I nodded. It happened to women. Always had, and probably always would. The casting couch spread far beyond the movie world. I felt for her, but decided now was not the time to probe any deeper. It was time to get our heads on straight anyway.
“So, have you given any thought to a way out of our current predicament?” I asked.
“You must have some suggestions.”
“As it happens, I do. Two actually, but neither of them are ideal.”
“What are they?”
“We’ve been through them before, Melissa… Mel.” I smiled. “I think we need to accept that our options remain the same as they have been all along. There is no magic bullet. We go to the police and tell them everything we know. The problem there, of course, is that the cop who murdered your boss will have considered that eventuality, and will be doing his utmost to make things look ugly for me. You, too, possibly. Planting evidence, coming up with a fake eyewitness. Something along those lines. What he’s not going to do is sit on his arse and wait for us to hang him with the truth.
“Or we could try and track down your boss’s brother, and at the very least get him off my back. Maybe he can sort out the whole matter for us, bearing in mind he’s the kid’s uncle. I can only guess at how he will deal with the cop, but of the two options it’s probably the best.”
“And that’s it? You’ve come up with nothing else? That really is no different to what we considered before.”
“I realise that, and I said as much, but what the hell else is there? What would you have us do?”
“I don’t know, Mike, but there has to be something better.”
“Just saying it’s so doesn’t make it so, Mel.”
“I realise that. I’m not a child.”
I shook my head. “Why are you so reluctant to go to Chris Dawson? Surely, he will do everything he can to help. We have his niece. When we tell him what really happened, he’s bound to do everything in his power to make things right. He can maybe even come and collect us, give us a place to hide away until something gets sorted out.”
For a moment she said nothing, seeming to consider her response. “He’s not as nice as Ray is. Was,” Melissa said finally. “He’s much more aggressive. He has a volatile temper, and can be very nasty with it. Vicious. He’s unpredictable, too. I don’t know what he would do. He would need convincing that our version was the truth. In fact, he might not even wait to hear our side. His brother has been killed, and Chris does not take prisoners. Anyway, it’s moot: I don’t have any idea where he lives, other than it’s in Chigwell somewhere. And I doubt he’s in the phone book.”
Now it was my turn to pause for thought. I didn’t like the sound of the man, and knew a little of his reputation, but the situation wasn’t as hopeless as Melissa imagined. “I can find out where he lives. If that’s the main problem, I can make one call and get his address within minutes.”
She looked up at me, eyes wide. “How?”
I glanced around us, as I had done every few minutes since walking into the building. Mainly to ensure we could not be overheard, but also searching for signs that we had been compromised.
“I told you before, I used to be a journalist. I still have contacts in the business.”
“But the cops and NCA will be watching him, surely. Maybe even listening in. The officer who killed Ray is bound to work out that Chris is our only option. We could walk right into their hands.”
“So, we give it some more thought. Think of a way we can contact Dawson without anyone being tipped off, and arrange for us to meet with him elsewhere.”
“It’s risky. He’s so unpredictable.”
“Yeah. And sitting here doing nothing is risky as well. If the situation can be explained to him, if I can get to talk to him somehow without needing to meet, we may be able to figure things out.”
“I… I’m not sure, Mike. I need a little more time to think about it.”
I wasn’t in favour of putting it off any longer. The more time that passed, the more likely it was that someone would recognise us. “Thing is, Mel, I don’t know how much time we have. And what is there to think about? Yes, we take a chance that we’ll get grabbed up by the cops if we get as far as meeting Chris, but if the alternative is to walk into a police station…?”
“I see the sense in what you’re saying, Mike. I just want to take a little while longer to think it through. I’m really tired and not at my best right now. It’s all so confusing. I have Charlie to consider as well, remember.”
I nodded. How could I possibly forget? We had grown a little closer, and I did not want to push her away again by forcing the matter at this juncture. “Well, while you’re doing that there’s no harm in my getting the information we need. Once we have it we can choose to use it or not. But it will save time if we already have the address and phone number when we finally make a decision. How does that sound?”
This time Melissa was not shaking her head. Perhaps I was getting through to her. “That’s logical, I suppose. But won’t your contact have seen the news? Won’t they be suspicious of your motives?”
I had not considered that, but trusted that both my personal friendship and my previous reputation in the business would be enough to at least open the door for me. “I’ll get the information we need. I’m confident of that. But whatever we decide, we have to get out of here and move on as soon as we can. It’s quiet enough at the moment, but the longer we stay in one place the more chance we have of being identified. Especially if the librarian gets a bit nosey.”
“I suppose.” She shivered as if caught in a sudden frosty cross-breeze. “I hate the thought of leaving here and going back out on the streets, but you’re probably right. We can’t stay here all day.”
That settled it. I was about to stand when my eyes flashed across to Charlie and I recalled our conversation about which film to watch. Something had nagged me at the time, but it was a fleeting thought and I had dismissed it. Now it swam back into reach and I grabbed at it.
“Mel, does Charlie’s iPad have Wi-Fi?”
“No. Ray had it disabled. Didn’t want her accidentally finding something unsuitable on the internet. Why do you ask?”
“I thought I might be able to use it to run some searches, perhaps even mail my daughter. By now she and my ex will be both worried and under some pressure from both cops and possibly FBI agents. I can’t imagine how Wendy is taking it if so.”
“There are computers here in the library,” Melissa said.
“I know. I don’t like the idea of using them. Who knows who is watching what these days. I hear they work miracles over at GCHQ.”
“Still. You should consider it. You’re right about your daughter. She’ll be very frightened, and concerned, I imagine.”
“I am worried about that. But I’m pretty sure if they are running a trace on her account they can pinpoint exactly where we are the moment my mail drops into her inbox. The IP address of the sender is contained in the mail’s header. It won’t take them more than a few seconds to identify the library system. We can’t have them know we’re here long after we’re supposed to have left for London on the train. I thought if the iPad had a connection it would make it much harder to trace, especially if I switched it off as soon as I sent the mail.”
“Sorry. I don’t know what to say.” To her credit she seemed genuinely concerned.
“Do you know if it was disabled or removed?”
“I’m not sure. Knowing Ray, I’d say he left nothing to chance.”
“Okay. I’ll give it some more thought. Meanwhile, there are some public phones just outside the entrance so I’ll go and make my call now.”
Melissa managed a weak smile. “I hope your friend can help us, Mike. To be honest, I don’t know how we’ll manage otherwise.”
I gave a single nod and turned to go. I said nothing more because there was nothing left to say.
13
Two men stood together on Lambeth Bridge facing Westminster. The Lo
ndon Eye rose up like a halo in the distance. Beneath them the river’s flow was steady. A single small boat was chugging away towards the east. The bridge itself was teeming with traffic, commuters and tourists. It was a little after ten in the morning and London was in full swing.
“How are things at Thames House?” the man from the Home Office asked. His name was Robert Parks, Knight of the Realm, and he was a senior officer within the lavish new Home Office accommodation on Marsham Street. He was sixty years old, trim, tall, with waves of grey hair swept back casually as if to emphasise their rude health. Immaculately dressed in a dark grey pinstripe suit that could never have been purchased off-the-peg, he cut an imposing figure.
His opposite number at the Security Service, whose MI5 building almost cast a shadow over the two of them, gave a curt nod.
“Busy as usual,” he replied. Unlike the man standing by his side, whose accent was pure Home Counties, Darren Hedgeman was proud of his Yorkshire roots and had a voice that suggested no privilege in his upbringing. His own suit was more Marks and Spencer than Gieves and Hawkes, but it was a sharp fit. He carried himself upright, like the ex-soldier he was.
“I dare say you could have done without this latest… disappointment, then?” Parks remarked.
“Admittedly, it hasn’t helped. I would rather have maintained my focus on counter-terrorism, that’s for sure.”
“Naturally. But we all have to react to demands as and when they arise. I have to say, Darren, this seemed a simple request when it was made.”
“Nothing like this is ever simple. That said, only misfortune prevented a successful outcome. I have confidence that the matter will be resolved today.”
“Do you indeed? I’m not sure I share your optimism. I think we would all feel more comfortable if different personnel were involved from here on in. Someone more suitable and experienced. An outside agency, even, one more step removed than the last.”
Hedgeman inclined his head. “Suitability was not an issue. I seem to remember we agreed upon that at the time. As I said before, what happened was unfortunate, and could not have been predicted.”
“And still the end result is failure. So, one must question either the plan, the operative, or perhaps both. From your brief report, I would suggest there were other ways in which this operation could have been carried out. Ways which would have had a better chance of success and left less opportunity for, ah, shall we say misfortune to intervene.”
The rebuke was clear.
Hedgeman took a moment to respond, shaping his thoughts carefully. The dirty brown water of the Thames was a familiar sight and sound, yet still it had the capacity to relax him. “Hindsight is a wonderful thing, Sir Robert. Assuming we are not rewriting history here, the basic plan was given a green light. Reproach can surely follow at a later date. For now, our attention is on rescuing the situation and achieving the desired result.”
Parks shot his cuffs. Gold cufflinks gleamed in the sunlight. “Of course. And I am confident lessons will be learned. All the same, whatever the reason, the situation has changed and now would be a good time to introduce an alternative.”
“I’m not sure I can agree with that assessment.”
For the first time since the two men had begun their conversation, the man from the Home Office removed his gaze from the river and turned to Hedgeman. A slight tic around his left eye gave an indication that his calm demeanour had been altered.
“I don’t mean to be brutal,” he said, “but neither your assessment nor your agreement are being sought at this juncture. I have my own paymasters, Darren, and they have instructed me to organise something more appropriate to the revised conditions. I am passing that along to you in your role as the person who can facilitate that for us. Good enough?”
If it wasn’t, it had to be. Hedgeman knew that if he took this matter to his own boss, even the most secretive and informal Home Office directive would have to be followed through. This was not a governmental edict, but Parks was the Home Office.
He gave a reluctant shrug. “You said something about ‘appropriate to the revised conditions’? I have already relayed my insistence that affirmative action be taken on the new player.”
Parks drew himself upright and let go a deep breath. He glanced down at the Thames once again before allowing his gaze to wander back up along the embankment towards Westminster and the seat of power.
“The situation has changed significantly. The thinking from on high now is that it is best to eradicate any possibility of this coming back to bite us.”
Hedgeman frowned. “You mean we now include our initial operative?”
“I mean we now include everyone involved.”
The man from ‘Five’ turned his head to stare at Parks. “This comes from the top?”
“It does.”
“Severe, don’t you think?”
“It has to be managed. Controlled. It’s what we do.”
For a few minutes after Parks had left, Hedgeman leaned on the handrail of the bridge and stared down at the murky water beneath him. He wasn’t a naïve man. He knew that operations sanctioned by his office in the past had resulted in collateral damage. That children had been caught up in maintaining the security of the nation. There was a good deal of blood on his hands. More than he cared to reflect upon. But he had never knowingly ordered a hit on a child before. There were enough ghosts in his life. He didn’t know if he had room for even one more.
He looked up as someone drew alongside him.
“Did you get all that?” he asked.
The newcomer nodded. “Recorded. File sent to the secure cloud e-mail account.”
“What do you think, Simon?”
“Not entirely unexpected. After all, why else am I here?”
Hedgeman turned his head. Shook it momentarily. “I saw the video, by the way. A bit over the top wasn’t it? Using a water pistol?”
“Better than the real thing.”
“Naturally. Which I assume was the next logical threat.”
“It was. And it got us the information we needed.”
“Indeed,” Hedgeman said. “All of which leads us back here.”
“I’m sorry. Orders are orders, though.”
“But all of them? I didn’t anticipate this going so far.”
“Nothing you can do about it now, Darren. Be pragmatic, and consider what happens if you aren’t. If it’s not you ordering me, it’ll be your replacement ordering someone else.”
“Well… maybe that’s the way it should be, then.”
“They’re still going to be every bit as dead. This way, someone it matters to is in the game. Maybe one day you’ll be able to use these recordings. Your replacement might not have a conscience.”
“But a little girl…?”
Simon shrugged. “Who knows, she could be the final straw. When all the shards of this little puzzle are finally snapped together, she could be the piece that sticks out. The alternative to be blunt is that you get added to the list. Then what?”
A cloud passed overhead, temporarily fending off both the light and the heat. Hedgeman felt as if something similar had happened to his heart. Perhaps even his soul. But that it might be more permanent. Running a security service, even one as benign as MI5 mostly was, came with price tag. It consumed morals, stripped away dignity, devoured self-respect. A few moments passed before he hung his head again and said, “I can’t save her now, can I?”
“No,” the other man said. “But if you hang in long enough you just might save the next one.”
14
There was a group of four public telephones on either side of a large square pillar directly outside the library entrance. Fortunately, one of them still accepted good old-fashioned money. I dialled a number I had long ago committed to memory, and hoped it was still in service.
“Susan Healey,” announced a bright voice after only two rings.
I felt my chest tighten. A heady mix of both relief and anxiety caused my stomach to
churn. “Susan, please don’t say my name or let anyone around you see there’s something wrong.”
After the slightest of pauses, my closest ex-colleague and friend said, “Oh, hello. How are you?”
We had not seen one another for more than five years, hadn’t spoken in almost two. I wondered if her instincts had kicked into gear and she had used the pause to start recording our conversation. On balance, I didn’t think it mattered.
“To be honest, Sue, not so good. In fact, things are about as lousy as they could be.”
“So I gather.” Her manner was calm, perhaps even a little cool. I briefly considered spilling the whole story there and then, but was certain that doing so would spur on those journalistic instincts, which might result in Susan putting herself in harm’s way.
“I can’t tell you exactly what happened right now, Sue. For your own sake. I don’t want you sniffing around the wrong people. Or worse, them sniffing around you. All I can say is that you shouldn’t believe everything you hear. You will get to learn the truth, hopefully very soon, and perhaps you will even get the exclusive. But before that, I could really use your help.”
“Tell me how. I’ll tell you if I can.”
“I need contact information relating to Chris Dawson. I need his address, telephone numbers and those of his favourite haunts, mail addresses, plus the same for any close known associates, that sort of thing.”
A second pause. When she spoke again, her voice was more hesitant. “I’m not sure I can do all of that. Any of it, in fact. Given… given the circumstances.”
There had to be other people close by her desk. I thought about what she might be trying to tell me. Or ask me.
“Sue,” I said, injecting softness into my voice despite my anxieties. “If you are asking yourself whether I want that information in order to whack the other brother as well, then I’d say we were not as close as I always believed we were. That we never had been. That would upset me about as much as anything that’s happened to me since the early hours of this morning. I didn’t do it, Sue. Any of it. And I hope deep down you know that. The thing is, I need Chris Dawson to understand that, too. Otherwise, he might just send someone to pay me back for something I’m innocent of.”
Scream Blue Murder: an action-packed thriller Page 9