charlie was going with him to Venice; it had crossed his mind they thought he might not be up to the job and needed a more experienced hand. There was nothing he could do about it and he had felt a touch of resentment but it amused him now to think he was having to baby-sit the ex-detective before they had even got started.

Are you alright? he repeated when Charlie failed to answer.

Yes, said Charlie through gritted teeth. Just don’t talk until we’re on the ground.

Dosed up on Kwells, Charlie gripped the armrests tightly and concentrated on the back of the head of a passenger two seats in front on the other side of the aisle. He had convinced himself beforehand he could put up with the couple of hours it would take to get to Marco Polo Airport. Now he was not so sure and focussed his attention on controlling the fear that had begun as soon as the plane had taken off.

Charlie had agreed to help Daniel the moment he learnt of the family connection. Libby was Daniel’s only child. He had divorced her mother when Libby was only seven years old and had reluctantly agreed that his ex-wife should have custody with the Italian lover she was planning to marry. Daniel’s job in MI6 meant he had to work irregular hours and often needed to travel abroad. He was in no position to be a single parent to a young child and so Libby had gone to live with her mother and the Italian in Florence. Daniel had seen her whenever he could but it had not been as often as he would have liked. Then, when she was eighteen, Libby had decided to study at the LSE and moved to London. They had seen a lot of each other and, as they grew close, she began to get interested in what her father did. When she left university she applied for a post with MI6 and was immediately accepted.

She was still technically in training when the trip to Venice came up. It was her first solo assignment and meant to be a straightforward, routine visit. There were a couple of interviews and meetings, nothing that might be considered dangerous, and Daniel had even managed to arrange for her to stay an extra day to revisit some of her old haunts. She had been in regular communication with London and then that had suddenly stopped.

At first there was no great alarm in the department. There had been nothing about her visit to suggest they should be concerned. These things happened: equipment broke down, people got delayed; there were all sorts of possible explanations. It was only when three hours had passed since she had been due to call in that London started to act. A call to her hotel confirmed she had not returned the previous night and enquiries with the Venetian police quickly established she had not been involved in an accident. An investigation was started and Daniel was informed.

Because of the family connection, department protocol meant Daniel was not supposed to have anything to do with the case. However, he was senior enough for Robert Cummings, the director who was put in charge, to allow Daniel to influence the proceedings. When Stewart McGill, an agent with fluent Italian, was assigned to go to Venice to look into the matter, Daniel had suggested that Charlie go along with him, purely in an unofficial capacity of course. Coming from Daniel, it was more than a suggestion and Cummings had reluctantly felt obliged to give his consent.

Won’t be long, now, said Stewart, trying to give some reassurance as he patted Charlie’s arm.

Charlie grunted and continued staring straight ahead as Stewart settled back in his seat and picked out a magazine from the selection in the pouch on the back of the seat in front. He knew better than to rely on first impressions but so far Charlie Watts had not been the officious figure he had anticipated. When he and Daniel had arrived at the airport, the detective was waiting for them in the booking hall with just one rather battered suitcase, looking lost and staring uncomprehendingly at the boarding notices as they flashed up on the screen above him. Daniel had made the introductions and then left. Charlie was clearly in unfamiliar territory and Stewart took charge, guiding the older man through the various security checks that would take them to the plane. It was obvious Charlie was scared of flying and preoccupied with the flight ahead. He had been monosyllabic when Stewart tried to make conversation and the agent now seriously wondered whether his companion was going to be of any help at all or if he would prove a handicap. Either way, as the plane banked to make its descent to Marco Polo Airport, Stewart felt reassured that he was the one in charge of the operation.

*

The hotel used by MI6 was at the end of a narrow street off the Riva degli Schiavoni, the wide promenade along the seafront that stretches from Piazza San Marco to the Arsenale. An hour’s ride in water-taxi had taken Charlie and Stewart from the airport to the Rio della Pieta and from there they had walked the short distance to the tall, stuccoed building in which Stewart had stayed many times before. MI6 had a permanent lease on a room there, though Giuseppe Marconi,