Underdogs

by Jack Fiske

  Arriving at his desk, Archie hung his jacket on the back of the chair, noticing as he did so the yellow post-it note stuck to the middle of his computer screen.

  “Come and see me when you get back,” it said, with a squiggle underneath that only vaguely looked like “C.A.”. “C.A.” stood for Clive Armstrong, Archie’s boss and head of department. It wasn’t good news to be summoned by Clive. It usually meant you were getting a particularly unpleasant job, or you’d screwed up big time and he wanted to shout at you away from the open plan office where he could give free rein to his comments without an audience.

  Archie picked up the phone and dialled Armstrong’s secretary.

  “Hi Claire, it’s Archie. I’ve got a note on my desk saying Clive wants to see me. Is he free just now?”

  Archie had to wait for a moment while she checked at the other end.

  “He says sorry, but something has come up and he needs to go to a meeting. Could you come up at three? He’ll be finished by then.”

  Archie lowered his voice. “You don’t know what he wants to see me about do you?”

  “Sure do,” Claire replied. “I’ve got to come down with some files. I’ll stop off and see you in ten minutes.”

  Archie thanked her and put the phone down. He got on well with Claire. They often had lunch together in the staff canteen and he had to work with her on quite a regular basis. If something was strictly confidential, she could be relied upon absolutely not to breathe a word about it, but if that wasn’t the case, you could also rely on her to give you some warning, so you could be prepared beforehand.

  Not quite ten minutes later, a short plump woman with a slightly red face and large brown framed glasses walked over and dropped a stack of files on the edge of Archie’s desk.

  “What’s this information worth then?” Claire asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  “What’s your price?” Archie demanded, putting on a voice that said he was prepared to drive a hard bargain.

  “A cup of coffee from the vending machine?”

  “Done,” Archie agreed with a smile and taking Claire by the elbow, he steered her towards the coffee machine that stood by the window.

  The machine made several disgusting noises and produced two plastic cups of orange coloured liquid.

  “So why does he want to see me?” Archie asked.

  Claire wagged a finger at him. “Who’s been sticking their nose into cases that they’re not assigned to then?”

  Archie looked blank. “I haven’t. At least I don’t think I have.”

  Claire laughed. “You have you know. And apparently only this morning.”

  Archie turned to look out of the window, hiding the look of concern that he knew must show on his face. The only thing that he’d done that morning, other than his normal work, was to look up information for Jim and to courier a parcel to him.

  Claire put a hand on his arm. “There’s no reason why Clive should be bothered you know. After all, why shouldn’t someone at your level take an interest in other people’s cases if he wants to? They’re short of bodies this evening though and I think he’s going to twist your arm to stay and help. He said something about you not minding, if you were interested enough to be poking about in the first place.”

  Archie laughed. “Oh well, if my penalty for curiosity is that I have to put in an extra evening’s work then I don’t suppose I should mind. The overtime will come in handy anyway.”

  “But I thought you were loaded Archie?” Claire said, laughing.

  “If only,” Archie said.

  They walked back to Archie’s desk chatting about nothing in particular and Claire tucked the files under her arm again.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”

  Archie took a seat and peeled the post-it note off his computer. If he was going to get shunted onto another case, he’d better tidy up what he already had, or he’d end up taking work home with him to finish it. Anyway, no point worrying what Armstrong had to say to him. He’d find out soon enough.

  At two-fifty-five. Archie tidied his desk, locked his PC so that no one could access it and went upstairs to Armstrong’s office.

  “Just go in,” Claire said as he arrived. “He’s not in there, but he should be back in a minute or two.”

  Archie went in and took a seat. They say you can tell a lot about a man from his office and Armstrong was no exception. Clive Armstrong was renowned for being old fashioned but efficient and his office reflected that. Instead of the modern steel frame desk with pedestal drawers that everyone else had, Armstrong had a huge, highly polished, wooden one with a green leather top and a padded leather chair. Old fashioned prints of shooting and fishing scenes hung on the walls and instead of the usual collection of papers that could be found on most desks, Armstrong had a small stack of files, each neatly labelled, with a similar pile on an otherwise empty table behind him – evidently waiting to be filed.

  The man himself arrived a few minutes later and closed the door behind him. He was a tall, military looking figure in his late fifties with totally white hair and an unmistakable air of authority.

  Archie got to his feet.

  “Sit down. Sit down,” Armstrong motioned, taking a chair next to Archie, instead of a seat at his desk.

  “I want to speak to you about this Irish case,” he said, reaching over to lift a file from the bundle that was still awaiting attention. “Tell me what you know about it.”

  “I’m not sure that I know anything,” Archie replied, shifting slightly in his seat.

  “Well what were you doing checking up on a chap called Michael O’Hara this morning?”

  From experience, Archie knew that honesty was the best policy with Armstrong. “Oh that. I was just checking something for a close friend who’s in a spot of bother.”

  “Jim Turner?” Armstrong asked.

  “Well as a matter of fact, yes,” Archie agreed.

  Armstrong leant forwards. “That’s fine. I don’t have a problem with you trying to help a friend. However, this case is a political hot potato and we can’t have people involved who are not on the team.”

  Archie nodded. “Fair enough. I take it you want me to steer clear of it?”

  Armstrong smiled. “No, not exactly. Quite the opposite in fact. I want you to pass anything urgent that you’ve got to Claire, so that she can re-allocate it and then I want you on the team until we get this one cleared up.”

  Archie must have looked surprised because Armstrong paused for a moment or two to let it sink in.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have divided loyalties. There are some aspects of this case that Turner mustn’t know about.”

  “Like what?” Archie asked.

  “Like the fact that we’re working directly with the IRA.”

  Armstrong paused again to judge Archie’s reaction.

  “Michael O’Hara is a senior figure in the provisional IRA and at the moment he’s working with us in the field. If that comes out, there will be hell to pay. Not least by you and me. My job would go as a matter of course and one or two people above me, but the main cost would be political. It’s possible that at worst, it could even affect the cabinet.”

  Archie was silent for a moment while he thought.

  “Who’s in charge of the operation?” he asked.

  “I’ve taken this one on myself,” Armstrong replied. “We’ve kept the team deliberately small. Just six of us at the moment, who know all the facts. Seven with you, plus a few field agents to do the donkey work. They don’t need to know the bigger picture.”

  Armstrong passed the file to Archie. “Here, take this away and read it this afternoon. Anything you want clarified, let me know.”

  “Well there is one thing,” Archie said. “What about Jim Turner. If he’s caught up in this and the IRA are involved, it doesn’t look that good for him does it. I take it you know he left the service when the IRA put out a contract on him?”

  Armstrong
looked uncomfortable. “I’m aware of that. Turner’s a good man and we’ll do what we can to protect him. I know you’ll look after his interests as well, but don’t let your friendship get in the way of doing your job. Remember that if this one goes wrong, there will be far more than just our jobs on the line.”

  “Do I have your permission to speak to him?” Archie asked, wondering to himself if it was wise to ask the question in the first place.

  “Officially – No,” Armstrong replied. “But off the record, I know you will and I’m prepared to accept that. Just be very careful what you say to him and remember that from an operational point of view, you’ll carry the can if things go wrong as a result of anything you pass on to him.”

  “Oh great,” Archie muttered.

  Armstrong looked him in the eye. “I know this puts you in a difficult position Long. If there’s anything I can do to help matters, come and speak to me at any time.”

  Archie nodded. “Thanks, I will.”

  “Oh, and there’s one more thing,” Armstrong continued, getting to his feet. “I know it’s short notice, but I need you to work a few hours this evening. Our intelligence operation says there’s going to be a meeting later today and I need you to coordinate the operation from here, while the others are out in the field. Go and read the file and see me up in operations at five.”

  Archie agreed and got to his feet, apparently dismissed for the time being.

  When he got back to his desk, Archie gathered up his existing paperwork, stacked it neatly in an empty wire basket and put it behind him on top of the filing cabinets. With a clear desk, he made himself comfortable, opened the file that Armstrong had given him and started to read.

  An hour and a half later, he was still reading but had managed to plough through most of the papers in the file. The sight of people starting to pack up and head for home reminded him that he should speak to Harriet to let her know he’d be late and he reached for the phone.

  To his disappointment, it turned out that she wasn’t overly concerned. Some of the girls at the office were going out for a meal she said and she quite fancied joining them. It would also save her having to cook, which was nice, because they needed to do the shopping and she hadn’t a clue what they would have had anyway.

  Archie put the phone down with a slight frown. It would have been nice to be missed, at least a little. As it was, Harriet would be out enjoying herself, sitting with a glass of wine in some comfortable restaurant, while he would be here making do with sandwiches or something from the takeaway on his way home. ‘Oh well’ he thought, as he tidied up and locked his desk, ‘might as well get on with it’. Tucking Armstrong’s file under one arm, he collected his jacket and hurried upstairs to operations.

  Across London, Walker and Quinn were just finishing. Walker, as cautious as ever, had hired a conference room for the day at one of the smaller hotels and the afternoon had seen a procession of people come and go, ranging from Walker’s accountant Arthur Winstanley down to Joey Harris, who did odd jobs for him. One of the reasons Walker had kept his nose clean for so long was that he took precautions. With a big job under way, he didn’t want to be seen at home, nor at any of his usual haunts; particularly since he’d had reports of a stranger asking questions over the last week.

  Walker looked up from the small pile of paperwork that he’d accumulated over the course of the afternoon. “That’s the lot I think.” He glanced at Quinn, who was standing by the window idly watching a seagull circling outside. “Give me the mobile and I’ll phone Musa to check the meeting is still on.”

  Quinn produced the mobile phone from his pocket. “Just let me try Reid one more time.” He punched the now familiar numbers into the keypad before holding the phone to his ear.

  “Still nothing.” He swore in disgust and hung up. “Anyone would think this guy’s not that bothered about his bloody daughter.”

  Quinn tossed the phone to Walker. “It’s like they’re deliberately not answering. Are you sure the calls can’t be traced on that thing?”

  “Quite sure,” Walker assured him calmly. “Even if they could, it would only lead back to whoever Joey stole the phone from in the first place. He said he lifted it from some guy’s jacket pocket in the changing room at his local swimming pool. No link to us at all.”

  Quinn grunted. He was in a bad mood. He’d had to suffer Walker’s taste in music for a few hours whilst they drove up here and then he’d had to sit around all afternoon pushing paper. On top of that, he was beginning to think Reid was deliberately avoiding them to stall for time.

  “Go and settle up with the hotel will you.” Walker produced a small wad of £20 notes from his briefcase and tossed them across the table to Quinn. “Pay them in cash and get a receipt for it.”

  As instructed, Quinn headed off to reception and heard Walker on the phone to their Arab contact as the door swung shut behind him.

  When he got back, Walker had packed up and was ready to go.

  “Meeting’s still on for seven-thirty,” Walker said, looking at his watch. “That gives us a couple of hours. We’ll go and get a drink and a bite to eat and then we can pick up Kenny and John’O before we collect the hardware.”

  Quinn cheered up a little. At least he could relax and have a pint before they spent the rest of the evening driving around to show some Arab that they really did have the goods.

  As they left, the two men checked the hotel bar. This proved to be half full of men in suits and women in some sort of corporate uniform. No doubt people who had been using the hotel’s conference facilities and like them were staying for a drink or two before heading home for the evening.

  “This’ll do,” Walker said, dropping into an armchair in one corner, where they were away from the press of people surrounding the bar. He handed a ten pound note to Quinn.

  “Get me a whiskey will you and whatever you want yourself. Ask them if they do food as well.”

  Quinn came back a few minutes later with the drinks. “No food, but the restaurant opens at six.”

  “That’s no bloody good,” Walker complained. “We’ll be thinking of leaving by then.”

  Quinn shrugged. “We’ll just need to stop for something later on. It’s a bit early for me anyway.”

  Walker took a sip of his whiskey. “Well I suppose it doesn’t matter. So long as we don’t end up eating at some bloody motorway café.”

  By the time Walker decided it was time to leave, Quinn had finished his second pint and was beginning to unwind.

  “Come on,” Walker said. “We’d better be off.”

  Quinn drained the last inch of Guinness from his glass, glanced at his wristwatch wondering if there really wasn’t time for another and then stood up.

  The hotel must have been hosting a large function that afternoon, because the area around the bar was now quite crowded. As the two men weaved their way between the small knots of people who were standing around chatting, a large, heavily built man in shirtsleeves and unknotted tie turned without looking and walked straight into Quinn, slopping the first inch of his pint down Quinn’s jacket.

  “Damn it, watch where you’re bloody going,” Quinn said, shoving the man out of the way.

  “Hey!” the man replied, turning and catching Quinn firmly by the shoulder. “Who the hell do you think you’re shoving?”

  Quinn’s hand was already in his pocket, curling into a fist around the handle of a well worn lock-knife, but Walker’s hand on his wrist restrained him.

  “Now gentlemen. We don’t want any trouble do we? I’m sure that it was just an accident. Let’s just forgive and forget shall we.” Walker stepped between the two of them and with a hand in the small of his back, he steered Quinn firmly in the direction of the door.

  “Leave it Liam,” he said in a low voice. “We haven’t got time for it and it’s more trouble than it’s worth. Particularly when you’re carrying.”

  Quinn scowled and glared back at the fat man, who turned away and disappeared in
to the crowd.

  The car was a five minute walk from the hotel in a multi-storey car park that backed onto the local shopping precinct. By the time they got there Quinn had calmed down, but as they trudged up the stairs to the top, Walker could see that he was still in a foul mood.

  On the top floor there was no one to be seen and only a few cars were parked this far up. Walker handed the mobile to Quinn.

  “Here, try Reid again and I’ll get the car.”

  Quinn checked there was a signal and sat down on the edge of the crash barrier while he dialled.

  Walker strolled casually to the other end of the car park and got into the BMW. As he sat behind the wheel he could see Quinn, now standing by the exit ramp, shouting into the phone and waving his arm around in a way that left you in no doubt that whoever was on the other end was getting a real earful. When he saw him put the phone away, Walker started the engine, swung the car round and drove over to pick him up. Quinn opened the door with a scowl and slid into the passenger seat.

  “You got through then?” Walker said, as he put the car into gear and drove down the first of the exit ramps.

  “Yeah,” Quinn confirmed. “He says the hardware is away for testing, but he’ll have it first thing in the morning. I said we’d ring him at ten.”

  Walker wound down his window so that he could pay at the exit. “Good. I want to go over your plans for the exchange. We’ll be picking the others up in a few minutes. We can discuss it later on once we’ve got this over and done with.”

  The exit barrier swung up and out of their way and Walker turned out of the car park and into the early evening traffic.

  EIGHT

  The journey to the Eastgate Service Station was uneventful. Walker and Quinn picked up Kenny and John’O outside the tube station in Putney just after six before driving to a secure lock-up, where they picked up the detector unit.