Harry nodded. ‘Me too.’ There was no doubt about it.
Clare Jardine had done a runner.
SIXTY-FOUR
Bill Maloney was waiting at Dover in a mud-spattered Volvo. The former Royal Marine was wrapped in a waterproof jacket, with heavy rain clouds milling overhead like horses in a corral. The ground around the vehicle was awash with puddles, but he seemed immune to the conditions.
Where the hell, thought Harry, trudging to meet him, are the blue clouds everyone raves about?
Maloney gave a sketchy wave, then looked around quizzically. ‘I thought there were three of you.’
‘There were. One pulled out,’ said Harry. He told him about Clare’s disappearing act.
‘Why would she do that?’
‘I don’t know. Could be she knows she’ll never get back in. She even tried to get a set of false papers. I think she’s been planning this for a while. Either way, she’s cooked.’
If Clare was still on board, she had found somewhere secure to hide. With a change of clothes and make-up, it wouldn’t be difficult for someone with her training to latch on to a friendly face and hitch a ride.
Unless she had jumped. But he didn’t believe that.
‘Gone native, you think?’ Maloney meant had she gone over to the opposition.
‘No. I think she decided to get lost for good.’
Maloney shrugged and got in. He drove them towards London, one eye on the speed limit and waiting for them to talk.
‘You got somewhere to stay?’ he asked Harry, as they took the M20 towards Swanley and Lewisham.
‘I know a hotel. It’s good for now.’
Maloney looked at Rik. ‘How about you?’
Rik shook his head. ‘I’ll stay with my mum. She’s moved twice since I got tabbed, so she should be OK.’
‘Fair enough.’ He glanced at Harry. ‘Listen, there’s stuff I have to tell you about the Essex thing.’
‘Go on.’
‘I did some digging. There’s been a lot of chaff thrown out about the shooting, how it all went shit-shaped. It bugged me how those two kids managed to penetrate the cordon.’
‘Me too. There was a hole.’ It was the only explanation. But what sort of hole?
‘That’s the thing. I know a guy whose brother is in the local armed response unit. He was on the team supposed to be covering that track. He says they were told to stand down about two hours before the ETA.’
Harry breathed a lengthy sigh. There was the answer. ‘Why?’
‘Same old thing: budgets. Someone decided it didn’t need that number of bodies to intercept one small boat.’ He shrugged. ‘There was also a PM’s visit at Stansted Airport the following morning. They needed a show of strength because of protests against expansion plans. It left Red Three short of men. No way could he keep it secure.’
Fuck. Harry felt sick with anger. Budgets and political face.
‘There’s something else.’ Maloney sounded sombre. ‘Colin Parrish – the dead copper? He was new. That gig was his first ever. They sicked us with a newbie. Can you believe it?’
Harry shook his head. After what he’d been through, he was ready to believe anything. Another screw-up to be swept clean and sanitized. And for what?
‘Have they found out how the dead kids got there?’
‘Not so far. But with the team cut back it left holes all over. I reckon the pick-up team got out the same way.’
Harry thought about the two dead civilians. Killed because they had stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone had to pay for that. And Parrish; a young copper who had more vim than sense. He re-ran the scene though his mind. Parrish had run out probably counting on using the arrival of the Land Rover as a distraction, or to draw fire from the boat. They would never know which. All he’d done was make the men on the boat think the kids in the Land Rover were part of the intercept.
And therefore a target.
Unless . . .
‘Who was Red Three?’
‘Bloke called Doyle? Why?’
‘I tried to raise him when the Land Rover turned up. There was no reply.’
‘Could have been a comms breakdown. He was covering a lot of ground that night.’
‘Is he any good?’
‘Yeah, I’d say so. What do you want him to do?’
‘The Met were taking regular aerial shots of the area the day before the bust, right up to the closure of the cordon. I saw a couple during the briefing, when we were going over the approaches. Can you get a look at other copies through Doyle?’
‘I suppose so. Not sure what I’d tell him, though. Like you, I’m out of it.’
‘Not quite. You can still walk in the building without being arrested. This is important. Tell him something’s been bugging you about the Land Rover and you can’t let go of it. Professional pride and all that. You don’t have to mention me, though.’
‘What about it? He’s bound to ask.’
Harry shrugged. ‘Like how did it get there? A noisy great Land Rover out of nowhere?’ He shook his head.
Maloney thought about, then did a double take, nearly slamming into the rear of a truck pulling out with a signal. ‘Shit! You’re right. Even with the holes in the cordon, someone would have seen it. But if they didn’t drive through the cordon right then . . .’
‘. . . they must have been inside already,’ Harry finished. ‘Get the aerials of the track and anywhere that could have housed a Land Rover. And look at the background on the two kids.’
‘I can tell you that now. The girl was Estelle McGuiness, the daughter of a local chief superintendent.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘I know. It gets worse. He admitted he’d talked about the operation at home. His daughter was into birdwatching and the Wetland Trust activities in a big way, and worried a drugs bust would upset the birds.’
‘So she’d have known when it was going to be shut down.’
‘Exactly.’ He looked grim. ‘Her father’s been suspended.’
‘And the boyfriend?’
‘Nothing. Friends say she’d only recently met him in a local club and she was besotted. He showed particular interest in her birdwatching. Apart from that, he’s a mystery.’
‘Meaning bent – he’s got to be.’
‘But how do we prove it?’
‘There’s only one way. We find where that bloody Land Rover was stashed. After that, it’s up to the Met to trace the boyfriend.’ Harry’s mind went back to the way the young man had held up a hand towards the incoming boat. Was it the gesture of an innocent man seeing the gun – and making a vain attempt to ward off the shot that followed?
Or a not so innocent man finding himself in the middle of a police trap and trying to tell his friends on the boat that he hadn’t betrayed them?
It was nearly dark by the time they reached the river in central London. Rik had already jumped out at New Cross, saying he would be in touch. Shoulders bunched against the cold and damp, he had merged swiftly with the crowd near the station.
‘He doesn’t say much,’ said Maloney, pulling into the traffic.
‘He’s in IT. He’s been through a steep learning curve. Good, though. Steady under pressure. I trust him.’
‘That’s enough for me.’ Maloney smiled. ‘You haven’t exactly had a lot of that, have you? Trust.’
Harry didn’t say anything. He’d filled Maloney in about Red Station, its members, the Clones, their narrow escape from Latham. Nikolai. With the telling, he was once more feeling drained. And now, with Rik gone, it was as if a string had been broken.
He thought about trust, and those who knew him. ‘What’s the chatter?’ he asked. The security industry was secret, but people still gossiped. The nuts and bolts of the shooting would have got out eventually.
‘You were handed a shitty deal,’ said Maloney. ‘Everyone knows it, too. If you were spotted right now, there’s not many would go out of their way to turn you in.’
‘
Thanks. But it’s not them I have to worry about.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ He started to say something else, then stopped.
‘What?’ said Harry.
Maloney picked at the steering wheel. ‘Whoever’s behind all this . . . they’ll be seriously worried about you, Harry. You and your mate. You’re the bogey who should have stayed in the cupboard.’
‘Are you saying I’m on another hit list?’
Maloney smiled at the irony in his voice. ‘Yeah . . . I suppose you wouldn’t be too bothered – not after what you’ve been through.’
Harry got Maloney to drop him off in Southwark. He knew a small hotel where he could hide for a few days and acclimatize himself once more to the noise and pace of London. With Waterloo station nearby, it provided him with an invaluable melting pot of humanity in which to lose himself should the need arise. All those entrances and exits, crammed with people; he actually felt safer when it was within reach.
Maloney handed him a mobile phone and a slip of paper.
‘Pay As You Go disposable,’ he said. ‘Same as mine. Ring if you need to. And the address of a doctor so you can get your arm looked at. He’s five minutes from here and knows not to talk. Mind your back.’
‘You, too. Thanks for your help. But stay clear from now on . . . it could be bad for your career.’
SIXTY-FIVE
Harry met Rik the following morning in a burger bar near Waterloo station. He wanted to discuss tactics. He had already visited Maloney’s friendly doctor for a change of bandages and a pronouncement that the wound was free of infection.
They found a table against the back wall. Harry had checked the rear and found a fire exit leading down to a narrow side street.
‘Is this what it’s going to be like?’ said Rik, twirling a tall mug of Cola. He sounded depressed. ‘Eyes in the back of our heads and frightened to go out anywhere?’
‘It doesn’t have to be.’ Harry tried not to scratch at his arm. It was driving him nuts. ‘Not if I can help it.’
‘Hope not. My mother’s already asking when am I going back to work. She’s not used to me being at home like this.’
‘It won’t be much longer.’ Harry sipped his coffee. It was worse than the stuff he’d been drinking in Georgia. At least that brew had a kick to it.
‘What are we going to do?’
‘Before we left, Mace gave me two names. One is Sir Anthony Bellingham.’
Rik nodded. ‘MI6. Something to do with operations.’
‘Right. He’s the one who set up Red Station . . . also the one who set Latham on us.’
Rik stared down at the table. ‘You do pick them, don’t you? Who’s the other one – the PM?’
‘Marcella Rudmann.’
‘Oh. Yeah. The one on the Joint Intelligence Committee.’ To Harry’s surprise, Rik began to look shifty.
‘You’ve heard of her.’
‘Sort of.’
‘How sort of?’
Rik shifted awkwardly in his seat. ‘She was one of the names I was looking at when I got caught and tabbed.’
Harry chuckled. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘No. I was looking through some operation files to do with Afghanistan and saw her name attached to a JIC note. I wondered who she was, that was all.’ He picked at the table with his thumbnail. ‘I . . . uh, took a look around her computer files.’ He looked abashed. ‘She’s got a secret boyfriend.’
‘So what? It happens, you know – even among politicians. Especially politicians. It’s called sex.’
‘I know. But she’s already in a long-term relationship.’
‘I think you need to get out more.’
‘With a woman.’
‘Ah. Really? That’s different.’ Harry lifted an eyebrow. Information was power. The only question was, if push came to shove, would he use it? ‘Anyone I’d know?’
‘Her partner’s in politics – a second secretary or something like that. The boyfriend’s in pharmaceuticals. Very big.’ He shrugged. ‘I got out of there quick.’
Harry breathed deeply, his mind working. ‘Did you leave a trace?’
‘No!’ Rik looked affronted.
‘Could you get into the files again – if you had to?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good. For now, get me her home address and phone number.’
‘No problem. I’ll access the Civil Service Directory.’
Harry nearly laughed. ‘It’s as simple as that?’
‘Well, not quite. There’s a gateway to a sub-level directory for specialist contacts; I’ll have to go through that first. But it’s doable. Why do you need her stuff?’
‘Because she’s in the right job, powerful, connected and I want to unsettle her. If I just ring her at the office and say “Hi, honey, I’m home” she’ll have the Rottweilers on our backs before I put the phone down. I have to get to her in a way that won’t get me arrested.’
‘Oh. OK.’
‘Then there’s Bellingham.’
‘I was afraid you’d get round to him. He’s bad news. His address won’t be on file.’
‘Probably not. But he’s the main mover behind this, along with Paulton. And any time I want him, he’ll be in Vauxhall Cross.’
‘But you can’t go in there.’
‘I don’t intend to.’
‘What, then?’
‘I want you to access Clarion.’
‘What?’ Rik nearly overturned his drink and scrambled to rescue it, attracting a scowl from the woman behind the counter. Probably thinks we’re discussing a drugs deal, thought Harry.
He handed Rik a tissue. ‘Take it easy. We can do this.’
‘No way, man – you’re nuts!’
‘Well, if it’s beyond you.’ Harry shrugged and began to get up.
‘No. Wait . . . I can. I will. Just . . . give me a second.’ Rik finished mopping the table and tossed the sodden tissue aside. ‘That was a low blow.’ He looked genuinely hurt.
‘I know.’ Harry smiled. ‘That’s why I said it. You in or not?’
Rik relaxed, mollified. ‘OK. I suppose.’ He chewed his lip for a few seconds, then said, ‘I’ll need a laptop – a good netbook would be better – and a list of places where we can hook into the wireless network and move on. When we hit the directory and then Clarion, it’ll have to be in short bursts in case they’ve got a watch on them – and I bet they do.’
Harry took an envelope from his inside pocket and handed it to Rik. If the woman hadn’t suspected they were conducting a drugs deal before, she certainly would now. ‘There’s five hundred in there. Do what you have to and we’ll meet up again tomorrow. Can you do it?’
‘Easy. I’ll pick up a machine and check out some places where we can work.’
‘Even better.’ Harry was impressed. Rik evidently worked best when he was challenged on his own turf. ‘Call me when you’re set.’
After Rik had gone, Harry took out a new Pay As You Go mobile and dialled a number from memory. When it was answered, he asked for George Paulton. Time to set the ball rolling.
‘Which department is that?’ said the operator smoothly.
‘Operations.’ Harry quoted a six-digit code, part of which was Paulton’s extension. He doubted it would still work because the codes were changed on a regular basis. But it might get him past the watchdog on reception.
‘I’m sorry, sir, I don’t recognize that number. Could I ask who’s calling, please?’
‘Tell him it’s Harry Tate. I’d like to meet.’
‘Mr Tate? Just a moment, sir.’
Harry counted to ten, then twenty. Paulton was playing hard to get. Nobody should be faster at answering his phone when a ‘hot’ name was mentioned. And right now, the name Harry Tate should be melting the wires around the building.
He switched off the mobile and walked outside. An entire system committed to tracing and analysing calls would now be trying to find where the call had originated, triggered by his use of an out-of-date
code. He dumped the mobile in a rubbish skip. He had others and would try again.
Next he called Maloney.
‘I can’t get to Paulton. You heard anything?’
‘I was about to call you.’ Maloney sounded worried. In the background Harry could hear voices and the shrill ring of telephones.
‘What’s up?’
‘First the good news. I got the aerials. You were right: they show a Land Rover parked all afternoon next to an old boat. It was left in such a way it looked like a write-off . . . doors open and a damaged roof. But in a sweep the following morning, it was gone.’
‘Surprise, surprise. It was down by the landing stage. Good vehicle for driving through mud and picking up a load of drugs.’
‘Right. Anyway, I spoke to Doyle; he’s making noises and they’re turning over the area right now, especially the old boat. That’s probably where they were hiding.’
‘Anything on the boyfriend?’
‘Nothing yet. They’re still processing his prints. They think he might be foreign – maybe Romanian.’
Harry waited, then said, ‘OK. So what’s the bad news?’
‘Paulton’s gone missing.’
SIXTY-SIX
Harry disconnected with Maloney and called Rik Ferris. Whatever he did now, he had to act fast. Without Paulton to lean on, they were at a disadvantage.
‘I need Rudmann’s direct number,’ he said when Rik answered.
‘What, now?’ Rik sounded unimpressed. ‘Christ, what’s the rush?’
In the background, Harry heard a woman’s voice asking if Rik wanted the printer bundle. Rik’s voice faded and said no.
‘Our main player in Five has done a runner. I need to shake the tree.’ He gave Rik a quick rundown of what Maloney had said.
‘You think he’s ducked out?’
‘I don’t know. He either jumped or Bellingham got to him. It means we’ve lost one of our chances to prove what Red Station was all about. If Paulton chose to go missing, he’s gone for good.’
‘Give me a few minutes. I’ll find a network and call you back.’
Harry waited fifteen minutes. He took the opportunity to find a quiet stretch of pavement where he could walk and talk undisturbed. Any conversations he was about to have would be best conducted privately.
Red Station Page 27