by Tim Stevens
Fifty
London
Tuesday 28 May, 2.00 pm
‘The supreme irony,’ said Vale, ‘is that he’s done us a favour.’
They were walking the steep slope of Greenwich Park, the Royal Observatory on the skyline ahead. The day was mild, the lunchtime crowds out enjoying the sun.
It was their final debriefing. The formal meetings had taken place in assorted offices across the capital – none of them Vale’s; Purkiss didn’t know if the man had one – and the paperwork had been taken care of. One last meeting of minds, always outdoors somewhere, and then Purkiss wouldn’t see or hear from Vale until the next operation.
‘Pope’s uncovered one of the most extensive and indefensible black ops cells within the CIA, and eliminated several of the rotten apples into the bargain,’ Vale said. ‘Of course, you and the FBI agent exposed it, ultimately. But none of it would have come to light if not for Pope’s involvement.’
‘How widespread’s the rot?’ asked Purkiss, stepping away from Vale who was pausing to light up.
‘Giordano’s the most senior figure, of course. The most senior one in the Company, that is. Obviously it’s out of our hands now, and I’ve no knowledge of what more they’ve unearthed. But it’s rumoured that even more high-profile figures might have known about Caliban. Congressmen, perhaps.’ He took a deep drag. ‘As for the numbers involved, Giordano was running at least twelve agents that we know of. That figure includes the ones who jumped you in Hamburg – we presume he sent them after you because you’d been seen leaving or entering Jablonsky’s flat and Giordano suspected you of the killing – as well as the ones you encountered in the US. There are likely to be more of them.’
A young family wandered close and Vale fell silent until they’d passed.
‘Your involvement in all of this, and even Pope’s, is going to be kept under wraps, of course. The Cousins are more than willing to overlook the fact that Service personnel have been operating on their turf and even killing American citizens, as long as they can avoid the embarrassment of admitting publicly that a rogue element within their ranks has been conducting illegal medical experiments. So. As I said, Pope’s done us a favour. We’re in the Company’s good books for uncovering Giordano’s wrongdoing. They’ve been relieved of a problem they didn’t even know existed until all this blew up. The FBI have scored points by both taking Giordano into custody and averting a serious terrorist attack.’
‘Bouquets all round,’ said Purkiss.
Vale turned to face him. ‘I didn’t mean to be flippant, John. It’s a mess, of course, and all this politicking is a way of hiding the mess by walling it up and plastering over it. Innocent people are dead. A blameless FBI agent lost his life. A whole city was traumatised by a threat that will have torn the scab off a wound that still hadn’t healed properly. Pope caused lasting damage. Just not quite in the way he intended.’
‘Yes,’ said Purkiss. ‘He did.’
After a pause to fish out another cigarette and fire it up, Vale said, ‘I checked on the young woman. As no doubt you have.’
Purkiss had long ago concluded there was no point trying to keep secrets from Vale. It was as though he could read minds.
Vale went on: ‘She’s found a temporary home, with the help of social services over there. Somewhere back in her native Virginia. And she’s getting psychiatric assistance.’
Purkiss said nothing.
‘Her health insurance was scanty. I was going to see if I could put together some funds from my budget to help,’ said Vale. ‘But then I learned an anonymous benefactor had got there ahead of me. I wonder who that might have been.’
‘No idea,’ said Purkiss.
*
They reached the Observatory and began to walk around its base.
Purkiss said, ‘It just proves the point I’m always making. You never solve a mystery involving human beings by trying to fathom their motives. Nobody can ever work out why anybody does anything, and it’s a waste of time trying to. Pope concocted this elaborate plan over a decade or more. We don’t know quite how he found out about his father’s connection with Caliban, or the identities of the people involved, but still. He was prepared to murder and kidnap and commit mass terrorism to avenge his father’s death. Yet from our knowledge of him, he hated his father, despised what he did and what he stood for.’
‘Perhaps he did,’ said Vale. ‘Or perhaps his motive wasn’t simply revenge. Perhaps, by finishing the work his father started, by honouring his memory, he was looking for redemption. A very different thing.’
‘Is it so different?’ said Purkiss.
‘I don’t know, John,’ said Vale. ‘Only you can answer yourself that question.’
As if sensing that their meeting had come to a natural end, Vale turned and began walking away down the hill, leaving Purkiss to his thoughts, and memories.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I was born in London and raised near Johannesburg, South Africa. Currently I live in west Essex, England, with my wife and daughters, and I work full time as a doctor on the National Health Service.
Delivering Caliban is the second novel in the series that began with Ratcatcher, which introduced John Purkiss. Purkiss will return in Jokerman, to be released in June 2013. My other published works include the thriller Severance Kill, the short espionage novel Reunion and the novelette Snout. All are available on Kindle. My Amazon author page is here.
My blog is Dead Drop, where your comments are always welcome. If you’d like to email me, perhaps with comments about this novel (good or bad!) please do: [email protected].
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Thanks!
Tim Stevens