by Dan Latus
Henderson nodded. ‘But, as I say, not retired in the way most people think of it. He certainly can’t just switch off and grow roses or whatever. It has to be assumed that there will always be people, foreign powers even, who will never stop looking for him, and others like him, and who will gladly seize any opportunity for revenge. I’m sure I don’t need to list the usual suspects.’
He didn’t. I could understand what he was saying. I wasn’t entirely stupid, or totally uninformed.
In a sense, I was in a not dissimilar position myself. I, too, was fully aware that there were people out there who would love to avenge themselves against me if the chance arose. You just have to live with it. Offhand, though, I couldn’t think of any of my former adversaries who had access to nuclear weapons and battleships, which made old Harry’s situation a little different to mine.
‘In some cases,’ Henderson said, ‘we try to minimise the risk by creating a new identity for the ex-agent and locating him, or her, somewhere we believe to be safe.’
‘Mars, perhaps?’
Henderson gave me a thin smile. ‘Quite so. But budget constraints mean it’s more likely to be Arizona or New Mexico than the actual Red Planet.’
‘So, where’s Harry?’
‘I’ll come to that later, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to give you details until I know you are definitely on board.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘First, let me repeat that Harry Stone is in grave danger, and we are doing our utmost to protect him. We know there are people, enemies, who are actively looking for him. We also believe they have narrowed the search down and are now very close to him indeed. I must add that he is not doing very well psychologically. Not surprisingly, perhaps, the stress and strain seem to have got to him. To be blunt, we fear he is unravelling, cracking up. He seems to have lost sight of who his friends are. That’s why he won’t let anyone we could send to help anywhere near him. He doesn’t trust us, sadly. In fact, the only person he says he is prepared to trust is your good self.’
We had been close once, Harry and me. If he really was coming apart, I could understand why he might want help from someone from an earlier, safer life. Besides, he could well be fully justified in not trusting anyone from more recent times, even so-called friends and colleagues. Their interests, and the national interest come to that, wouldn’t necessarily coincide with his.
‘So, what do you want me to do?’
‘Join him. Help him as much as you can. Assess the situation. Determine if we need to relocate him. Be on the lookout for danger. Guard against it. Watch his back.’
I must have smiled, because he hastened to say, ‘If you were an ordinary member of the public, Doy, I certainly wouldn’t be asking you to do this. But you’re not, are you? I know full well what you do for a living, and what your capabilities are. I won’t say I’ve actually been tracking you, because I haven’t, but your name has come up in several contexts in recent years. Colleagues have told me how well you acquitted yourself. I believe you can handle this situation too.’
That was all well and good and I’m as susceptible to flattery as the next person, but I had practical matters to consider.
‘How long do you think I would be required for? I’m in business here, a small, one-man operation admittedly, but I can’t afford just to take off for an indefinite period.’
‘Don’t worry about that. I understand. We will gladly pay you a daily retainer — as well as your expenses, of course — for as long as necessary. As for how long . . . it’s hard to say, frankly. A couple of weeks at the minimum, I would think. After that we could all consider our options.’
That was reassuring. I could manage a couple of weeks, especially if I were being paid. I hesitated. I had no idea, really, what I would be getting into. But in the end, we were talking about someone who used to be a good pal, someone who now, apparently, was in trouble and had asked for me personally. If I could help, I wasn’t going to say no, was I? Not yet, at least.
‘OK. Count me in. So, where’s Harry?’
‘Canada.’
Chapter Twelve
It wasn’t just Canada, either. Harry was as far west as you could get in that enormous country, and then a bit more. He had opted for the northern end of Vancouver Island, just off the Pacific coast. Henderson showed me on a map.
‘Port Hardy. He’s living somewhere in that area.’
Port Hardy didn’t look much. A small settlement on the leeward side of the island, close to the northern tip.
‘Any further, and he’d have been in Alaska,’ I pointed out.
‘Not quite, but I take your point.’
‘How did he get there? Did you arrange it?’
Henderson pursed his lips judiciously and shook his head. ‘He made his own way there. Don’t ask me how or why, he hasn’t said. And we’ve only just found him. Even now we don’t have an actual address.’
I couldn’t help thinking that Harry must have been seriously worried to take himself somewhere so remote.
‘It seems a bit isolated,’ I offered.
‘He likes fishing, apparently.’
‘So do I, but . . .’
Henderson gave a thin smile. ‘It’s quite civilised, I believe.’
‘You’ve been?’
He shook his head. ‘Regrettably. If only time allowed. But Harry Stone isn’t my only responsibility.’
‘How long will it take me to get there?’ I asked, recalling that he’d said the situation was urgent.
‘A day and a bit, perhaps. One day to Vancouver Island, and then you’ll have to travel north from Victoria. Port Hardy is three hundred miles from there.’
A big island, then. Nearly as big as England.
‘I’ve taken the liberty of booking flights for you for tomorrow, by the way,’ Henderson added.
My eyebrows went up again at that.
‘Presumptuous of me, I know, but needs must.’
‘Direct flight?’
He shook his head. ‘Not possible, I’m afraid. Newcastle to Schipol with KLM. From there, you fly to Edmonton in Alberta. Then you change for Victoria, the capital of the province of British Columbia, as well as of Vancouver Island itself. You can hire a car there, or perhaps fly north on a small plane. I’ve left that part up to you.’
I studied the papers and tickets Henderson pulled out of his briefcase and handed over while I got my thoughts in order.
‘I’ve also arranged an ETA for you,’ he added.
‘What’s that?’
‘An electronic clearance that all visitors to Canada must apply for in advance these days. Security. Sign of the times, I’m afraid. Anyway, it’s linked to your passport.’
‘You have my passport details?’
He nodded.
I was a bit pissed off at that. He seemed to have taken an awful lot for granted. But it wasn’t the moment to make a fuss. And he had saved time. Possibly Harry’s life as well, if this worked out. That was all that really mattered, I supposed.
‘You’d better start filling me in on what Harry has been up to, and who’s likely to be looking for him.’
Henderson shook his head. ‘It would involve too many complex explanations and take up too much time. I want you on that plane asap, and no doubt you’ll have a lot to do before then. Talk it through with Harry when you get there.’
‘I need to have some idea of what I’m going to be up against,’ I protested with some exasperation. ‘Has Harry been working in the Middle East, Eastern Europe, the Far East, or where?’
‘All of them,’ Henderson said. He glanced at his watch and added, ‘I must leave you now, I’m afraid. By the way, we’ll track you as far as Victoria International. After that, you’ll be on your own.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s how Harry wants it. If we were to accompany you further, he would probably blow his top.’
‘He really doesn’t trust you, does he?’
Henderson shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, no. Potentially, he could
do a lot of damage to others as well as to himself if he were to take umbrage at anything we do. There are strategic interests at stake here. That all means we have to play it his way.’
So, Harry wasn’t the only thing, or person, Henderson was concerned about. Why hadn’t that occurred to me?
When I asked how I was to make contact with Harry, Henderson said I wasn’t.
‘Just leave it to him. He’ll do the contacting.’
‘When? And how?’
‘When and how it suits him. That’s all I can tell you. The one thing we must not do is pressure him. God knows what might happen if we do, or if he thinks we’re trying to.’
It didn’t sound good. Not to put too fine a point on it, Harry was beginning to sound like a bit of a fruitcake. Perhaps what he needed was not me but a psychiatrist.
‘Stone isn’t mad,’ Henderson said quietly, seeing where my thoughts were taking me. ‘But he is under enormous pressure, and the threat to his life is real. He feels entitled to take every precaution.’
‘Including making sure it really is me visiting him, presumably?’
‘Indeed. He might think it possible that you are an impostor sent to trap him.’
‘Sent by whom?’
That was a question that finally seemed to make Henderson uncomfortable. He didn’t have anything to say. He just shook his head. In other circumstances, I might have been amused.
Before he left, Henderson handed over a corporate credit card and a couple of sheets of paper.
‘I’ve given you a number you can reach me on at any time — day or night. Use it when you need to. Keep me informed. And if you find you’re in over your head, call me. I’m well connected over there.’
With fellow spies in Canada, presumably.
‘What’s the limit on the card?’ I asked, fingering the AMEX plastic he’d given me.
‘Don’t worry about that. Any transaction you want to make with it will be honoured.’
‘You must trust me,’ I said, with mild surprise.
‘I have to,’ he said, crisply. Then he stuck out his hand. ‘Good luck!’
With that, he was gone. I watched him drive speedily away and didn’t even try to guess where a man like him would be headed next. I turned to see Jimmy Mack, my neighbour, strolling over from his cottage.
‘New business?’ he asked.
I nodded.
‘Going to be any money in it this time?’
I laughed. He was used to me getting into situations that sometimes cost more than I earned from them. But he was a good friend, and a shrewd judge of men. More than once he’d been a big help too. And as we were the only people who lived at Risky Point now, we relied on each other in all sorts of ways.
‘I don’t rightly know about the money, Jim. Possibly. To take care of expenses, he gave me a corporate credit card with no limit on it. That’s different, isn’t it?’
‘I’d have given him it straight back,’ Jim said, shaking his head. ‘You don’t want no truck with anything like that. It’s bound to be trouble.’
I wondered if I should have sought Jim’s advice before saying yes to Henderson.
Chapter Thirteen
Kiev, Ukraine. May 2018.
She felt herself rising to the surface, as if from one of her free diving sessions. Up, up, steadily upwards, aching to get there. The surface couldn’t come soon enough. She was desperate to get new air into her bursting lungs. How much further, sweet Lord? How much further could it be?
With a whoosh and a great gasp, she broke through the surface and gulped down the air she needed so desperately. It took her several minutes to master the art of breathing normally again and to be capable of thinking. She realised her head ached badly. It was pounding sickeningly. She must have banged it against a rock on her ascent. How it hurt! She suppressed the urge to vomit.
As her wits gradually returned, she realised her mistake. It wasn’t sunlight she had emerged into. It was very poor light shed by an underpowered electric lightbulb set behind a metal grid in a concrete ceiling. And it wasn’t the sea from which she had emerged. It was . . . well, she didn’t know. Something else.
Her vagueness threatened to become a panic attack. But memory of the events that had led to her losing consciousness slowly returned, easing the sense of helplessness. She grimaced, remembering, and she felt afraid.
A snatch squad had abducted her. Almost certainly Russian, and probably Ukrainian Russian from the Donbass. She had thought she’d be safe in Kiev for a couple of days. She should have known better. You were never safe anywhere in this country.
At least they hadn’t come to kill her, which was a small comfort. Not much of a one, though. It might come to the same thing in the end. She began to wonder what they wanted from her, and what they would do to her to get it. Panic came close again as she realised she was unlikely to survive. Once they had what they wanted, she would be of no further use to them. They would have no reason to release her tortured body. Better for them, and for her, if they just put a bullet in her head and dumped her somewhere she couldn’t be found.
Her last brief phone conversation with Harry came to mind, and she had to work hard to overcome the emotions that ripped through her. He would have no idea what had happened to her. Ever. He might guess, but he would never know for sure. He would search and search, but never find her. It would be torture for him too. Poor Harry, she thought, and let out a sob.
Her spirits sank even lower. They had been so close to getting out in one piece, together. Now this. Their hopes wrecked. All because she had been careless. She should have anticipated surveillance and an attack. Instead, she had been almost in holiday mood as she set out for the airport and the flight to happiness.
Now? Now she was inconsolable. She could see no end to it, no good end.
Chapter Fourteen
Vancouver Island, Canada. September 2018.
The journey was a bit of a blur. Three flights, and four airports. I tried, unsuccessfully, to sleep. I had been on the go most of the previous night making arrangements for my absence. Henderson had booked the flights and handed over the tickets, but I’d still had plenty to sort out at home before I left. Jimmy Mack had come in handy for that, as he so often does.
‘All I ask,’ he said as I was leaving, ‘is send me a postcard. One with a Mountie on, or a grizzly bear.’
‘For your collection?’
‘For my collection. Take care, son.’
‘And you, old timer.’
I landed at Victoria International in early evening, local time. Immigration procedures had been dealt with in Edmonton, the first port of call in Canada, so all I had to do here was collect my holdall from the carousel. Then I exited the terminal and caught a cab to the nearest Holiday Inn.
I had no idea how or when, or even if, Harry Stone might make an approach. To be honest, I didn’t really care just then. Tomorrow would be soon enough to think about that, and about making my way to the far end of the island. Right now, I wanted a shower, a proper meal and a bed — in that order. Without those three requirements being met, I wouldn’t be much use to Harry or anyone else tomorrow. Long-haul flights don’t suit me, I had discovered. I was knackered. Remind me not to go to the Far East or Australia.
Over breakfast the next morning I decided to phone for a hire car. Flying to the far end of the island, as Henderson had suggested, was certainly a convenient option but as I was going to need a vehicle while I was there I might as well pick one up now.
Driving to Port Hardy would take up time that might be valuable, but it would also help me acclimatise and start getting a feel for local conditions. This wasn’t my country. I was fully aware of that. I knew nothing about Vancouver Island, and not much more about Canada as a whole. I wanted to see something of the land and find out how things worked here before I put myself in the middle of Harry’s problems.
I hired a nearly new Honda CRV from one of the big agencies, figuring the all-wheel drive was likely to come i
n handy. Ordinarily, I would have gone round the corner, found a side street and hired a beat-up vehicle on the cheap from a little local dealer, but the card Henderson had handed over had given me big ideas. Besides, to be honest, I wanted to see if the card really worked. I never have trusted what people tell me.
I was soon out of Victoria — which looked like a pleasant, leafy city — and headed along Highway 1 towards Nanaimo, Campbell River and a handful of other places with exotic names. Distances were given in kilometres, I was surprised to see. That wasn’t the case across the border in the US, I knew, where good old miles still prevailed.
There were a lot of hills and trees once I got outside the built-up area. Forested hills, actually. And not much traffic, compared with what I was used to back at home. I could have been somewhere like Slovakia, where I’d been recently, although Slovakia doesn’t have the Pacific Ocean all around its edge.
It was a beautiful morning, and the car radio told me the temperature would get up to ninety degrees that day. For a moment my heart nearly stopped. Then I realised that, paradoxically, they were still using the Fahrenheit scale. Metrification had gone only so far. I did the conversion in my head, and thirty Celsius sounded a lot more reasonable. Still pretty warm for September, though, to my way of thinking. Risky Point would be nowhere near that temperature and hadn’t been all summer.
I had been happily doodling along for an hour or so when my phone buzzed with an incoming text. Another “Welcome to Canada” advisory? Another message to tell me how much I would be charged if I used the phone? Nope. Not a bit of it.
You’ve got a tail, it said. Take care!
That woke me up fast. I glanced automatically at the rear-view mirror but could see nothing obvious. Just a few scattered vehicles, none of which was doing anything to justify suspicion.
I glanced back at the phone. Nothing to say who had sent the message, but I assumed it had come from one of Henderson’s people. He’d said they would watch my back as far as Victoria. They must have taken that commitment loosely and followed me to the city limits and a little way beyond.