“You joining us?” Thomas knew her prowess with a pool cue, but he felt lucky tonight.
“Nah, I’ll wait downstairs.”
Thomas stood by the stairs and listened for the tell-tale sound of a glass. Sheryl took her drink and kept watch at the window, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did for ages. At two minutes to eight by his watch, Thomas conceded the game he was already losing to Miranda and composed himself. One look at his companions told him they were doing the same thing in their own way.
Sheryl moved to the bottom of the stairs. “You better get down here. There’s a car outside. Looks like an Audi from the outline.”
Thomas led the way with Miranda beside him. Karl followed, a few steps behind.
“Ah, guys — he’s not alone.” Sheryl’s voice crackled.
Thomas turned to Karl and spotted him reach for his armpit and then smooth his sweater instead. Right about where a shoulder holster would sit.
“Old habits, Tommo.”
“Everybody ready?” Miranda moved to unlock the door as Sheryl retreated.
Thomas recognised the two strangers from his mystery tour of London’s financial district. The woman went in front of Heick and the man behind him. The leader led by example.
“If you wouldn’t mind . . .”
Thomas followed her gesture and spread his arms so Heick’s underling could pat him down for weapons, or wires, or kicks. Karl lined up next. He hadn’t said a word to Heick.
“Merely a precaution.” Heick directed his associate to Miranda and Sheryl, while the man opened his case and went walkabout, scanning the room for electronics. He didn’t take long.
“It’s clear.”
“Fine. Go wait in the car.”
The underlings obediently took their toys with them.
“This is Sheryl.” Thomas brought her forward.
She looked like she was ready to punch Heick out. He seemed to pick up on that.
“I apologise if I caused you any inconvenience. I needed to be sure Thomas would follow my instructions to the letter.”
Sheryl’s jaw hardened. “Screw you.” She turned on her killer heels and strutted towards the bar.
“On the house,” Miranda insisted.
“Well, Karl. Haven’t you anything to say to the old man?” Heick faltered. He looked older than Thomas remembered at the hotel. Maybe his conscience had caught up with him.
Karl took a breath. “This had better be good.”
“Not here.” Heick started for the stairs.
“No,” Karl barked, halting him in his tracks. “We talk here, with witnesses. I’ll not be party to any more of your bullshit than I have to.”
Heick took a scotch and soda at the bar and brought it over, close to his chest. Karl offered him a place at the head of the table and then called Sheryl over to join them.
“You understood my message, Karl?”
Thomas read it as a challenge, even if Karl didn’t.
“Naturally. And?”
“Are you sure you want to do this here, Karl?”
Karl sipped his shandy. “Your choice. Stay and talk, or go. You came to me, remember?”
Heick looked around the table. This was a rigged poker game. Show or fold.
“What did you expect — happy families?” Karl bristled. “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?”
Thomas read the bones — time to get down to business. “What does Charlemagne mean?”
Heick swallowed. “You really want me to trust these people with this, Karl? There’s no going back.”
“I trust them, so you’ll have to. Your need — my terms.”
Heick smiled then, the bastard smiled. As he spoke he made eye contact with everyone, flitting from face to face to draw them in. Thomas had seen that training video as well. Heick kept the details vague at first, basically a rehash of his private chat with Thomas. But eventually he followed himself down the rabbit hole.
“At its highest levels the Shadow State is no different from any other corporation,” he nodded to Thomas. “There are vested interests — you might call them shareholders. And mechanisms to maintain stability in the organisation when it's under threat.”
Heick took another swig of his scotch. Confession didn’t seem to suit him.
Thomas put his phone on the table. “Can I turn this bloody thing off now? So, some scandal is about to blow?” He elected himself as the designated speaker for the four of them.
“An astute assumption.” Heick turned his grey-blue eyes to Thomas, the way an eagle sizes up its prey from a distance. “Somebody has been approached to fill an existing post . . .”
Karl stirred. “Which means someone else will have to step down, or be knocked down.”
Heick shifted towards Karl. “Instability is something we want to avoid. There would be consequences.”
“Bad for business?” Miranda said her piece.
Heick ignored the glancing blow. “I need an outsider to prevent it from happening by exposing the candidate. She is a Belgian industrialist.”
Karl sniffed. “Standard fare then — recorded conversations, compromising photos, leaked information. Why come to me — to us?”
Heick’s hand twitched. “First, I cannot be implicated. And second, I don’t want to destroy Henriette Voclain’s credibility in the organisation, merely make her unsuitable for the post.”
Karl circled the edge of his glass against the table. “There’s more to it than you’re telling.”
Miranda cleared her throat. “Well, you don’t need to be graphic. A weekend in the country would do.”
Thomas got the reference straight away — long ago, with Christine Gerard and Bob Peterson. Something he didn’t want to dwell on. He followed Karl’s lead. “When are you meeting her next?”
Heick stood up and continued to hold court while he paced around the saloon. “I’ll have to get back to you on that. This kind of thing can’t look too staged. I don’t need to know the precise details, just that I can rely on you.”
“To screw your life up?” Karl banged his glass down abruptly. “Not a problem.”
“Then Henriette Voclain is Charlemagne, your agent in the Shadow State?” Thomas stated the obvious to see how Heick reacted.
“She's a bit more than that, Tommo.” Karl drove the point home like a blade. “Who approached her? Who should we be looking at?”
Heick edged away, his voice echoing in the empty bar room.
“I can’t give you a name. I don’t have it.”
Thomas made notes, Karl didn’t bother. Maybe this was all old news to him and he only wanted to humiliate his father. Thomas could relate to that.
Heick drifted back to the table. He'd run out of places to go. Thomas did some thinking out loud and surprised himself.
“You've been running an agent in the lower echelons of the Shadow State. How long?”
“Years.”
“That’s how you became close to the Belgian.” When Karl made the point it suddenly seemed obvious.
“Henriette.” Heick glared at him.
“And you can trust her?”
“What is this, Karl? Family concern?”
Karl shook his head. “Nah, I’m sure you can take care of yourself. I’m more concerned about the risks to others.”
Heick seemed desperate. “But you are committing?”
Karl looked around the table. Everyone else nodded.
“Right enough. We’re in.”
* * *
The first dull pop might have been hail on a window, if the skies hadn’t been clear. But Heick recognised the sound immediately and hit the deck. The next one hissed through the air and smashed one of the lights.
Karl pushed Miranda roughly to the floor and warned everyone else to get down. Now they could only listen as thuds peppered the safety glass upstairs.
Heick seemed freaked. He pulled out a walkie-talkie and barked at it. “Are you there?”
Thomas looked over. “Fat
lot of good those two were.”
The walkie-talkie talked back. “Two individuals in a coupé just sped off. No licence plate identified. Do we follow them?”
Heick took in his companions. “No. Check the area is clear and then come get me.” He waited on the floor for the call back, and so did everyone else.
Miranda threw him her keys so he could unlock the door. The two stooges came inside, took one look at the party under the table and said nothing. They didn’t have to. It was obvious this hadn’t figured on Heick’s agenda under ‘any other business.’
Heick gathered himself together and smoothed his hair. He made a point of placing Miranda’s keys on the table. “I’ll take care of this.”
“How?” Thomas got to his feet and stood toe to toe with him.
“No need to get the police involved.” Heick turned to one of his underlings, who nodded and busied herself on her phone.
Miranda held out a hand for Thomas to go over and hoist her up. “What if they come back?”
Karl moved to the window so he could examine the point of entry. “Warning shots. Upstairs too. They wanted to send you a clear message: they can get to you any time they choose.”
Heick tilted his head forward. “Like I said, Karl, I’ll take care of it.”
Thomas was no poker player, but he knew a bad bluff when he saw one. Heick had been wrong-footed and the more Thomas thought, the more certain he was about it. But first he needed a moment with Karl. He got his attention and suggested they check out the damage upstairs.
“I can’t see the sense in sending Heick a warning, Tommo. Either he’s talking to people or he isn’t.”
Thomas checked out one of the far walls in search of a casing. Karl followed him.
He kept his voice low. “I don’t think Heick’s the reason. This all happened not long after I switched off my mobile.”
“You think it’s Moretti? That’s a bit of a leap.”
“So we keep this to ourselves then? Until we can prove my theory.”
“Roger that.”
They surveyed the damage. Much like downstairs, it was mostly psychological. In the handful of minutes it took to return to the others, Thomas had half a plan. Let Heick take the blame and deal with the practicalities, while he figured out what to do about Moretti.
Miranda barely looked at him. It was either shock or disdain, and he had no cure for either. Heick left one of his people on guard for the night, which felt like more of a PR stunt. It was a smart call though, because Miranda seized on the first opportunity to get out of there. Sheryl was deathly quiet for a change. Something told Thomas this wasn’t a new situation for her. That could be part of the price she paid for being Jack Langton’s daughter. It might explain why she’d been willing to leave her family behind in Brooklyn and set up in the East End of London, near her absent father. Either way, Thomas didn’t push the point.
Heick was contrition personified and Thomas was happy to let him run with it. Karl had humiliated him by forcing him to reveal confidences to strangers and now Thomas had put the boot in further by making him carry the can for the warning shots. He could live with that. But Moretti invading his private life? That was another matter entirely.
As they ventured outside Heick reiterated his promises, including fixing the windows next morning. Thomas threw an arm around Miranda. She shrugged it off as though it were a shackle.
“I’m staying with Sheryl tonight.” No goodnight, no ‘call you later.’
He stood there with Karl while two cars departed.
“Go home, Thomas — get some rest for tomorrow.”
“What would you do, Karl?”
Karl gazed over at a streetlight, as if seeking inspiration. “I’d say you have three choices. One: you tell Edwards and DI Ferguson and try to get Moretti picked up. Two: you bide your time until you can find some way to neutralise the threat, but risk another reprisal. Three: you retaliate and risk an escalation.”
Thomas reached his car and Karl still hadn’t moved. It felt like the perfect metaphor — the two of them standing in the shadows.
“Karl!” He walked out into the light and raised three fingers.
“Understood.”
Chapter 14
Sleep did not come easy, but the Makarov pistol beside him helped Thomas keep the nightmares at bay.
Five a.m. found him sitting alone in his kitchen, sipping coffee and reviewing the previous night. It all added up to a series of bad conclusions. If Moretti had been tracking his phone he should have left it on, or certainly put it back on once he realised. And assuming that to be the case, Moretti must now know where he lived and everywhere he’d been since the caretaker’s execution. Stupid.
He’d have to say something to Christine later. It’d give him time to come up with something more plausible than the truth. He reasoned it out on paper with Moretti, Heick and the SSU all circles encroaching on the central ring, which he inscribed T & M.
It could have been the caffeine cramming his veins, or the quiet confidence that three door locks and a loaded handgun provide first thing in the morning. He began to get some clarity. If Moretti was tracking his phone’s location he ought to be able to use it against him. The ideas came thick and fast, scribbled on the page.
Him being at the police station hadn’t put Moretti off. Maybe Whitehall might intimidate Moretti enough to buy some time. Sir Peter Carroll had fed him to the wolves by telling Heick’s people where to find him — he could return the favour. Use Sir Peter as a way of exposing Heick.
Thomas took another glorious lukewarm mouthful of coffee and stared at the page. A plan of sorts stared back at him. Too wired now, he texted Karl to say he’d join him later. Slowly and deliberately, he plugged his personal phone into the charger and switched it on. He read Moretti’s text with one hand on his gun: Next time it won’t be the windows.
What did this guy want? Why wasn’t he coming to get him? He reasoned only one other man could explain that.
“Tommo, make your mind up. You’ve dodged the early shift today yet you’re still on the case. What gives?”
“Are you driving?”
“I have to.” Karl called over the sound of the open road. “My driver cancelled on me. What’s bugging you?”
“Why hasn’t Moretti made a move on me? I mean a real move?”
“Dunno. Let me think on it. Don’t be too late coming in, or you’ll miss out on the joy that is data analysis.”
“Yeah, right.” Thomas sighed. Yes, the back-end of surveillance — sifting through reams of photos, calls and recordings to make it easier for the pros to do their job. He let Karl go and re-read the text. What was it Heick had said at their first meeting? He closed his eyes and brought it to mind: ‘You haven’t come out of a box like most of the people I deal with in the community.’
Maybe that was the answer — he wasn’t behaving as Moretti expected. The police hadn’t raided the vehicle store, yet he knew that Thomas knew about the stolen cars.
He tapped the pistol lightly against his leg, composing a text for Moretti on the fly: I don’t want any trouble. I was told to collect the kid. This time he left the phone on.
Christine didn’t respond to his call straight away. Ten minutes was pretty good for a call back though, at seven in the morning. Out of habit he listened hard for signs of Bob Peterson tiptoeing round her in the flat.
Thomas dealt it out in stages, asking to meet her at eight-thirty.
“Okaaay . . .” She stretched the word out, playing for time. “I’ll see you in my office then.”
The Moretti phone was still on the table in front of him. “I’d, er, prefer to meet outside somewhere.” He waited, imagining her mulling it over.
“Fine.” She sounded the opposite. “I’ll see you by Platform One.”
The walk to Walthamstow Central station usually took him a leisurely fifteen minutes. Today, he made it in ten. While the Underground always appealed — Miranda said it was his coalminer genes —
the mainline train was direct and faster. Even so, twenty minutes at close quarters, in a carriage filled with strangers, made for a lot of thinking time.
Miranda hadn’t rung him since the previous evening. He mulled over the significance of this and came up with nothing. Three weeks ago, which seemed like a distant dream, they’d been curled up on her sofa watching the 1936 original of The Man Who Knew Too Much. He smiled, recalling her shouting at the TV when a cardigan unravelled and tangled up a roomful of dancers.
“Oh, come on!” She’d thrown her arms in the air, appealing to the unseen referee of cinema.
“It’s just a film.” He’d pulled her back to the sofa.
“Doesn’t mean it can take the piss — even a film has to be credible.”
Life wasn’t that tidy though. And here he was, trying to out-manoeuvre professional bastards on the hoof. He shut his eyes and yawned silently, and tried to conjure some sense out of thin air. Nope. He needed help and it was time to start looking in new places.
A six-minute stop at nowhere junction buggered up his schedule and got him to Liverpool Street after eight. For all he knew, Christine was already in position to watch him exit the gate, with Bob Peterson beside her making plans for the evening. Hard to say what bothered him most about Peterson. Already married, proven untrustworthy, a dirty fighter and an all-round shit of a human being — it was a tough call for the top spot.
He figured out the best vantage point for Platform One and then found a good observation spot for that. Wheels within wheels. It gave him little comfort that he was right — Christine was there with Peterson. Perhaps she wanted Thomas to see them together. It saved on conversation. He watched as they kissed — in that desperate, fiery way he and Miranda sometimes did if they knew it would be days before they met again. The way they hadn’t the night before.
Commuters flowed around the pair, barely noticing. He wondered if they’d stay the course. Whether Peterson would ever leave his wife and kids for her — and did she even want that? Eventually he grew tired of being a voyeur, made his way over to Platform One and tried to blend in with the rest of the office infantry.
Christine met her mark at eight-thirty, smiling as though she had a secret. He let her go on believing it.
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