Slow Horses

by Mick Herron

  ‘His sister’s son.’

  ‘We’ve—Taverner’s had Mahmud Gul’s nephew kidnapped by fascist thugs? What the hell does she think she’s doing?’

  ‘She thinks she’s boxing clever. “Think of it as bringing communities together”,’ Lamb quoted. ‘Her words. “When we rescue Hassan, we make a friend.”’

  Min Harper asked, ‘Are they close?’

  Ho was still scrolling through Regent’s Park’s file on Gul. ‘Hassan’s mother and father met in Karachi, but he was already living here. She came back to England as his bride. She’s not been back since, and there’s no record of Gul visiting.’

  Min said, ‘But he’s a spook. You can’t rule it out.’

  Lamb said, ‘Either way, we can assume he’d object to the kid having his head chopped off on camera.’ He unwrapped his second sandwich. A smell of warm sausage wafted round.

  Trying to ignore it, River said, ‘So that was the plan? To romance Mahmud Gul by rescuing his nephew from a bunch of fanatics?’

  ‘Our fanatics,’ Lamb said. ‘That was the important part.’

  Louisa said, ‘So he’s in our debt. And so, when he gets to be the next Director of Inter-Services Intelligence, more likely to fall our way.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ River said. ‘But what happens when we don’t rescue Hassan? Did that factor into her thinking at all?’

  ‘Apparently not,’ Lamb said. ‘And the way it’s looking now, in twenty-four hours or so, the British secret service assassinates the nephew of a more-or-less friendly power’s secret service Second Desk.’

  ‘Only if they stick to their timetable,’ Catherine said. ‘And why should they? As far as they know, they’re blown.’

  ‘So they kill the kid,’ Min said. ‘Jesus. Wars have been started for less.’

  Lamb said, ‘Which is why Lady Di’s going to any lengths necessary to screw the blame on us. If Hassan dies, that’s one thing. If Hassan dies, and it gets public that Five was responsible, it goes beyond being a black mark on her CV.’ A small piece of meat fell, leaving a mayonnaise smear on his trouser leg. ‘Damn. I hate it when that happens.’ He stared angrily at the yellow streak for a moment, which wasn’t noticeably larger than any other stain on that leg, then looked back up. ‘Taverner won’t be joining us at Slough House. She’ll be looking at the inside of a cell. Unless she’s black-bagged first.’

  ‘Black-bag a Second Desk? How likely is that?’

  Jackson Lamb said, ‘There’s probably a precedent. Why not ask grandad? Meanwhile, nobody’s looking for Hassan. Taverner’s known from the start where he is, and it’s not been in her interests that anyone else does, so the cops have been working without Service input. And until Black infiltrated them, the Voice of Albion weren’t making waves on anyone’s radar.’

  Ho said, ‘You don’t make wa—’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘If they’re such amateurs, what are their chances?’ Catherine asked. ‘Maybe they’ll trip over their own …’

  ‘Dicks?’

  Louisa said, ‘She has a point.’

  ‘Not really. Being a bunch of bottom feeders has played to their advantage. Nobody noticed them before, so nobody knows where they came from now.’

  ‘But Alan Black found them.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Lamb said. ‘He did, didn’t he?’

  River was listening and not listening; his brain churning through newly learned facts, adding them to what he already knew, or thought he already knew, or had forgotten he knew. And also, he was starving. Lamb, the bastard, could have brought sandwiches for everyone: any boss, anywhere, would have done that when heading for a pre-breakfast meeting. Always supposing any boss, anywhere, would have called a pre-breakfast meeting in a graveyard … River could barely remember when he’d last eaten, last drunk. It had probably been outside Hobden’s with Sid, back when she was still upright, instead of laid out on a hospital bed or operating table, or with a sheet drawn over her head. He still didn’t know how she was. Hadn’t come to terms with what had happened to her, let alone the information that she’d been put in Slough House to keep an eye on him. By Taverner, presumably. So what was that all about?

  Lamb was saying something about headless chickens, and River felt a sudden drop in energy; a need for sugar. For something hot.

  God, he’d commit murder for a cup of coffee …

  In the back of his mind, tumblers clicked.

  Lamb took a healthy bite from his sausage sandwich. Chewing, he said, ‘Thing is, Black was a highly trained secret agent the same way you lot are, which means he was a fuck-up. So he’ll have made mistakes.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Louisa said.

  Min Harper said, ‘What difference does it make? He’s dead. The others’ll off Hassan first chance they get, then crawl back wherever they came from.’

  ‘If they were going to … off Hassan first chance they get,’ Catherine said, ‘you’d have found his body next to Black’s.’

  Min looked thoughtful, then nodded.

  Ho said, ‘Fuck-up or not, Black got them out of Leeds the night they took him. The traffic CCTV was down for hours.’

  Lamb said, ‘Probably Lady Di. But nobody’s pulling strings for them now, and they haven’t got Black making their decisions. They’ll be headless chickens, clinging to whatever’s left of the original plan. Which, we can assume, will have been to his blueprint. So.’ He stared at each of them in turn. All but River Cartwright looked back: River was gazing skyward, as if expecting a helicopter. ‘You’re Alan Black. What would you have done?’

  Min said, ‘Well, for a start …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have got involved in such a godawful mess.’

  ‘Any other useful input?’

  ‘I never liked him,’ Ho said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Black.’

  ‘He had his head cut off a few hours ago,’ Lamb said.

  ‘And left on a table.’

  ‘I was only saying.’

  ‘Jesus. This the best you can manage?’

  River said, ‘I’ve just remembered where I saw him.’

  In every horror film, sooner or later, the corridor scene occurs. The long corridor, with overhead lighting which shuts down section by section—boom boom boom. And then you’re in the dark.

  Which was where Hassan was now. In the dark.

  The last colour he’d known had been the bright red hell of the kitchen, in the centre of which, on the table, Moe’s head had sat like a Hallowe’en pumpkin. One in which no light would ever shine. Take more than a candle to put a gleam in those eyes. Boom boom. The floor had been a crimson lake; the walls spattered with gore. We’re going to cut your head off and show it on the web. It had happened before. It would happen to him next.

  The lights in his mind were shutting down.

  Even without the handkerchief in his mouth, Hassan wouldn’t have been able to shout. He had no words left. His body was bones and liquid.

  Boom.

  Different things made different noises. He’d been underneath the kitchen when they were doing what they did to Moe, but all he’d heard was a confusion of sound, which might have been anything. It was not the noise Hassan would have expected from such an action. The expected noise would have been a thump, followed by a slow rolling.

  But these dark thoughts were escaping him now, as the lights in his mind shut down, boom boom boom. And then he was Hassan only in the sense that everyone has to be someone, and that was who he was stuck with until the last of his lights went out, boom boom.

  And then he was luggage.

  Boom.

  When River had finished, they stood silent for a while. Not far off, a bird chirped. It must have had inside information of the dawn. There was a vari-coloured glow from City Road, and a more subdued glimmer from the other side, all of it strained through branches.

  Lamb said, ‘You’re sure?’

  River nodded.

  ‘Okay.’ He looked thoughtful.
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  Min Harper said, ‘Doesn’t help us with finding Hassan.’

  ‘Well, you’re the ray of sunshine, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m only saying.’

  Ho said, ‘Is anywhere open round here yet? With wi-fi?’

  ‘And breakfast?’ Louisa added.

  ‘God,’ Lamb said. ‘Can you not think of anything but your stomach?’ He swallowed his last chunk of sandwich, and tossed a scrunched-up greaseproof ball at the nearby bin. ‘There’s a kid out there’ll die today. A little focus?’ He pulled his cigarettes out.

  River said, ‘Taverner can’t get away with this.’

  ‘Nice to know where your priorities lie,’ Lamb said.

  ‘I’m not talking about what she did to me. She’s behind all this. If we’re to save Hassan, we need to squeeze her.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Nobody else is going to do it.’

  ‘Kid’s dead meat then.’

  Catherine Standish said, ‘You could have let the Dogs round us up. You didn’t. What was that about?’

  ‘You think I have a sneaking regard for your talents?’

  ‘I think you do nothing without a reason.’

  ‘The day I let Regent’s Park screw me around’s the day I take the pledge,’ Lamb said. ‘If the Dogs tried to steal my pencil sharpener, I’d hide it. And I don’t have a pencil sharpener.’

  Ho said, ‘What’s a pencil sharpener?’

  ‘Very funny.’

  Ho looked puzzled.

  ‘So what’s the point?’ Louisa asked. ‘Why are we here?’

  Lamb lit his cigarette. For a moment, his face wreathed in smoke, he might have materialized from the tomb he leant against. ‘Let’s not kid ourselves. Dogs’ll pick you up before you get your breakfast. But at least you know what’s happening. Taverner’s got Loy and White, and she’ll have turned both of them by now. They’ll swear blind whatever story she feeds them is true. And that’ll be that this whole mess was planned at Slough House. Meaning me.’

  ‘Nice to know where your priorities lie,’ River said.

  ‘Yeah, well, the difference between us is I’ve a career to look back on. And I’m not having Taverner piss all over it.’

  ‘And that’s it?’ Min Harper said. ‘We just hang about for the Dogs to catch up?’

  ‘You have a better plan?’

  Louisa said, ‘Hassan’s still out there somewhere. Maybe not far away. We can’t sit on our hands and wait for his body to be found.’

  ‘I thought you were dying for your breakfast.’

  ‘You’re trying to wind us up, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right. So you discover the heroes inside yourselves.’ He paused. ‘Look. I don’t normally say this stuff, but I want to tell you something.’ He took a drag on his cigarette. ‘You’re fucking useless, the lot of you.’

  They waited for a ‘but’.

  ‘No, I’m serious. If you weren’t fuck-ups, you’d still be at Regent’s Park. If you’re all Hassan Ahmed’s got to rely on, I hope the kid’s got religion.’ He dropped his cigarette and ground it into the damp leaves underfoot. ‘Now, given that Cartwright’s the only one with anything useful to offer, he’d better come with me.’

  ‘Where to?’ River asked.

  ‘To let the air out of Taverner’s tyres,’ Lamb said. ‘The rest of you can do what you like.’

  As they headed towards the gates, Lamb half a pace ahead, River said: ‘You were trying to wind them up, weren’t you?’

  ‘No,’ Lamb told him. ‘I meant every word.’

  ‘Might have the effect of winding them up, though.’

  ‘I don’t suppose that’ll do much harm,’ Lamb said. ‘But it’s not likely to do a hell of a lot of good.’ Producing a key, he tossed it to River, who unlocked the gates, let Lamb through, then followed him on to the pavement.

  Lamb was already striding over the road, where a large black SUV was parked half on the opposite pavement.

  River said, ‘Where’d you get the car?’

  ‘Official issue,’ Lamb told him. ‘You been near Slough House?’

  ‘Not since we all left together.’

  ‘So we don’t know whether the cleaners have been in.’

  For a moment, River thought he meant just that: the cleaners. He hadn’t been aware Slough House was ever cleaned. Then he remembered Moody. ‘It’s been a few hours. They might have been and gone.’

  ‘Or it might still be there.’ It, meaning Jed Moody’s body. Lamb started the engine. ‘Let’s find out.’

  The others watched Lamb and Cartwright disappear between the trees.

  Louisa said, ‘Bastard.’

  Catherine Standish said, ‘He told us we’re useless because he wants us to prove him wrong.’

  ‘No he didn’t. He’s covering his arse, that’s all.’

  ‘But supposing he wasn’t?’ said Catherine.

  ‘What difference would that make?’

  ‘It would mean he wants us to prove him wrong.’

  ‘I’m not desperate for his approval.’

  ‘Hassan Ahmed might appreciate it, though.’

  Min said, ‘Everyone in the country’s been looking for Hassan Ahmed for two days. How are we supposed to find him?’

  ‘We know where he was not long ago. Anyway, we’re not looking for him,’ Catherine said. ‘We’re looking for the people who took him.’

  ‘There’s a difference?’

  ‘You’re Alan Black,’ she said. ‘That’s what he was saying before Cartwright interrupted. So, we’re Alan Black. What would we have done?’

  Louisa said, ‘You’re right. It gives us an edge.’

  Ho said, ‘You think?’

  ‘Why not?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t remember ever having a conversation with him.’

  ‘So how come you didn’t like him?’

  ‘He used to open windows.’

  Catherine said drily, ‘I can see how upsetting that must have been for you.’

  Ho removed the dongle from his laptop and powered down. ‘Anyway, we can’t stay here. It’s cold and damp. Where’s that caff?’

  ‘Old Street.’

  ‘Come on, then.’

  ‘All of us?’

  ‘Someone has to come. I didn’t bring any money. They have wi-fi, you notice?’

  Louisa looked at Min, then back at Ho. ‘You want to try looking for Hassan?’

  Ho shrugged. ‘Whatever.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you want Lamb’s approval.’

  ‘Approval?’ Ho said. ‘Fuck, no. I just want to prove the prick wrong.’

  The car came to a halt, and Hassan’s body was bounced against the boot lid. He barely noticed. Further bruising seemed immaterial.

  There was, after all, worse to come.

  Chapter 16

  Lamb pulled up by the bus stop opposite Slough House. One of Moody’s checkpoints, River recalled; constantly monitored for loiterers. He said, ‘So. What we doing?’

  ‘See any lights?’

  ‘Third floor.’

  ‘Did you leave that on?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Think.’

  River thought. It didn’t help. ‘I don’t remember. You were there too. Why is it my fault the light was left on?’

  ‘Because I’ve better things to worry about.’

  At the windows no shapes appeared; no other lights went on. The cleaners might be inside, removing Jed Moody. Or might have been and gone, and left the light on; or might not have been there at all.

  And might turn up in the next few minutes.

  Reading River’s thoughts, Lamb said, ‘Only one way to find out.’

  ‘We’re going in?’

  ‘You are,’ Lamb told him. ‘No point us both running the risk.’

  ‘And supposing I don’t get caught? What am I supposed to do?’

  Lamb told him.

  ‘So we what, try to work out what we’d do in their position?’

&n
bsp; ‘We work out what Black’s back-up plan would have been. If the safe house was blown.’

  ‘But Black was the one planning to blow the safe house.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Catherine patiently. ‘But given that he probably didn’t tell them that in advance, they might have wanted to know if there was a back-up plan.’

  ‘They killed Black because they discovered he was a spook,’ Louisa said. ‘They’re hardly likely to trust his plans now.’

  ‘True,’ Min Harper put in. ‘But on the other hand, they’re a bunch of morons.’

  ‘How do we know that?’

  ‘Well, they joined a group called Voice of Albion. You want a definition of moron …’

  ‘They sussed out Black.’

  ‘Yeah, well, he wasn’t James Bond.’

  ‘This is getting us nowhere,’ Catherine said.

  They were in a café on Old Street: long and narrow with a counter along the window, and tables against a mirrored wall. Coffee had arrived, and breakfasts been ordered. Ho’s laptop was open, and that familiar expression was capturing him; the one where the world on his screen became more real, less irritating, than the one around him.

  He said, ‘They might have offed him already. Why stick to the deadline now?’

  ‘For the sake of the exercise,’ Catherine said, ‘let’s pretend there’s a chance of saving his life. Otherwise we might as well go back to bed.’

  Louisa said, ‘What about CCTV? I thought the UK had blanket coverage. Especially on the roads.’

  Ho offered her a pained look. ‘All other objections aside, we don’t know what they’re driving.’

  ‘So how do we find out?’

  They fell silent.

  ‘He’s not likely to have used his credit card,’ Min said at last.

  ‘But there’ll be a papertrail.’

  ‘A footprint.’

  ‘In a black op?’

  ‘Black ops cost. Unless Taverner’s funded it out of her own pocket, there’ll be—’

  ‘A footprint,’ Ho repeated. ‘Not a papertrail.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  ‘This isn’t a black op,’ Catherine said. ‘It’s off the books. Different animal entirely.’

  ‘What’s the difference?’

  ‘A black op’s officially deniable. One that’s off the books never happened.’