The Old Enemy by Henry Porter (read with me .TXT) 📕

made by a new entity, a company owned wholly by Mila Daus. Using the lustre of her second husband’s name, she called it Mobius Pioneer Investment and purchased advertising and communications companies and software outfits, invested in financial apps and start-up internet banks. Samson assumed she had used Wall Street banks to finance the company’s investments, some of which ran into hundreds of millions, but it was hard to tell which she was working with. There were few clues. A theme began to emerge. Besides the core business of acquiring, processing and selling data, another entity – MMM Data and Research – invested in environmental start-ups and those with adventurous R&D projects, particularly Low-earth Orbit satellite communications.

He had the sense that he was scraping the surface with her; that the level of activity and the number of acquisitions indicated a business acumen and wealth much greater than he thought possible for a woman who had arrived in the States with no money and no contacts. She had achieved many remarkable things, not the least of which was being both present and powerful in American society at the same time as leaving little trace, a most desirable state for an intelligence officer. There were very few words on Mila Daus, and no photographs, save the two that Samson had found published with the account of Arthur Mobius’s death. She was spectral – the Ghost from the East.

While he worked, Ulrike got up and drifted around, distracted and muttering to herself. He suggested that he go back to the hotel and allow her to get some rest before the funeral, which was only a few hours away, but she shook her head and said, ‘It helps, you being here. I’d like you to stay in the spare room.’

‘That’s fine,’ he said.

‘What did you find out about her?’

He closed the laptop. ‘She’s way too powerful to be seen as simply a Russian intelligence asset; a partner, more like. She’s formidable, resourceful, deadly, brilliant and very rich – easily a billionaire by now.’ He paused. ‘All through his troubles, Denis sensed there was an unseen hand. It was Mila Daus. She’s been working against him since he invested in one of her companies, TangKi, which was fronted by Adam Crane. It was her money that Crane was channelling to far-right groups in Europe. He stole from her and from the others unwise enough to invest in TangKi, but it was her scheme. And, of course, it was ultimately Mila Daus who organised the kidnap of Anastasia. Denis and Bobby knew all this, and they were going to reveal it, but I don’t believe they were ready. And all these other names – did you have any luck working out who they were?’

She moved towards the conservatory door, clutching her cigarettes and lighter to her chest. ‘The young people know all about it. They’re coming to the funeral, so you can talk to them. You are now in charge of this, Samson. Anastasia has the money, but it must be you who decides what happens to all this information. Bobby would want that.’ She leaned heavily against the door frame. ‘Just before he was killed he told me that Daus used some of the old tricks the Stasi used.’ She looked down. Her shoulders heaved and she let out a groan of anguish. Samson got up and went to her and held her. She sobbed silently for several minutes, shuddering with grief. At length she pulled free and dabbed her eyes with a cuff of her shirt. ‘I haven’t been able to do that before now. Sorry. Thank you. I am so sorry.’ She looked away until he raised her head then shot him a fierce look. ‘You get that bitch, Samson.’

‘I’ll do everything I can,’ he said. He waited a few seconds. ‘You were about to say something about old tricks.’

‘She used blackmail in the same way the Stasi used it to get foreigners to work for them in the old days. It was usually about sex, or fraud – people’s vices. She trapped people and forced them to help her. Bobby mentioned one man – a very well-known person in the United States, who had sex with an under-age girl. Mila set him up and he had to do what she asked when she confronted him with evidence.’

At that moment Samson’s phone vibrated with a series of messages that had accumulated when he was sitting with Ulrike in the conservatory. One was from Macy and four were from Anastasia. He noticed half a dozen ‘missed call’ notifications. They’d been over a period of two hours. The first message read: ‘Naji saw Stepurin’s name at Vilnius airport hotel. Using his legit passport! We stole Stepurin’s car! Call me!’

The second text read: ‘Crossed Latvian border. We’re near Bauska. Heading for Riga then Tallinn. We need help with border. Car has Estonian plates but Naji not registered owner. Does that matter?’

Third text: ‘We’ve been followed since we stopped for fuel. Call me! What do we do?’

There was a fourth message, but it consisted only of random letters.

He dialled Anastasia’s number on one phone and texted Tomas on another with the words: ‘You up?’

When Anastasia answered, he said, ‘Where are you? Are you still being followed?’

She consulted Naji. ‘On the road to Riga. We got past the Latvian border on Naji’s passport. He knows what to do at borders! Can’t see anyone following, but we are going very fast.’ Samson heard Naji’s voice: ‘Very slow. Just one ninety!’

His other phone sounded. ‘Okay, I’ll call you back.’ He picked it up. ‘Hi, Tomas, I need your help to get a couple of people you know over the Latvia–Estonia border tonight.’

Tomas took his time to respond. ‘You are asking me for help to bring people into our country without delay. Who?’

‘Anastasia and Naji. They’re in a car belonging to Stepurin. They stole it.’

‘So what are you giving us in return?’

‘As much as Ulrike knows.’

Tomas didn’t fall for that. ‘I’d prefer to know what you know, Samson.’

‘I’ll