by Ian Rankin
Still, he had liked the feel of the MP5s used by the unit, and had acquired one, its serial number removed. Now he touched its barrel, thinking of Harry. Did he hate her so much because he saw so much of himself in her? It was a question he would rather not answer. He lifted the MP5 fluidly to his shoulder and took imaginary aim at the office door.
‘Hello, Harry,’ he whispered.
There were no windows in the canteen, and the air conditioning was working flat out just trying to dissipate the smells of cooking, of hot fat and baked beans. Sad murals the colour of mud played over the walls, while afterthoughts such as room dividers and pot plants merely added to the institutional feel of the whole. Hepton and Dreyfuss were the only inhabitants. They had been given cold stares and lukewarm tea by one of the canteen staff.
‘Too late for food,’ she’d snapped.
‘Thank God for that,’ Dreyfuss had added in an undertone as she poured tea from a huge tin pot. The tea was the same colour as the wall decoration, which gave Hepton an idea as to the mural’s genesis.
They sat at the only table not to have been wiped and stacked with four upended chairs. The table came from the same family, it seemed, as Parfit’s desk upstairs: cream plastic and chipboard. This was a sad country, Hepton thought, a stupid country. But it still didn’t deserve to be handed over to Villiers and Harry.
‘It’s not a coup,’ Dreyfuss stated. ‘A coup would be simpler, more out in the open.’
‘Maybe the Yanks want to annex us?’
Dreyfuss shook his head. ‘They did that a long time ago. It’s just that nobody noticed. No … I don’t know.’ He threw up his hands. ‘And neither do that lot upstairs. There’s only one way to find out.’
‘How?’ Hepton was sure they were working along similar lines of thought. Dreyfuss’ answer confirmed it.
‘Your little tracking station.’
Hepton nodded. It made sense, didn’t it? The only way Villiers and his crew could keep an eye on the Buchan operation was to use Binbrook. He thought about what the Russian Vitalis had told him. That Cam Devereux had found another room in the Argos base. There could be another room at Binbrook, too, a whole series of rooms, fitted with computers and screens showing what Zephyr was really seeing. Now that he considered it, he realised that there were portions of Binbrook that were off-limits to personnel. Locked doors: someone had called them storage areas, someone else had said they were disused and awaiting redecoration. Those locked doors might well be hiding a small, dedicated tracking station. A box within a box, like Izzard’s. And if such were the case, there would probably be someone there to watch: someone like Fagin, of course, but perhaps also Villiers himself. And where Villiers was, Jilly might be …
‘What are you suggesting?’ he asked.
‘I’m suggesting …’ Dreyfuss brought his head closer to Hepton’s. His eyes burned with something other than drugged or drugless pain, ‘that we do something other than sitting around here on our arses. There isn’t much time. I’m not saying that we go barging in there, but is everyone on the base in on this COFFIN thing? I think the answer is a definite no, or they wouldn’t be moving them out. Okay, so there’s the chance that you’ – his finger made a circle in the air – ‘could move freely inside the base. As far as they’re aware, you’ve been on holiday. So just tell them you’ve come back early.’
‘What about you?’
‘Me?’ Dreyfuss considered this. ‘Do you know how they got me from Washington airport to the embassy? In a crate. After that, a car boot will come as something of a luxury.’
‘A car boot?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘there is a snag. First, we need a car. We could hire one, I suppose. I’ve got all sorts of false documents and credit cards on me.’
‘What about Parfit? Are you suggesting we do this without him?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.’
‘But why?’
‘Because I don’t trust him. I don’t trust anyone in this whole thing who hasn’t been hurt. You’ve been hurt, I’ve been hurt, and right now someone could be hurting Jilly. You’ve seen how Farquharson operates. He’s scared of COFFIN. He’s not going to do anything.’
‘We don’t know that.’ But Hepton’s voice betrayed his feelings. The time for action had come. He knew his way around the Binbrook base, and Dreyfuss was right: alone, he might stand a good chance of gaining entry. Once inside, he could …
‘I could tap into their intercept,’ he said.
‘What?’
It was becoming quite lucid now. Somehow he’d known all along that this moment would come. The moment when he could put his skill to the test. A moment of challenge.
‘I could tap into their intercept,’ he repeated. Dreyfuss listened hungrily. ‘I’m sure I could. I could screw up their entire system.’
‘But won’t there be alarms? Protection circuits? That sort of thing?’
Hepton nodded. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘There’ll be codes. Entry codes. We’d have to crack them.’
‘That could take for ever.’
This time he shook his head. ‘I’ve got a friend,’ he said, ‘and he’s got a little box …’
Dreyfuss thought things through. Gain entry to the camp, gain entry to the control room, break into the spoiler satellite … Hepton could work on that, while he, Dreyfuss, could look for Jilly. And for Villiers. A lot of ghosts were crying out for revenge. So were a few of the living.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘If you think it’s worth a try, I say we leave now, this second. Before Parfit and his boss have a chance to hold us back. I get the feeling somebody’s been holding us back all the way along. Like bloody fish on a line. Allow us a bit of play, then reel us back in. Seeing what we know, how far we’ll swim. Hoping we’ll tire, so that we’re easy to land …’
But Hepton wasn’t listening. He was watching a young man who had entered the canteen and was studying one of the snack-vending machines at the far end of the room. He waved a hand, but it wasn’t necessary. He had already been recognised. The man, smiling, approached their table.
‘Hello again,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think I’d be seeing you so soon.’
Hepton motioned towards the man and turned to Dreyfuss. ‘Let me,’ he said, ‘introduce you to Mr Sanders. Sanders, this is Major Mike Dreyfuss.’
‘How do you do?’ The two men nodded. Dreyfuss was looking to Hepton for guidance.
‘Sanders here,’ Hepton explained, ‘is a marvellous driver. He has a very fine Vauxhall Cavalier.’
Now Dreyfuss saw what he was getting at. His smile when he turned back towards Sanders was rapacious.
‘Is that right?’ he said. ‘A Cavalier?’
‘Yes,’ said Sanders, pleased at their interest but unsure just why they were interested. ‘It’s parked in the garage downstairs.’
34
Later, Sanders was able to reflect that that was the moment, really, when he lost his job. Because he didn’t see what they were getting at. Because he told them about the modified engine, modified for speed. Because when Major Dreyfuss asked to see the car, he didn’t check with Mr Parfit. Because he accompanied them past the security guard and down to the parking bays. Because he turned his back on them to open the door of the Cavalier …
And then woke up with a sore head and the drip of oil on his face. Staring up at the underside of a car and realising he had been knocked unconscious and hidden beneath the vehicle in the bay next to his. His bay, which was by then conspicuously empty.
The walk he took back upstairs – walking because it was slower than taking the lift, and he wished to defer the inevitable – was funereal. Yet necessary. There was no way he could hide what had happened. He had to tell Mr Parfit.
He was breathless when he reached Parfit’s floor, and realised with some surprise that he had just walked up eight flights of stairs. He remembered none of it.
He knocked on Parfit’s door.
‘Yes?’
/>
He turned the handle and entered. Parfit was seated behind his desk, his hand poised on the telephone as though expecting a call.
‘Ah, Sanders,’ he said. ‘Come in. If it’s about your report, I really haven’t had a proper chance to read it yet, but I’m sure it’s …’
He stopped short. There was oil in Sanders’ hair, and the boy looked deathly pale, looked, indeed, beaten about a bit. Then it dawned.
‘Oh my God,’ he said. ‘Where are they?’
‘They’ve taken the car, sir. The Cavalier.’
‘Get me another car!’ Parfit had already picked up the receiver and was dialling. ‘Hello?’ he said. ‘Let me speak to Detective Inspector Frazer.’ He put his hand over the mouthpiece and spoke to Sanders. ‘We’ve got to find them before they leave London.’ He removed his hand. ‘Hello, Craig? Parfit here. Yes, long time no see. I want a favour. A very important one. Can you get your lads to keep their eyes peeled for a red Vauxhall Cavalier.’ He asked Sanders for the registration, and then repeated it down the line. ‘Thanks, Craig. Goodbye.’ He stared hard at Sanders. ‘I thought I told you to get us a car!’
‘Yes, sir.’ Sanders dashed out of the room, holding his neck where the fist had chopped down on it.
When the door was closed, Parfit took a deep breath and stared at his cabinet. It was time. He was about to rise from his chair when the telephone rang. He picked it up without thinking.
‘Parfit?’ said the voice. ‘Blake here.’
‘Blake.’ Parfit’s heartiness was bluff, and nothing but.
‘I’ve had my say, but the PM reckons it’s too amorphous – actual words, “too bloody vague”. We’re to gather a bit more intelligence before we can act.’
‘It may be too late by then.’ Parfit was thinking: it may be too late right now. The cabinet beckoned.
‘Nevertheless, those are the orders from on high.’
‘Since when did that stop us, Blake?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Farquharson said, his tone full of meaning. It was time to tell him.
‘Dreyfuss and Hepton have left us, headed who knows where.’
The silence on the line was as piercing as any scream. There was a cough of static before Farquharson’s too-calm voice said, ‘What will they try to do?’
‘That’s what I’m wondering myself, Blake. I’d say they’re capable of trying anything, and I do mean anything.’
‘Oh my God.’
‘So, PM or no PM, it looks as though there is no alternative. No point in my hanging around here either, so I’m going out into the field.’ Parfit paused. ‘With your permission.’
Blake Farquharson knew what ‘going out into the field’ meant in Parfit’s terms. He thought quickly but hard. But then, as Parfit had said, there was no alternative.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You must do what you think fit.’
‘Thank you, Blake.’
‘But promise me one thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘Keep it as low-key as possible.’
‘Trust me, Blake.’
‘What if you don’t find them?’
‘Oh, I think I’ll find them. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion I know exactly where they’ll be headed.’
He put the receiver down. Then picked it up immediately.
‘Get me Downing Street, please.’ He waited for the connection to be made. ‘Hello? Ah, hello. This is Tony Poulson, assistant to Blake Farquharson. I believe Blake had a meeting with the PM scheduled for this afternoon. I was just wondering—’
‘Haven’t you been told?’ The voice on the other end of the line was curt to the point of rudeness. ‘Your boss took ill.’
‘Took ill?’
‘Had to call off. After the bloody lengths we went to to find ten minutes for him in the PM’s schedule. No one is amused, Mr Poulson. Good day.’ And the line went dead.
Parfit’s smile was part vindication, part acceptance of the betrayal. Farquharson had never intended keeping his appointment. It was a delaying tactic, as had been so much of the game thus far. Parfit had run a check on the lease on Villiers’ apartment. The route to ownership had been circuitous, cleverly so, keeping one name as far away from prying eyes as possible. The name had been Farquharson’s. He owned the flat, as he owned its former occupant.
Well, nothing could be done about that now. He could leave Farquharson for the moment. For now, he had better things to do. He didn’t doubt that Hepton and Dreyfuss would be making for Binbrook, and that if they actually got there, they would inflict at least some damage, perhaps even enough damage. He phoned Frazer again.
‘Craig?’ he said. ‘Cancel that request, will you? If your lads see the car, let me know about it. But don’t apprehend.’
The larger the web had grown, the smaller its circumference had become, almost in defiance of the physical laws. Not that laws meant much any more. Parfit put down the receiver and went to the cabinet. There was, as always, no real alternative.
35
Graeme Izzard didn’t seem surprised to see Hepton, and greeted him like an old friend. Hepton had ordered Dreyfuss to stop the red Cavalier beside the taxis outside Alfie’s café. Inside, Izzard was tucking into the all-day breakfast.
‘Morning,’ he said by way of greeting.
‘It’s late afternoon, in case you hadn’t noticed,’ Dreyfuss commented. Hepton and Izzard shared a conspiratorial smile: for Izzard, it was the start of the day.
‘What can I do for you?’ Izzard asked, his mind more on the tussle he was having with a particularly tough slice of middle bacon.
‘It’s about your little device,’ Hepton began, ‘the one you showed me last night.’
‘Which one? I seem to remember I showed you hundreds.’
‘Yes, but you kept this one in a cupboard. A relic of your hacking days …’
Thirty minutes later, Dreyfuss and Hepton left the industrial estate, Hepton driving and Dreyfuss clutching a small black box topped with an old calculator fascia. An unmarked police car was idling near the entrance to the estate. Five minutes later, the call went through to Parfit.
It was past six o’clock when Hepton drove up to the security barrier of the tracking station. A change of shifts was taking place. A young, unsmiling man – a stranger to Hepton – was being replaced by Bert, who had been at the station as long as anyone. Hepton sounded his horn, but Bert, not recognising the car, came out of the hut to check. Seeing who it was, he broke into a gap-toothed grin.
‘Mr Hepton sir. I thought you’d gone off on holiday.’
‘I was called back. Something about the place shutting down for a while. I’ve got to collect my things.’
‘Ah, yes, shutting down. As from tomorrow, so they tell me. Mind you, I’ll still be here. You always need security.’ Hepton nodded agreement. Bert was giving the car’s paintwork a cursory examination. ‘I see you’ve been buying yourself a new car, Mr Hepton.’
‘No, it’s on loan. I had a little mishap with the Renault.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Bert was walking around to the back of the car. Hepton watched him in the wing mirror.
‘Anything the matter?’ he called.
‘Should there be, Mr Hepton?’
‘No,’ he said, laughing. Just don’t look in the boot.
‘Yes, sir, a very nice car this. Hired, did you say?’
‘No, it’s a friend’s.’
‘I suppose I should log it in,’ Bert said. He had finished his tour and was returning to the driver’s-side window. ‘All cars are supposed to be logged, aren’t they?’
Hepton shrugged. ‘I suppose so,’ he said casually.
‘Then again,’ Bert reasoned, ‘if you’re only coming in to pick up some stuff …’
‘That’s all.’
‘And you’ve just borrowed this car … well, I suppose it hardly matters, does it?’
‘Whatever you think, Bert. So long as it won’t get you into trouble.’
‘We
ll then, I’ll just go and raise the barrier.’
‘Thanks, Bert.’ Hepton thought of something. ‘Oh, Bert?’
‘Yes, Mr Hepton?’
‘That security man, the one who just clocked off. He’s new, isn’t he?’
‘Started yesterday. His name’s Ken. Quiet bloke, keeps himself to himself. But he seems to like the job.’
‘Right.’ Hepton seemed satisfied with this, so Bert walked away from the car and towards his office, where a moment later he pushed the button that raised the barrier, allowing Hepton into the compound. Hepton gave a wave as he drove in, making for the other side of the administration building. There were plenty of parking spaces in front of the block, but he wanted to be far away from prying eyes. Thankfully, a few cars had parked at the rear, in a sort of courtyard enclosed by a picket fence, a hedge and an emergency generator, itself surrounded by high iron railings. Hepton did not drive to the furthest corner: there were no other vehicles there to provide cover. Instead, he made for the busiest point, where two cars had parked a bay apart, with another car a little distance in front of them. He manoeuvred the Cavalier into the narrow space between the two cars and turned off the engine. Yes, the new security man on the gate liked his job … They were moving their own men into the base. Slowly but surely, COFFIN was taking over.
He opened the driver’s-side door as far as it would go without denting the car next to him and squeezed out, then closed the door again but did not lock it. He wasn’t planning on staying long, and their leave-taking might have to be rapid. Unlocking a door took time, time they might not have.
He looked around. The place was quiet. There was a security camera trained on the back of the admin block and on the path that led towards the control building, but no camera, he knew for a fact, covered this rear car park. He unlocked the boot.