“So what are you, CIA?”
Heick picked up a folder and placed it in front of Thomas before returning to his desk. Thomas could feel the weight of expectation as he lifted the manila cover. Heick didn’t speak — he didn’t have to. A selection of images — Miranda parking up outside her bar, Caliban’s. Thomas and Miranda in a restaurant, and a copy of the recent photo for Thomas’s work ID — spoke volumes. He stared at the pages and dug his nails into his hand, to stave off the feeling that the walls were closing in.
“I’ll give you a couple of minutes and then we’ll get down to business.” Heick left the room.
The file made grim reading. They’d taken a keen interest in his life — especially in London. Names, addresses, pressure points. He nearly lost it and made a call when he read an entry about his previous relationship with Christine Gerrard, but he could hardly expect Karl to arrive with reinforcements. Karl, who was conspicuously absent from the details.
Thomas reached the end of the slender folder and was working backwards when Heick returned, manoeuvring the door with his elbow, coffees in hand. Heick joined him at the table.
“I take it I have your full attention.”
Thomas didn’t dignify the statement with outrage or a hot coffee to the face, much as he wanted to.
“I’m listening.”
“I have a message for Karl. He’s unlikely to trust me, so I’ll need you to convince him when I’m ready to share it.”
Thomas watched a tourist launch in the distance, motoring up the Thames, enjoying their sanitised view of London, all Kings and Queens and the Great Fire. Miranda had taken him on a tour once, when he’d first brought her back to her family from Leeds. Ah, Little Miss Runaway. He held on to the memory and let Heick choke on the silence.
“Let me make myself clear.” Heick captured his gaze. “I can take a bulldozer through your life, Thomas. I click my fingers and everything turns to dust.” He took out his phone. “I need your personal mobile number. And leave it switched on twenty-four hours a day — understand?”
Thomas did as he asked and then went over to the window. He could feel the sweat clinging to his armpits. Heick had him boxed in from all sides, but he needed to check the foundations.
“Why me?”
Heick considered the point for a heartbeat. “You work with Karl. You’re a means to an end.” He checked his watch. “We’re done. You won’t discuss this with anyone.”
The black sedan was waiting outside. Heick shook his hand on the steps, publicly professional.
“I’ll be in touch, Thomas. You’ll get your pass back at the drop-off.”
“Next time just text me.”
Heick’s face didn’t crack.
Thomas got in the car. Same pair in the front, all smiles. He sat back and tried to figure out his options. It didn’t take long.
Chapter 2
Karl and Ann were at their desks when Thomas returned. Karl barely acknowledged him and he was glad. The longer he delayed conversation the more chance he’d have to come up with something better than ‘don’t tell anyone but I met your dad.’
He strolled past to Christine’s door, knocked and went in, closing the door carefully behind him. Christine looked up from her laptop.
“Hi, Thomas. How was he?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Who?”
“Sir Peter.” She blinked at him a couple of times.
He smiled faintly. Sir Peter Carroll, Director General of the Surveillance Support Unit — the glorious leader. He ticked an imaginary list. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Sir Peter told me first thing this morning he’d be sending a car for you — nine forty-five sharp.”
He leaned forward, over the desk. “And you never thought to question it, or to let me know?”
“When Sir Peter makes a request, I do what I’m asked.”
He took a step back. He had what he needed. “I hope you enjoyed your coffee.”
She returned to her screen. “We’ll talk later.”
He took the hint: dismissed.
Ann Crossley was out of her chair before he’d pulled the door to. There was no eye contact between them.
Karl motioned to join him at his desk. “What do you reckon, Tommo — girls’ night out?”
“Did I miss anything?”
“Only the main event!” Karl performed a mediocre drum roll on his desk. “And this week’s SSU new assignment award goes to . . . the Metropolitan Police!”
“Blimey! A decent assignment at last. Is this one down to you?” It wouldn’t be the first time.
Karl shook his head. “Rumours of my powers of influence have been greatly exaggerated.”
“What time are we expected?”
“Two p.m. at Paddington Green police station.”
They took an early lunch in The George to beat the striped-shirt brigade. Thomas hunched over his Shepherd’s Pie, waiting for an opportunity to talk families with Karl.
“Tommo, do you not think it’s incredible that a pub this beautiful has survived the ravages of time and modernity?”
Thomas gazed around, taking in the sienna-coloured wooden panelling and intricate carved ceiling as if he was seeing them for the first time.
“You’re a wee bit quiet today — even for you.”
“Yeah, about that . . .”
A text pinged on his phone. ‘I need to see you — Sheryl.’ Awkward, given that Sheryl was Miranda’s bar manager. Happy families would have to wait.
“Karl, how do you fancy a drink after work at Caliban’s, and then on to a club?”
“Sounds good to me.” Karl beamed.
* * *
After twelve or so years in London Thomas considered himself a bit of a connoisseur when it came to architecture. Historical or modern, every building made a statement and Paddington Green police station’s monolithic message was unequivocal: ‘Don’t fuck with me.’ Karl led the way in as if he was no stranger, which Thomas knew might well be the case. If three years alongside the Man from Strabane had taught him anything, it was that anything was possible.
They showed their passes at the front desk and stood to one side. Five minutes later a door buzzed and Sergeant Karen Edwards beckoned them over. She checked their credentials for herself. She seemed irritated, and carried it in her walk, muscling the door to the stairwell without speaking.
Thomas counted her steps and fell in line behind her, leaving Karl to follow at the rear. There was a lingering odour in the stairwell, a blend of floor cleaner and stale coffee.
A steady stream of uniforms filed down the stairs. Some acknowledged the sergeant with a look of sympathy. Thomas thought about his sole friend from childhood, Ajit, now serving with North Yorkshire police. Aj didn’t know how lucky he was.
Edwards shoved a double door and it gave with a shriek. “Nearly there!”
A side door led to an open office with a glass pod within it. She rapped on a pane and ushered them inside.
Thomas summed up the bloke at the desk in three words before he even opened his mouth: university, privileged, fast-tracked. He looked like he ought to be back in college, and had the complexion to prove it.
The boss eased back in his chair. “We’ll dispense with formalities, shall we? You’ve met Karen. I’m DI Ferguson. I imagine you know the drill but let me set out my stall. We’re two people down and you’re here to help. So keep your noses clean, do as you’re told and we’ll all get along famously.”
Thomas caught a waft of aftershave that screamed ‘alpha male’ and nearly gagged. Even the sarge looked in need of some air.
“Karen can fill you in on the details — she’ll be your primary contact. Any questions?”
He stole a glance at Karl. They both knew better than to answer that.
“Fine. Then we’ll see you tomorrow at six am.”
Karen took her cue when he’d stopped talking. “I’ll show you where everything is, starting with the canteen.”
* * *
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The sergeant stirred another sugar into her tea. “First time I’ve seen you two. Normally we get them from the West team — you must have drawn the short straw. Hope you don’t need a social life!”
“You worked for Ferguson long?” Karl managed to make it sound like an accusation.
“Six months or so. He’s not so bad once you get to know him, even if he was fast-tracked in and gunning for glory.”
Thomas smiled. Bingo. “And you?”
“Came up from the trenches. Plodded up, you might say!”
“Congratulations, detective sergeant.” Karl gave her a mini salute.
“Yeah, no one had any issues with me being black. It was the Brummie accent they struggled with. Come on, drink up and I’ll take you over to your new home while you’re here.”
It didn’t take a detective to deduce this wasn’t going to be assignment of the century.
“There’ll be a full briefing first thing tomorrow, but the highlights,” she mocked the DI, will be surveillance in relation to organised crime — high-value vehicle thefts — and analysis of the mountain of data we’ve been collecting.”
* * *
Although Thomas’s mood lifted a little at the neon Caliban’s sign, he couldn’t help thinking about the assignment timetable. Early shifts would not suit Miranda, which meant she’d be keeping well away.
He entered the bar and scoured the room for Sheryl. Miranda stood behind the pumps.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Meaning: you never texted me to say you were coming.
He let it pass and leant over the bar to kiss her, drawing a cheer from a corner table.
“All on your lonesome tonight?” He kept his tone flat.
“Yeah, Sheryl phoned in sick today. Reckons she’ll be in tomorrow.”
Karl was at his side. “Can’t get the staff.”
“Tell me about it. You two stopping?”
Karl looked to Thomas.
“Just passing through. Got some work-related training tonight.”
“Right, well, don’t let me keep you.” She poured two shandies and held out a hand for the money.
Karl followed him to the table furthest from the bar.
“You serious about tonight?”
“Uh huh. You have your passport with you?”
“Always.” Karl tapped his jacket pocket.
Chapter 3
Thomas had long ago accepted that life could be contradictory. Forget what the media said, the world was run by private agreements and unseen power plays. What had once seemed like Karl’s paranoid delusions had been shown, time and again, to be bang on the money. And now, thanks to Sir Peter Carroll’s personal delivery service, Thomas had another interested party to consider: Karl’s dad.
He knew the indoor firing range would be the perfect place to talk and relax — another of life’s little paradoxes. He just needed an opening.
“You’re taking your time. Something on your mind, Tommo?”
Thomas concentrated on the business at hand, rhythmically discharging the Heckler & Koch pistol. When he’d conceded the yellow line to the maestro, he watched in silent awe as Karl decimated the target. Considering how often he’d relied upon Karl’s marksmanship in the past, this was rather comforting.
Karl stopped at eight, cleared the chamber and set the weapon down.
“Come on then, out with it.”
Thomas rubbed his hands together and then blew on them, as if loading dice with luck.
“How come you never asked where I went this morning?”
“If you need me to know you’ll tell me.”
If only it were that simple. He tried a different tack, best poker face on.
“You’ve never really spoken about your dad.”
Karl scratched his chin. “Not much to tell. You know he ran out on my ma and me. Reading between the lines, they didn’t get on too well. The end.”
“And you’ve never been curious?”
Karl packed the handgun away. “Of course I have. When I started in Intelligence I looked for dear ole dad. I found nothing. Sure, Stephen McNeill had worked in Northern Ireland, more than one job actually, up until he left us. Then he disappeared off the face of the Earth.”
Thomas let the man talk.
“I thought . . . well, maybe he’d come to an unfortunate end. The Province could be a dangerous place for foreigners back then, even Americans. Here’s the thing though,” Karl snapped the lid shut. “One day someone owed me a massive favour and she found out that Stephen McNeill left the UK for the USA and never cleared Passport Control over there.”
Thomas felt a lump in his throat: Karl as a child, fatherless. Jesus, his own dad had never been parent of the year but at least he’d been there.
“His name is Stephen Heick now, Tommo, seeing as you’re asking.”
* * *
Thomas figured Sheryl would want to talk and he preferred to do that somewhere private, so he waited until he got home. He was double-locking the front door after ten when he heard the beep from his answering machine.
“Just ring me when you get this, Thomas. Please.” Sheryl sounded desperate, her ballsy Brooklyn tones strained and vulnerable. She’d rung off by the time he got to the phone. There were a series of messages from her throughout the day.
He thought about ringing Miranda first and decided against it. If she’d wanted Miranda to know, she wouldn’t have rung him direct.
Sheryl picked up first time.
“It’s Thomas. Is everything okay?”
“Thank God. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“I’ll come right over.”
“What? Now?”
She’d already hung up.
* * *
Sheryl made it there by eleven and she had a bag with her. He gave her an awkward one-armed hug and tried hard not to make it obvious she wasn’t welcome. She sat on the edge of an armchair and stared at her feet.
“So, this is home, huh?”
He went to put the kettle on.
“I’m sorry to turn up like this, Thomas. If there was any other way . . .”
He waited in the kitchen and she followed him out there.
“I had a phone call last night, telling me to expect a visitor today.”
He’d already guessed the punchline. “American?”
“Uh huh. He’d done a thorough job of delving into my life. Things no one knows about.
“And Jack Langton?”
“No.” She cupped her hands around her tea. “He wasn’t in the file — unlike you. Is it okay if I stay tonight?”
“Why didn’t you tell Miranda?”
“He said not to. Thomas, they can mess with my residency here.”
“What did he want you to do?”
“Nothing, really. I was to come and talk to you.”
Like he needed the additional pressure.
“You can sleep on the sofa. I’ll get you some blankets.” He would have given up his bed, but he’d been caught out like that once before. And besides, he had an early start.
Chapter 4
Karl waved him down in the street. He looked like a lost soul, standing there at five-fifteen in the morning. Thomas hadn’t bothered to check whether he’d been followed here. They already had his life sewn up.
“Well?” Karl chewed it over on the drive to the police station. “Out with it. You’re itching to tell me. Where did you go with Sir Peter Carroll yesterday?”
No time like the present. Thomas laid it out from start to finish. Karl listened with his fingers together in his lap, taking self-contained to a new level. Thomas had expected some kind of a reaction. Instead he got cold detachment.
Paddington Green police station was a blaze of light in the early morning, and already a hive of activity. They made it to the briefing just before the introductions. DI Ferguson lapped up the limelight. Karen Edwards whispered that he’d come in specially and wouldn’t b
e stopping. He preferred to lead from the front, at least for the first ten minutes.
“I’d like to welcome Karl and Thomas, who join us from the Surveillance Support Unit’s East office. I know I can rely on your professionalism . . .” He paused for the customary calls of ‘floaters’ to die down.
As promised, Karen would be their ‘handler’ — cue more laughter from the thin blue line. Someone asked whether she could handle the both of them and Karen told the bloke to go handle himself. Thomas saw that as a good sign.
Once the ten minutes of team talk were over, people began to disperse. A tall figure crossed the room and proffered a handshake. “Jun Wen.”
“Yeah, we’re like a minorities unit.” Edwards laughed and Jun joined in.
Jun vaulted the elephant in the room. “I’m BBC.”
Thomas quickly solved the riddle. “British Born Chinese.”
“Got it in one. Right, let’s push on.”
Jun added some background en route to Karl and Thomas’s new home. “The organisation steals high-value vehicles and most get sent out of the country. Some get broken up and that’s an avenue we’re starting to investigate.” He rattled off details and reminded them to stick to the brief.
* * *
At seven a.m. they were in position, looking at the world through a lens. They had a laptop primed to intercept and record landline calls and their vantage point offered a line of sight to the front of the building.
It was pretty clear by nine-thirty, when Jun brought over a fresh flask and muffins. This was going to be a job with a lot of thinking time. Thomas tried to organise his thoughts before he opened his mouth. Heick — it didn’t seem right to call him Karl’s dad — obviously wanted Karl’s support for something important.
“What do I tell Heick when he gets in touch again?”
“Whatever he needs to hear.”
Around ten o’clock a minicab deposited an old man outside the shutters. He jangled a set of keys and unlocked a galvanised door set into a roller. Thomas glanced at his watch. “The criminals get a lie-in then.”
Shadow State Page 2