Shadow State

by DEREK THOMPSON

  “I’ll see you soon and I’ll be bringing company.”

  Heick opened the boot and took out a folder, keeping it close to his chest. “Yours, in exchange for my recorders.”

  Thomas made the trade. “Shall we?” he walked towards the swing doors at the front.

  Karl unbolted the doors and stood back. Heick wouldn’t look him in the eye.

  “I’m sorry, Karl. You have to understand—”

  Karl went to join Miranda and Sheryl. “Save it. I understand all right.”

  Thomas knew he wouldn’t get satisfactory answers. That wasn’t how these things worked. “I want Moretti, or the evidence to put him away.”

  Henriette spoke up. “I know what he did to the old man but you can’t have him.”

  “He had a name — Theo Pritchard.”

  “Moretti will be punished. I assure you of that.”

  “Hey!” Heick’s gaze fixed on the bar. “How about we have a drink? On me.” He took out a fifty and laid it on the table. “Champagne, I think.”

  Miranda walked off and Sheryl followed her.

  Thomas took hold of Henriette's arm and whispered, “You know he’ll never let you step down? Whatever he tells you, you’re his golden ticket — an embedded agent at the heart of the Shadow State.”

  Heick glanced over at them and stiffened.

  Thomas went for broke. “How long do you think it will take them to discover agent Charlemagne is sat among them?” He left her standing there.

  Miranda brought over a magnum of champagne and held out her hand. “I need another fifty and I’ll be keeping the change.”

  Heick didn’t flinch. He was too busy avoiding Henriette’s gaze. Sheryl did the honours, handing out the drinks as though it were a celebration. Heick raised his glass.

  “On behalf of the American government, I want to thank you.” He sounded like he meant it.

  A second later, Sheryl raised her glass. “And on behalf of the American people, go fuck yourself.”

  Karl took a sip. “Now that’s something I’ll drink to.”

  Henriette went over to Karl and held out her hand. He took it and it seemed to Thomas, for a moment, as if there was a truce in the trenches. Looked at from another angle they were both working for that safer world, only they had different ways of going about it.

  She came to Thomas next and he started for the door, so naturally she had to follow him.

  “However you were planning to compromise me, do it,” she whispered, taking his hand and holding it so tightly he felt her pulse.

  “Give me Leibowicz then.” If he’d learned one thing from Karl it was when to compromise.

  She nodded a fraction of an inch and then kissed him three times, alternating cheeks, like a native.

  Chapter 40

  The phone made it to the second ring. “Thomas? Are you there?”

  He moved Miranda’s feet off his thighs and waited until she’d turned the volume down on the telly.

  “Sir Peter.” He could hear voices echoing behind the old man, somewhere cavernous indoors. He shifted so that Miranda’s mock salute wouldn’t distract him.

  “I have a friend here from Europe. She’d very much like to see you — without our American friends.”

  “Where and when?”

  “My driver brought you last time.”

  He glanced at the clock. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

  “Very good. We’ll see you then.”

  Miranda had already switched the TV off. “Problem?”

  “Not at all. I’ve been summoned to the Victory Club. Fancy coming along? I’ll go put a shirt on. Can you ring Karl?”

  She dialled the number before he was out of the room. “Sure you wouldn’t rather go with him?”

  Thomas called behind him. “He’s coming too, if he’s around.”

  “Hi, Karl. Thomas got a call from . . .” She paused, uncertain what to call him. “Sir Peter.” She spat the words out. “We’re heading to . . .”

  “The Victory,” Thomas called out, loud enough for Karl to hear. He reappeared at the doorway, bare-chested.

  Miranda held the phone away from her ear. “He says he’ll meet us there.”

  “I’d better give him directions.” Thomas took a step towards her.

  “He’s laughing now, says he’ll see you on the steps.”

  * * *

  Miranda drove while Thomas navigated, using directions he’d previously written down. He’d built up quite a collection by now, plotting out at least two different routes to each destination.

  “Karl would be proud of you,” she joked.

  “It was his idea.” He flicked over the page, following the list of landmarks — some drawn — as the A406 road clockwise became Newham Way. Traffic flowed nicely, rewarding his decision to avoid cutting through the city.

  It seemed to him that even this part of London had become part of his personal landscape — Canary Wharf, where Moretti had holed up in his swanky apartment; the Isle of Dogs beyond it, where he and Miranda had once nearly bought a flat together; and now the Victory, which could live up to its name if Henriette Voclain gave up the Leibowiczs.

  Miranda caught his eye. “It’s funny, don’t you think, that your boss rang you and not Heick.”

  He thought about that for a moment. Clever Miranda. Heick wasn’t part of this, so Henriette had aligned herself with Sir Peter. He was her Plan B.

  Miranda parked up in a side street — no stately arrival for them.

  “You’d best put that in the boot — in case there’s any car crime around here.” Miranda gazed down at his feet, where the pistol lay, still wrapped in the sweatshirt.

  He took her advice. As they rounded the corner he spotted Karl at the bottom of the steps.

  “Blimey, you got here quickly.”

  “Motorbike.” Karl brought a helmet from behind his back. He looked a little rough around the edges.

  “Since when do you ride a motorbike?”

  “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.” Karl turned to Miranda. “May I say, you look very fetching.” He took her hand and bent forward to kiss it.

  “And you can cut that out.” Thomas pulled her away a little and her hand slipped free. Although he had to admit she looked the part. “Shall we?”

  * * *

  The two door staff ushered them over to the visitors’ book, resting on an antique desk. Karl placed his bike helmet next to it. One of the staff waited with them while they signed in, while the other disappeared through the doors.

  “Nice architecture.” Karl tapped a foot against the immaculate black and white floor tiles.

  The wanderer returned, picked up the helmet and exchanged it for a token.

  “Twenty-three — my lucky number.”

  “Sir Peter will receive you in one of the visitors’ rooms. If you’d like to follow me.”

  The party of three followed the porter. Thomas took him to be ex-military — precise, well-rehearsed movements. It reminded Thomas of Karl’s favourite pub, where every man and woman had a regiment or squadron to their name.

  A stag’s head gazed out above the first set of stairs, glass-eyed and indignant. It seemed to Thomas to sum up everything he loathed about the ‘establishment.’ History, tradition and status were synonyms for the bullshit the rulers used to maintain power. And speaking of which . . .

  Miranda nudged him a millisecond before the next set of steps, giving him enough time to grab the banister. The porter was too far ahead to notice. Karl humming the first few bars of ‘We’re off to see the wizard’ only added to what was fast becoming a surreal evening.

  It played out like a bad sitcom. White glove off to tap on the oak door. Glove back on and brass doorknob turned so the door could screech inwards. The porter went in first and announced them, then beat a retreat.

  Thomas crossed the threshold to find Sir Peter Carroll and Henriette Voclain one side of a marble table. Two empty seats had been left opposite. Sir Peter w
aited until Karl had grabbed a spare chair from the edge of the room.

  Henriette smiled. “You are surprised to see the two of us here together, Thomas?”

  “I take nothing at face value.”

  “Très sage.”

  “She thinks you’re very wise.” Miranda translated for him, looking distinctly unconvinced.

  “Sir Peter . . .” Thomas felt for an opening move.

  “Pierre, surely?” Even now Karl couldn’t resist being a prick.

  Thomas watched the old man’s face twitch and relished the moment. He read the tensions in the room like semaphore. Sir Peter could have made Karl feel small with a few well-chosen words, so why hadn’t he?

  Thomas tried again, distancing himself from playtime. “Thank you for agreeing to see us.”

  Henriette seemed more conciliatory. “I approached Sir Peter for this meeting because I wish to come to an arrangement. I will give you Barbara Leibowicz.” Her gaze moved along the table. “Karl, I am offering my services to your people. Sir Peter has assured me I can trust you.”

  Karl’s eyes never left hers. If he felt shock it didn’t show. “And you’re willing to betray your organisation?”

  Her mouth twitched, somewhere between a smile and a sneer. “I prefer to think of it as providing valuable information to avoid an escalation.”

  She never said what she wanted in return, but Thomas filled in the blanks for himself. It all added up to . . . a better deal than Heick was offering.

  “It’s quite a coup, Karl, and I recommended that Henriette came to you personally.” Sir Peter unfolded his hands. “We’re on the same side now.”

  Karl didn’t reply. He turned to face Thomas, inscrutable yet easy for his friend to understand. Such a breakthrough couldn’t be dismissed, despite the risk of counter-infiltration — Karl’s preferred term for a double agent. Finally, Karl took a slow breath and faced them across the table.

  “I’ll advise someone more senior of your proposal and we will contact you through Sir Peter.”

  “I’d rather go through you — or Thomas.”

  Thomas knew a fishing expedition when he saw one.

  “As you wish. It’ll have to be me then, because Thomas is a civilian.”

  Henriette’s confusion nestled at her brow. There was a time when Thomas would have felt insulted. Now it was a badge of honour. Henriette reached into her Gucci bag and retrieved a folded piece of paper.

  “You’ll find Barbara here. She won’t be expecting you.”

  Thomas read it and passed it to Karl.

  Sir Peter relaxed his shoulders. “Well, I think that concludes our business tonight.”

  “So, we have an accord?” Henriette held out a manicured hand.

  Miranda took it, looked her dead in the eyes and said, “Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.”

  Henriette’s smile flared and faded while Thomas tried to remember what he’d heard so he could ask Miranda about it later. Henriette gave his hand a double squeeze. He recalled the Morse Code dot-dot pulse for the letter ‘I’ and promptly forgot about it. Sir Peter offered a hand to Karl, stiff and formal, as befit a meeting of two former adversaries. It was a wonder he didn’t click his heels.

  They showed themselves out. Miranda nudged Thomas on the stairs, checking whether Karl was okay.

  Karl passed them and made a call. “Meet us at this address . . .” He came straight to the point when they reached the street. “Tommo, are you carrying?”

  “He is.” Miranda answered for him.

  “Good. That makes two of us. Let’s get to it then. Er . . .”

  “My car.” Miranda jangled her keys. “And just for that you can sit in the back.”

  Chapter 41

  “Wait a second, I need to turn the page.” Karl followed a reading light velcroed around his head.

  Miranda followed the instructions faultlessly. The road trailed off into veins, each one more remote than the last. Finally, Thomas motioned to a patch of rough ground and Miranda eased the car over.

  “Perfect spot for a place in the country. By my reckoning it’s somewhere on the right in the next hundred yards or so — look for a track.” Karl snapped the road atlas closed.

  Thomas checked his phone — a single bar’s worth of signal. “I’ll tell her we’re coming. We don’t want any surprises.” He closed the car door behind him and heard Karl muttering. Barbara Leibowicz must have been wearing her mobile. He had to repeat himself a couple of times to be understood, but he knew exactly which button to push: Moretti. Leibowicz joined the dots for herself and he let her keep the picture. He’d proved his worth already so she had no cause to doubt him. He even told her they were only a few minutes away.

  The Mini Cooper edged along the lane until Miranda spotted a gap in the tree line on the other side of the road. She crossed over, negotiated the dip and crawled up the track that ran for a quarter of a mile. Karl had been right, an ideal place to lie low.

  Karl gripped the front seat headrests. “Nice and easy.”

  “What’s the plan?” Thomas rechecked his pistol for the second time.

  “Simple. We contain the situation until the cavalry arrives.”

  The car’s full-beams picked out the house behind an old five-bar gate that had three bars remaining. Thomas judged it to be an early 1900s’ property, high roofed and thick beamed, with eight small panels at the top of the front door. The downstairs lights were on. The best vantage point, upstairs, was shrouded in darkness. Miranda steered to the rim of the track to angle her lights towards the door.

  A shape flashed across the glare to the right, a momentary stick figure leaping into the darkness. Seconds later a shot rang out, exploding one of the headlights.

  “Change of plan!” Karl yelled, although Miranda had already thrown the car violently into reverse, screeching back around the bend.

  “Stay here.” Thomas stated the obvious as he heard the unmistakable sound of Karl slipping a Browning 9mm from a shoulder holster.

  They sat for a moment with the lights out, engine humming, waiting.

  “Shotgun.” Karl eased the back door open. “I’m thinking amateur.”

  “Tell that to my insurance.” Miranda’s laughter sounded forced.

  “Unless there’s another path out, they’re trapped.” Thomas held the Makarov snug in his hand, caught between loyalties.

  “Go,” Miranda insisted. “I’ll be fine.”

  * * *

  Karl opened the door and then clicked the reading light back on at his forehead. “I’ll draw his attention on the other side. Get around behind him and try not to shoot him.” Karl disappeared into the undergrowth.

  Thomas followed suit to the left, turning briefly to see Miranda hunkered down in the car. He focused on the job at hand, trying to keep up with Karl’s LED firefly as he felt his way across the wasteland, filling his lungs with the stench of mud and decay.

  Karl’s glow flickered erratically through the trees, an predictable target. Thomas heard movement up ahead, near the house on Karl’s side.

  “Don’t come any closer.” The guy sounded wired, ready to snap.

  The blue light took no notice and Thomas picked up the pace, closing ground for a pincer movement, catching glancing blows from holly branches as he went. He felt the damp between his toes now and the soft sucking of mud against his shoes.

  Another warning call preceded a second gunshot. The blue light blinked out of existence. Thomas held his breath and fought his way through the undergrowth. A single barrel weapon, he reasoned, probably an antique. If he could get close by the third shot he might be able to rush him. He saw the light dance crazily through the woods now at impossible angles, and braced himself for a spring into the unknown.

  A car revved, threw on its one headlight and charged up the track. Thomas started running in earnest, reaching clear ground in time to see the Mini Cooper hit the gate at high speed, obliterating it. The shooter rushed forward and levelled his weapon towards
the car, but Miranda kept coming, throwing the car into a handbrake turn at the last minute to send the gunman flying.

  Thomas clambered over the fence as Karl reached the vehicle. Miranda waved from the car to show she was okay, which was more than could be said for the paintwork. Karl checked the body.

  “Out cold, but he’ll live.” Karl spotted the shotgun nearby and searched the gunman’s pockets for ammo. He held out both to Miranda. “Just in case he wakes up.” Karl managed to make it sound like a threat.

  The key to surveillance is not being seen. Thomas remembered laughing at that on the induction seminar, especially as he’d already been working at the SSU for a month by then. ‘Do not put yourselves at risk and, above all, do not make the mistake of identifying too closely with your assignment team.’

  Thomas held out his hand and Karl tossed him the door key. “This doesn’t make any sense. We told her we were coming — and why.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t believe us. Or she has something to hide.” Karl gestured towards the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Thomas crept up to the letterbox. “Barbara, it’s Thomas. I want to come in and talk. I need to make sure the baby is okay.” It was the best he could think of. He turned the key and the door rattled open. “Barbara?” He felt for the light switch to illuminate the stairs.

  Karl turned bloodhound and slipped past to check the downstairs rooms. It didn’t take him long to return. He blew out a breath. “The only way is up.” He took a step forward.

  “No, you’re alright, I’ll take this,” Thomas whispered, mounting the first stair. “Barbara!” he called out. “We’re coming up. It’s only Thomas and Karl. Your husband gave us his key.”

  “Where’s Jacob?”

  He advanced up the stairs, sideways on, checking through the banisters above.

  “He’s, er, downstairs. We had a little misunderstanding, but it’s all sorted out now. Barbara?”

  He reached the landing and Karl joined him. Thomas counted four doors. Karl pointed to himself and then splayed two fingers towards the front room. That left Thomas the bathroom — unlikely with a baby — and the back bedroom.