Line of Sight

by DEREK THOMPSON

  Pound to a penny, Ann Crossley would be on the guest list too.

  “I’ll head over.” He pulled out Karl’s giveaway mobile and texted Sheryl, confirming his name and a few keywords from their discussion.

  * * *

  He swiped in and mounted the stairs, two at a time, past the other security doors that he didn’t have access to. How simple life would be, he thought as he rounded the last flight, if all the intelligence agencies — and the floaters — could pool their resources properly. Then he laughed at himself; it was the kind of bullshit Sir Peter Carroll might come out with on a television interview.

  Another swipe, a twist of the handle and there he was, safe and sound. Christine’s door was closed, lights on, and Ann Crossley was nowhere to be seen. There was little point in creeping to his desk, but he did it anyway. He figured he’d wait for Karl and they’d go in together, like Butch and Sundance.

  Christine’s office door opened. “Will you come in please, Thomas?” Only it didn’t sound much like a question.

  He locked his laptop then thought better of it and brought it with him, closed, under one arm.

  Christine offered him a seat, the one next to Ann Crossley.

  “Aren’t we waiting for Karl?” He heard the warble in his own voice and felt even more of an arse.

  Ann smiled encouragingly. “He won’t be long — I’m sure he won’t mind.”

  He bit at a nail, trying to organise his thoughts, dividing his knowledge into two piles: the do not discuss and the only discuss if you have to. Christine moved a file around on top of her desk; it didn’t seem to be going anywhere. He felt a twitch coming on, every time that file circled round.

  “Can we make a start, then?” He looked up earnestly. “The suspense is killing me.” Okay, it was stupid but so was this.

  “You’re aware that your assignment is to be concluded?” Another statement, this time from Ann.

  “Yeah, I gather Major Eldridge has closed it all down.”

  Christine and Ann exchanged the look. The one that made him feel like a child in a roomful of adults.

  “That’s inaccurate.” Christine fiddled with the file again. “The order came from Sir Peter Carroll. He wants our resource withdrawn.”

  That would make an interesting dilemma for Karl. Thomas smiled to himself, tongue pushed tightly against his lower front teeth.

  “However,” Christine cleared her throat, “I’d like you to continue to support the major — and Engamel — at my discretion.”

  It could have been his imagination, but the room temperature just dropped a couple of degrees. He had no problem bypassing Sir Peter, but he was curious. “Might I know the purpose of . . . ?”

  Christine stared him down. “Let’s not play games, Thomas. There’s unfinished work there.”

  Now, that could mean the major’s quest for justice for Amy, or it could mean the completion of the testing. He was still pondering what to say when he heard the distant slam of the security door. He relaxed a little; the cavalry was here.

  There was no whistling as Karl approached — just rapid heavy footfalls. He came straight in. “Sorry I’m late — where are we?”

  Christine obliged.

  Karl waited his turn. “The major confirmed that things have moved on as we anticipated. Any testing of the Scavenger will be relocated to Engamel’s Regional Headquarters, as they’re under pressure to ensure that the consortium deal stays on schedule.”

  Thomas uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “The what?” Now it was a three-way shared look, and he still wasn’t invited. “Is there any point in me being here?” He picked up his laptop, ready for the off.

  “Sit still, Thomas.” This was Christine’s other voice. The one that used to say: you could have made an effort or you need to get out of those clothes. He didn’t know whether he felt aroused or defensive.

  “You do know that Jess worked for Clarity, before she was assigned to testing the Scavenger? And what they worked on together was the C12 armoured vehicle?”

  “This is true, Tommo.” Karl rode the wave. “Bet you didn’t know which bit of it though?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “They worked on the main gun.”

  Christine looked disappointed. “The consortium will be announcing the live deployment of the Scavenger in designated international conflict arenas. Meantime, development will progress to an upscaled version for the C12.”

  Thomas faced Karl. “You knew from the beginning, didn’t you?”

  “No.” Christine leapt to his defence. “But I did, once Ann had briefed me.”

  He blinked once, like a camera capturing evidence. “You’ve used me.” He waved a finger at the two women. Then he pointed at Karl. “And you. Just to get close to your old buddy, the major.”

  “It was necessary.” Ann Crossley seemed about as contrite as a war criminal on extended vacation in South America.

  “Nothing’s changed, has it? Same old bullshit — you send me in like some sort of decoy and watch what crawls out from the shadows. Meantime everyone gets on with the real job and I’m left in the dark.”

  “It worked though, Tommo — that’s what matters.”

  Thomas sniffed. Karl had a point, even though it choked him to admit it. “So what’s the next move?”

  Ann moistened her lips. “My Engamel contact may need protecting, if she decides to break cover.”

  “You’re talking about Clarity.” It was hardly a Sherlock Holmes challenge, but he still felt a sense of satisfaction.

  She tilted her pen towards him, like a glass.

  “I presume,” Karl’s voice was sombre, “That you’d prefer it if I supply any defensive capability independently?”

  Christine made a face. “I’d prefer it if firearms weren’t necessary.”

  Meantime, Thomas had done some thinking. “So, this deal goes ahead even though the Scavenger is unsafe?”

  All three of them shared the same weak smile. Christine picked up the file, leant across and put it out of reach. “That’s the nub of the problem, Thomas. We,” she indicated the three of them, “and the people we represent cannot be seen to be obstructing the Scavenger. Neither can we be seen to be endorsing — or assisting — its deployment.”

  Ann knew her cue. “And no agency is willing to act as a whistle-blower.”

  “And that’s why I’m here?”

  Ann tried hard to sell it to him. “All you need do is be there to support Clarity, if she needs it.”

  “How’s she going to get in touch?”

  “Karl gave me a mobile number to give to her.”

  He raised his eyebrows in Karl’s direction. Now he understood why Karl hadn’t claimed his phone back.

  “Look, Tommo, whatever you think of me, or any of us, if we get this right we’ll save lives and put a dent in Michael Schaefer’s future at Engamel. Political expediency is a secondary consideration.”

  Judging by the look on Christine’s face, Karl was in a minority of one. Well, two now. He nodded resolutely. “Okay, I’ve heard enough; I’ll await her call.”

  Chapter 36

  Thomas didn’t feel like sticking around after the meeting. In any case, the three of them seemed to have lots left to talk about, judging by the way no one else followed him out.

  He reconnected the laptop and booted up. Meantime, he grabbed a chemical coffee from the machine and escorted it back to his desk. The screensaver floated in front of him like a one-fingered salute. The Surveillance Support Unit crest bobbed about the screen, complete with the motto Omnes Sensus: All the Senses. Yeah, he thought, sipping slowly, all of them except common sense.

  Emails first, a toe-dip back into reality. Then maybe a sniff around the SSU phone bug on the major’s comms. Thinking about it only irritated him off, reminded him of the major’s secret offer to take Karl back into uniform. Was that how it was going to be for all three of them still at Christine’s desk? Her off to the Foreign Office and Ann Crossley doing a similar deal with Naval Intelli
gence?

  He didn’t have any answers. Jesus, he didn’t have a full set of questions. He was still the only one playing against the house. He passworded his way through and watched the messages stack in his in-tray. There were a mess of emails eager for his attention. One, sent from Karl just before the meeting, read: If I don’t get to see you before we go in, stick around afterwards. I need to talk to you. Yeah, right. Next. The Liaison Office, short and sweet — advising that he’d missed a health appointment with the counsellor.

  A quick glance at the office door — blinds still drawn and no sign of movement. Straight through to an answering machine, bloody things. “Hello, yes, it’s Thomas. I really must apologise for missing this week’s session. Too much going on at work.” That managed to sound both lame and ambiguous. “I’m fine and everything — I’ll definitely be there next time.” He just got it all in before the beep. After that he breathed a little easier and gulped down some more caffeine.

  There was some domestic email traffic from Christine, keeping the team informed. Usual nonsense — performance assessment dates, a reminder to use only the latest templates and the server to find them on. Plus an unbelievable email about a teambuilding event, workload permitting. The title alone was enough to make him choke: The Unified Team.

  He scanned up the list of emails, working his way to the present. One ominous entry sat atop the list, like a blister. Not to be ignored, but to be treated with caution, sent in from Whitehall. Please contact me as soon as you receive this. Sir Peter Carroll, Director-General — Surveillance Support Unit. Just in case Thomas had forgotten the natural order of things.

  The call went straight through — no switchboard — and was picked up on the third ring. Sir Peter was that cultured mixture of civilised behaviour and ruthless manipulation.

  “Thomas, I appreciate you calling back. I wonder, are you free to join me? Shall we say thirty minutes’ time? Excellent, I’ll see you then.”

  Karl would have to wait. This was less an appointment than a command performance. Even if Karl’s people did on occasion pull the strings where Sir Peter was concerned, it hadn’t improved Thomas’s position. On the one hand, the Old Man used to have a soft spot for him; and on the other, Thomas was a means of getting things done. It seemed to be the theme of the day. He left a note on Karl’s desk — summoned to Whitehall, speak to you later — and headed out the door.

  * * *

  He could have jumped in a taxi and reclaimed it on expenses, but entering the Tube network always held a fascination for him. It was like shedding a skin, becoming anonymous. Give or take the traceability of an Oyster Card. Hard not to think of Sir Peter tracking him like a badger on the move. Except, of course, they were a protected species and he wasn’t.

  Surfacing at Embankment, he donned another skin — teacher’s pet. He’d barely made it through the security doors when a guard approached him.

  “Sir Peter’s ready for you now.” She sounded calm and unequivocal, walking him to the scanner and then escorting him up there herself.

  “It’s very kind of you to show me the way,” he caught her smile and returned it, gift-wrapped.

  “I’ve, er, put in an application to join the SSU.” She didn’t qualify the statement.

  “It’s never a dull moment,” he smirked, for reasons she’d never fathom.

  Three, four, knock on the door. The guard turned smartly and walked away, glancing back at the bend in the corridor.

  He went inside. Sir Peter was standing by a window; he seemed to be gazing through the blinds, beyond the blast-proof glass at the real world below. “Shall I tell you something, Thomas? I still bring in a camera, on occasion. Some mornings, I watch the Thames, flowing like an artery through the city.”

  Thomas closed the door and waited there. “You sent for me, sir.”

  “Some things never change. That great river — whatever we call it. Whether it’s flowing in London or England or the United Kingdom, it doesn’t change the river.”

  Thomas figured the philosophy lecture was just for openers and sat down. “You forgot to add Europe to your Thames list.”

  “Indeed I did.” Sir Peter crossed the room and took his chair behind the mahogany desk. “You mistakenly think you understand the rules because you persist in seeing things in black and white — Mr McNeill the hero and I the villain.”

  He cupped his chin in one hand and propped his elbow on the chair arm. “A woman is dead because someone was more interested in cutting a few corners to a sales target than in the risks. That’s the cold truth — black, white or grey.”

  “I agree with you.”

  Thomas lifted his head and sat a little straighter.

  “But I also recognise that the Scavenger will one day be a valuable asset, once the problems are ironed out. What’s needed is more time.”

  He heard the rest of the speech in disbelief. The high points — if he could call them that — hit him like a set of knuckles: align himself with Michael Schaefer, distance himself from Major Eldridge, and accept a temporary assignment at Engamel.

  Reading between the lines, the major must have kept secret the data that Thomas had retrieved from Jess. Which suggested he had a plan of his own.

  Sir Peter Carroll leaned in, hands resting on the desk. It had all the hallmarks of a sermon “We want the same things, Thomas. You simply need to see this in a wider context.”

  He found himself nodding, mainly at his own decision to have it all out with Karl, once and for all. He smiled and Sir Peter smiled back, mistaking his motivation.

  “I’m glad we had the chance to talk. That’ll be all then; keep me informed.”

  * * *

  The Guard du Jour was waiting at the lift. “So, any tips for me, Mr Bladen?”

  He stared at the lift buttons for inspiration. “First, make sure that you enjoy your own company and don’t need a social life. And learn to read people carefully, lass.”

  He received a broad grin for his trouble. “Maybe you could talk me through a few things, over a drink sometime?”

  His lips squeezed together. “That was the first people test — I’m spoken for.”

  * * *

  It probably should have surprised him to find Karl loitering outside in the street, but he was all surprised-out for the day.

  “You took yer time, Tommo. Come on, let’s take a wee walk.”

  They made it as far as the nearest pub that met Karl’s exacting standards. Karl opted for a cross between a sandwich and a full meal. Thomas, grateful for the chance of real food instead of snacks, plumped for some stew.

  The food arrived and Karl led a full assault on his plate while he talked. “What’s on your mind then? You’ve got a real face on you.”

  “Are you going back to the army?” However gruffly he’d tried to say it, he still sounded like a petulant teenager rowing with his girlfriend.

  “Nope.” Karl gulped down a mouthful of food. “I already told you. It suited my purpose to let the major think I was keen on the idea.”

  “So you lied to him then?”

  Karl bit into his wrap, exercising his right to remain silent.

  “Sir Peter wants me to work at Engamel for a while.”

  Karl shook his head. “That’s not good news. Either he’s getting desperate or Schaefer has something up his sleeve. Anything else you wanna talk about?”

  Once he’d started, it just kept on coming. The major holding back on Jess’s data; Sir Peter seemingly at odds with the major; Schaefer being made of asbestos. And then there was the business with Jack Langton. He stepped lightly around the quicksand, letting Karl know the bare bones. It felt strangely exhilarating, being on the controlling end of the equation.

  “So, I’ll be able to find out when Jack Langton is next on the move, but it’ll be short notice.” He took a dramatic pause and shovelled in another mouthful of stew. “I’ve also discovered his delivery point.”

  Karl waved a knife in the air, singsong fashion. “Well pl
ayed. We could hit him there.”

  The light from Karl’s knife seemed to flicker across his face. Maybe that was the thing making Thomas squirm.

  “Yeah, about that — not enough time.”

  “Pity. Anyway, with what you’ve put together, we could at least disrupt Jack’s business.”

  Thomas was warming to this by the second. “What have you got in mind?”

  “Well . . .” Karl jabbed towards his plate. “If we knew exactly when Jack was doing his rounds, we could put the police on to him.”

  Thomas felt a chill clawing up his spine. First priority: keep Sheryl out of it. But maybe Karl was on to something. “It would take some coordinating.”

  “I’m sure a man of your abilities and connections could work out a way to involve the Met.”

  Thomas got the message loud and clear: Ajit. Karl must have learned about his job in the police during the business on the moors. Best book a call to Yorkshire, later. Odd, though, that Karl should want to bring in the police. “Say Jack Langton is picked up by the police, how does that help you turn him against Martin and Francis-Andrew?”

  “Wait and see. What car did you say our Mr Langton drives?”

  “Beemer — a sporty one.”

  “Well there you are then. Odds on he’s got a family car tucked away somewhere as well. We need to know what it is, and we can hardly ask Thurston Lyon to do a recce.”

  “I’ll do a run-by tonight, on the way home.”

  “Nice one. Listen, I know I’ve been a bit off lately, what with . . .” Karl’s mobile rang — saved by the bell. “Hello? Ah, Stuart, thanks for ringing me back.” He didn’t speak again for a minute, nodding slowly as if coming to some terrible conclusion. “You did the right thing. Yeah, send it straight over. Bye.” He didn’t take his eyes off the phone, didn’t move again until the bleep announced the text. Then he hit the button and gazed at the pixels, ashen faced.

  “Are you okay?” Thomas put down his cutlery.

  “Take a look.” Karl passed the phone over. “Stuart went to ma’s funeral, to see whether Frances-Andrew or Martin turned up. Someone else did — my father.”