Page 17 of Belgian Betrayal

He tried to turn on the cell phone and got no response. Fearghas laid the cell phone close to the stove, hoping the woodburning heat would dry it out enough that it would work. In the meantime, he switched on the satellite phone and placed a call to Dmytro, who was based in Zurich, Switzerland, the future home of Brotherhood Protectors International.

After leaving Greece with his wife and daughter, the man hadn’t had much time to establish himself in his new location. From what Fearghas had observed on his first encounters with the Ukrainian, Dmytro had a broad network of contacts he tapped into whenever he needed information or assistance—some more nefarious than others.

He entered the number Dmytro had given him and held the phone to his ear.

“Anno!” Dmytro answered. “Fearghas? Is that you?” he said in a thick accent. “Did you find the woman?”

Fearghas lips curled in a smile. “She found me.”

“Dobre. Good,” Dmytro said. “She is well?”

“She is.” Fearghas’s gaze went to the woman they were discussing. “We need help locating a man.”

“What kind of man, my friend?” Dmytro asked.

“MI6 agent Peter Atkins.”

Dmytro grunted. “MI6, you say?”

“Yes.” Fearghas filled Dmytro in on what had occurred since he’d left him in Zurich and their need to find Atkins and the disk.

“I will ask around,” Dmytro said. “You will call if you need backup, yes?”

“Yes,” Fearghas answered. He could have used that backup when he’d been accosted on the MX3D bridge. Thankfully, Catya had arrived in time. “I’ll be sure to call. For now, we need any information you can find about Atkins or the disk.”

He ended the call and placed another call, this time to one of his old SAS counterparts, Martin Reedy.

His friend answered on the third ring. “You best not be a telemarketer callin’ me at this hour.”

“Martin, it’s Fearghas Gordon.”

“Fearghas, you ol’ bastard,” Martin said. “What the bloody hell have ya been up to since you bailed on us?”

Martin knew Fearghas hadn’t bailed on them so much as had been driven out of SAS, taking the fall for the explosion at the Roxburgh Mansion.

Fearghas didn’t call him out on his words. “I be needin’ a wee bit of help if ya can do it.”

“Anything for you, Fearghas,” Martin said. “We miss your ugly face and that bloody Scottish brogue. Whatcha got?”

“Are you still working with MI6 on cross-agency efforts?” Fearghas asked.

“I am. They’ve been after me to jump ship and join them full-time. I’m not sure I want to leave my SAS home.”

“If you have any access or pull with them, I need to know where I can find MI6 agent Peter Atkins,” Fearghas said. “Anything you can get about his life, family, places he goes, vacation homes will help.”

“I don’t know what access I have or if I can tap into their system. Why do you need this information? What’s this man, Atkins, to you? Has he gone rogue or something?”

“Something like that,” Fearghas said. “I need to get in touch with him. Ask a few questions.”

“I’m not sure what I can access, but I’ll do what I can,” Martin said.

“Be careful,” Fearghas warned. “What he’s gotten himself into is dangerous. Don’t talk to anyone about him, or it could get you in trouble as well.”

“What kind of trouble?” Martin asked.

“That’s what I need to find out from Atkins,” Fearghas paused. “Know this...some believe what he knows is worth killing for.”

“Understood,” Martin said. “How will I contact you?”

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