About the Book
Dead Spy Running
Suspended MI6 agent Daniel Marchant is running out of time. Hes alongside a man strapped with explosives at the London Marathon. If they drop their speed the belt will detonate, killing all around them. But is Marchant secretly working for the terrorists?
Marchants father, ex-chief of MI6, was accused by the CIA of treachery. To prove his innocence, Marchant must take a perilous journey via Poland and India to unearth his fathers dark past, test his relationship with fellow spy Leila and challenge the heavy hand of Americas war on terror.
Most of all, he has to learn to trust no one.
Games Traitors Play
Salim Dhar: the world's most wanted terrorist. Not even Echelon, the West's intelligence analysis network, can find any trace of Dhar. Enter renegade MI6 officer, Daniel Marchant.
From the souks of Marrakech to the temples of Madurai via the shores of Sardinia, Marchant is shadowed by the CIA and its exotic agent Lakshmi Meena. But why are the Russians following him too?
As Britain braces itself for a terrifying cocktail of cyber and airborne terrorist attacks, Marchant is forced to confront dark personal truths about loyalty and love. For the only way to stop Dhar is to play the traitors game.
Dirty Little Secret
The special relationship between London and Washington is in tatters. Salim Dhar, the worlds most wanted terrorist, has disappeared after an audacious attack on an American target in the UK. The CIA believes Daniel Marchant, renegade MI6 officer, was involved. But Marchant has a bigger secret: Dhar has agreed to work for MI6, promising to protect the UK from future terrorist atrocities.
He has also asked for something in return: Marchant must help him with a final strike against America.
Does loyalty to ones country come above all else, whatever the price? Or are some relationships too special to ignore?
Praise for the Daniel Marchant spy trilogy
A rip-roaring race of a read that never lets up until the finishing tape Robert Goddard
As elegant as le Carré and as cynical as the twenty-first century exactly what we need from a spy novel now Lee Child
A Jason Bourne sweat-fest with George Smiley's brain Daily Telegraph
Picks up more or less where Le Carré left off Guardian
An elegant, unstoppable front runner of a spy thriller Observer
Its deliciously John Buchan-like hero could be chasing the 39 steps Daily Mail
As strong as Bourne, as clever as Bond, but with a voice set for Generation Next, Jon Stock has done the impossible in Daniel Marchant and created THE new spy Stephen Gaghan, Director of Syriana
About the Author
Prior to becoming a writer, Jon Stock was Weekend editor of the Telegraph. He is the author of five novels. He lives in Wiltshire with his wife and three children.
The Daniel Marchant Spy Trilogy
Jon Stock
Table of Contents
About the Book
Praise for the Daniel Marchant spy trilogy
About the Author
Title Page
Dead Spy Running
Games Traitors Play
Dirty Little Secret
Also by Jon Stock
Copyright
About the Publisher
Dead Spy RunningJon Stock
Dead Spy Running
Contents
1
A bright Blackheath morning and it was already hot, too
2
It took ten minutes for Marchant to find Pradeep again.
3
Paul Myers was unpicking encrypted emails and eating his fourth
4
Daniel Marchant looked out across the shallow valley and watched
5
Paul Myers drew heavily on his third pint of London
6
Marchant watched from his bedroom in the safe house as
7
Marchant knew that someone was in his room as he
8
It was a long-held custom that the first half of
9
Later that day, Fielding accepted Chadwicks offer of a sharpener
10
Leila headed back to London that night, leaving Marchant to
11
The gang of Year Five boys in the corner of
12
The undisputed waterboarding world champion was Khalid Sheikh Mohammed. Marchant
13
Nine hundred miles west of Poland, Marcus Fielding took a
14
Leila turned the key in the front door and slipped
15
For a moment, Marchant wasnt sure if the explosion was
16
After a bone-breaking, hundred-mile drive through the Polish countryside, Marchant
17
Marchant knew that the best legend for a spy was
18
Sir David Chadwick had spent a lifetime brokering compromises in
19
Hassan was the only asset Leila had ever slept with.
20
Spiro didnt like the CIA sub-station in Warsaw. He didnt
21
Marchant lay on the bed, watching Monika as she undressed
22
Leila had met Jago, a tousle-haired six-year-old, once before, but
23
Spiro looked again at the grainy image of a two-tonne,
24
Six miles south-west of the shopping mall, Daniel Marchant sat
25
Prentice sent the pre-written text while his hand was still
26
Daniel Marchant pushed open the blue door, not sure what
27
It was a precaution, Marcus, nothing more, Sir David Chadwick
28
After twenty-four hours in India, Daniel Marchant concluded that he
29
It was Alan Carters first visit to Legoland, but after
30
Leila took it as a very public expression of gratitude
31
Marchant felt the weight of a body lying on top
32
Can we assume that Marchant was at the club? Fielding
33
In another life, a different time, Marcus Fielding and William
34
Paul Myers had been drinking heavily all evening in the
35
Marchant heard the police before they reached his carriage. He
36
Fielding had ordered his driver to turn round and head
37
Marchant stood in the shade of a stall selling strings
38
Fieldings office clock said 7.30 a.m.
39
Marchant listened to the rustle of the necklaces slung loosely
40
Paul Myers hadnt been hit so hard since he was
41
Fielding lifted the flute to his lips and began to
42
Leila listened as Monk Johnson finished running through the itinerary
43
There was something about the network of cave-like huts on
44
Fielding put down the phone and looked around the room,
45
Sons turn out in the strangest ways, Carter said. My
46
William Straker sat back in the DCIAs office in Langley,
47
Marchant heard the mobile phone begin to ring moments before
48
Marchant lifted his head towards the cell door and listened
49
The Prime Minister was adamant that you shouldnt be killed,
50
Dhar watched the rickshaw drivers legs seesaw through the Chandni
51
Straker took the call in one of the small private
52
Marchant couldnt decide if it was a good or bad
53
Salim Dhar brought the US President into focus with the
54
As far as were concerned, she took the bullet that
55
Marchant stood outside Legoland, on the Thames path, looking across
Acknowledgements
Copyright
1
A bright Blackheath morning and it was already hot, too hot for twenty-six miles. Daniel Marchant scanned the crowd and wondered again why he was about to run a marathon. Thousands of people were stretching in the early sunshine, massaging limbs, sipping at water. It was like the stillness before battle. A woman in a baseball cap strapped an iPod to her arm; the man beside him tied and retied his laces. Another runner poured water over his hair and shook it like a dog, droplets catching the light. Whatever it takes, Marchant thought. In his case, too much Scotch the night before and not enough training.
One last try, he said, turning to Leila. She was sitting on the grass, leaning back on her hands, staring straight ahead. Why was she taking it so seriously, he thought, as he strolled over to join a long queue for the Portaloos. If the going got tough, they could walk, enjoy the day out. Wasnt that how she had sold it to him? But he knew that would never happen: they would crawl before they walked. It was a stubbornness they shared, a bloody-mindedness he could sometimes do without.
He inched forward in the queue. The sweet smell of Deep Heat hung heavy in the spring air, reminding Marchant of school changing rooms, the similar imminence of pain. He always felt like this before they went out running in Battersea Park, only for his resentment to subside when the endorphins kicked in; that and the sound of her rhythmic breathing, her easy footfall. He still wondered why he was about to run twenty-six miles, though, and at such short notice. Their longest training run had been the weekend before, eighteen miles down the towpath to Greenwich and back. But how could he have said no when he barely realised she was asking him? That was her job, after all: persuading people to do what they shouldnt, to say what was meant to remain unsaid.
After queuing for five minutes, Marchant changed his mind and returned to Leila, who had stripped down to her running kit. From the day they had first met, he had promised himself not to fall in love with her, but she had never made it easy. Today was no exception. Her limbs were long, but she touched her toes with ease, shorts tightening against toned muscles. He looked away at the hot-air balloons behind her, swaying in the gentle breeze, desperate to rise up into the brilliant blue sky. In front of them lorries were parked up like a military convoy, piled high with runners plastic bags, ready to be transported across London to the finish line.
Marchant took both their bags and handed them in to a marshal. He tried to imagine how he would feel when they were reunited with them again, three, more like four, hours later. Despite his protests, he knew that it was the right thing to be doing. The training, however inadequate, had kept him sane during the last few weeks, helping him to focus on what must be done.
Too many people, Leila said, pushing hair out of her eyes as Marchant rejoined her. He noticed she was holding her mobile phone. He followed her gaze over towards the main start, where an army of 35,000 runners was now massing. Afterwards, he thought, the dead and the wounded would be laid out in St Jamess, wrapped in shiny foil.
Itll be fine, a stroll in the park, Marchant said. Just like you promised. He put a hand on her shoulder as he stretched one calf muscle, searching her large eyes. It was a hint of the exotic that had first attracted him, the dark, lustrous hair, her olive skin. Youre not nervous, are you? he asked, trying to sound bullish. There was suddenly something distracted about her, an unsettling distance. She was usually so upfront, eye to eye.
Not about the running, she said.
What, then?
Cheltenham picked up some chatter last night, she said quietly, looking around.
About the marathon? Marchant kept his hand on her shoulder, face close to hers, stretching the other calf. Leila nodded. Now you tell me.
And you know I shouldnt, she said, pushing him away. Pauls just called, heard I was taking part.
Paul? Whats he monitoring these days? Runners World chatrooms?
Come on, Daniel. You know I cant.
Marchant had been out of MI6 for two months now, suspended on his case officers full pay. Leila knew how angry he still felt about everything that had happened: his fathers death, the rumours that wouldnt go away. She knew the toll it was taking on his health, too, the late, solitary vigils at the pub. Marchants youthful features were tiring around the eyes, a greyness starting to fleck his dirt-blond hair. He was only twenty-nine, but sometimes, in a certain light, Leila looked at him and thought she saw his father.
Remember not to go too fast at the beginning, she said, changing tack as they jogged over to join the crowded start. Leila still worked for MI6, although she often wondered why. The Service was slowly killing them both.
That shouldnt be a problem. Marchant surveyed the sea of people around him, more carefully now. Remind me why were doing this?
Because you love running and because you love me. Leila brushed her lips against his cheek as a helicopter arced across the South London sky. More than you should.