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Back A Shadow Intelligence Save as PDF
Chapters (58)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Oliver Harris
  3. ONE
  4. TWO
  5. THREE
  6. FOUR
  7. FIVE
  8. SIX
  9. SEVEN
  10. EIGHT
  11. NINE
  12. TEN
  13. ELEVEN
  14. TWELVE
  15. THIRTEEN
  16. FOURTEEN
  17. FIFTEEN
  18. SIXTEEN
  19. SEVENTEEN
  20. EIGHTEEN
  21. NINETEEN
  22. TWENTY
  23. TWENTY-ONE
  24. TWENTY-TWO
  25. TWENTY-THREE
  26. TWENTY-FOUR
  27. TWENTY-FIVE
  28. TWENTY-SIX
  29. TWENTY-SEVEN
  30. TWENTY-EIGHT
  31. TWENTY-NINE
  32. THIRTY
  33. THIRTY-ONE
  34. THIRTY-TWO
  35. THIRTY-THREE
  36. THIRTY-FOUR
  37. THIRTY-FIVE
  38. THIRTY-SIX
  39. THIRTY-SEVEN
  40. THIRTY-EIGHT
  41. THIRTY-NINE
  42. FORTY
  43. FORTY-ONE
  44. FORTY-TWO
  45. FORTY-THREE
  46. FORTY-FOUR
  47. FORTY-FIVE
  48. FORTY-SIX
  49. FORTY-SEVEN
  50. FORTY-EIGHT
  51. FORTY-NINE
  52. FIFTY
  53. FIFTY-ONE
  54. FIFTY-TWO
  55. FIFTY-THREE
  56. FIFTY-FOUR
  57. FIFTY-FIVE
  58. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Kazakhstan. Eighth-biggest country in the world, over a million square miles of land, and a population smaller than London. We flew over bare planet for three hours then began to descend towards the capital. My neighbour craned to see the window, to witness civilisation erupting out of nowhere. Astana’s glass towers burned with the low sun, office blocks of iridescent blue casting turquoise shadows across the business district. In front of the Presidential Palace, two perfectly conical towers of beaten gold stood side by side. The rest was snow.

Twenty years ago there was nothing here but a few crumbling Soviet blocks in a desert flat as the sea. After his country gained independence, the President of Kazakhstan decided to move the capital here. He renamed it Astana, meaning capital, and it appeared: ministerial buildings, business parks, futuristic shopping malls, arising from the dust on his command. Or, more accurately, from the 150-dollar barrels of oil beneath the dust. And it was only when you dropped below 1,000 feet and saw the absence of people on the wide streets that you heard the echo of the old name – Akmola – white grave. Hard to forget once you knew it.

It had been sixty-one hours since I left London. Figuring out an inconspicuous route to Kazakhstan was complicated by the fact that UK flights routed via Kiev. Flights from London to Ukraine were closely monitored by more than one intelligence service, so I flew easyJet to Zagreb.

It was when I walked out through Departures that the reality of it all kicked in: smiling at the air steward as he scanned the ticket and handed it back. I felt the carpet beneath my feet as I walked out of my life into renegade status.

I used my own card and passport for the Croatia trip, booking an Airbnb for a week. The flat was up steep stairs, with a view down to a church whose red and white tiled roof formed a Croatian flag. A street beside it filled with people over the course of the afternoon, drinking at the bars that lined each side. I let myself be briefly taunted by that imagined holiday. The paperwork I used for the next leg dated back to a job in Tajikistan and had never been used. The name was Toby Bell. I went to a dark-web site that let you buy Mastercard details for twenty pounds and used one to book my flight to Kiev, and another from Kiev to Astana.