Line of Sight

by DEREK THOMPSON

  “Nice work, amigo. The car was too new for me to chance the alarm so I settled initially for puncturing all the tyres. Then I thought ‘no, fuck it,’ his boys did it to you. That was one loud alarm though, eh?”

  Thomas shook his head. He hadn’t heard anything apart from broken glass and the pounding in his chest. “An axe though?”

  “Listen, at least I didn’t put a bullet through the windscreen.”

  He couldn’t argue with that.

  “Have you time for one drink, Tommo?”

  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  “Grand. I hope you’re not just saying so because of the axe on the back seat.”

  * * *

  It was, as Karl had promised on the way in, the kind of joint where people dressed head to toe in black didn’t raise any concerns. Basically, they were just glad of the business — any business. Two blokes at the far end were playing as good a game of darts as two people can play when they’re really pissed, with as many darts landing in the wall as on the board. The barman watched them with a blank, bored expression plastered across his face.

  Karl got in the provisions and directed Thomas as far as away from human contact as possible. “Here’s to you, Kathleen Victoria McNeill.” He raised a half-pint solemnly.

  Thomas nodded, glancing at the pub lights turned golden through his glass. Karl was still lost in the moment, so he did the decent thing and left him to it.

  “You know, back there on the job, Tommo, I think we shared a bit of a magic moment.”

  “Yeah,” he filtered through the pile of crisps for three of a similar size. “I’ll give you that. It was just like old times. Probably did me some good.”

  Karl nodded appreciatively then emptied his glass in a single pour. “I want you to know, Thomas, that I have always held you in the highest regard.”

  “What’s your next move, then, apart from a shovel full of crisps?”

  Karl laughed quietly but that distant look hadn’t left his face. “Ideally, I’d get the chance to deliver some payback to Martin and Francis-Andrew — about twenty years’ worth. I’m banking on tonight’s trail of breadcrumbs leading Jack Langton straight to Belfast. Stuart Fraser could be a useful contact for stirring things up across the water, pointing the boys back towards Jack Langton. Just add hot water and stir. Me? I’m a regular Yojimbo.”

  Thomas knew he was expected to ask and chose not to. “Well, just don’t go doing anything stupid — otherwise I’ll end up being partnered with Ann Crossley permanently.”

  “Hey listen, she’s come up in my estimation in the last few months.”

  “Now I am getting worried!”

  “Relax, Tommo, I don’t plan on going anywhere for the time being. Right, come on, let’s get you home to the fair Miranda.”

  * * *

  First thing Thomas did in the car was turn his mobile back on and check his voicemail. He was disappointed. “Tell me something, why doesn’t Clarity just get in her car and keep driving?”

  Karl turned the radio down even further. “Same reason Sir Peter Carroll wasn’t deposed as head of the Surveillance Support Unit when you exposed him. It’s not the way things are done, not when there’s something bigger at stake. Sir Peter is of more use to us in Whitehall, and right now Clarity can get more done on the inside at Engamel.”

  Thomas looked at the mobile screen again.

  “It’ll be soon.” Karl promised him. “Just you make sure you’re on the ball.”

  He mock saluted; there was no smile in return.

  “When the call comes in, ring me before you get on the road.”

  “But I thought you wanted to stay out of it.”

  Karl waved a hand, so-so fashion. “What I want and what has to be done can be very different things. Remember, Tommo, I’m on standby too. And listen, make sure you are fully equipped — do we understand each other?”

  “Crystal.” Thomas felt his trigger finger move involuntarily. “I’ll see you.” He got out of the car and walked up the drive.

  The lights were still on in the Wrights’ house. Time check: nearly one am. Now was one of those times when he wished he still had a key. Nothing else to do, but knock and hope someone was up.

  Miranda eased back the door with the chain on. “Are you the tall, dark, handsome stranger I ordered online?”

  He smiled wearily and she took the hint, closing the door to reopen it without the chain.

  “We all waited up. Sam and Terry are throwing a bit of a moody — probably women trouble.”

  Funny, he’d never known them to have any trouble with women. He followed Miranda in and muttered something about how nice a cup of tea would be. He was still blushing from what she’d muttered in return as he entered the front room.

  Diane, John, the boys and Sheryl all sat to attention. “Everything all right, Thomas — with Karl and that?” John got in there first.

  He nodded and grabbed a seat. Almost immediately, Terry and Sam stood as one and headed for the kitchen. “Something I said?”

  “Take no notice Thomas, those two have been acting up all evening.” Diane swept a hand in the air, in their wake.

  “Maybe it’s their time of the month — they’ve synchronised.” Sheryl grinned.

  Miranda returned with a mug in each hand. “Kettle’s boiled if anyone else wants one — the Brothers Grim,” she nodded to Thomas, who'd first coined the phrase, “are still out there, bickering about something.”

  The conversation died down again. Diane and John gave up the cause and said their goodnights. Only then did Sheryl start talking again. “Will Jack go to prison?”

  Thomas figured that she’d filled Miranda in about the drugs, otherwise she wouldn’t be asking him openly.

  “I don’t know.” He felt bad saying it, wished he could reassure her it would all go away. But he didn’t bullshit his friends. “It all depends on whether he had the stuff on him when he was nicked.” He stopped and drank his tea.

  “Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Here we are, then.” Miranda leaned against him, both hands clasped around the mug.

  He tilted his head and squeezed his shoulders back, feeling the relief as the tension shifted. “Are you still cool with Sheryl, now you know she’s a Langton?”

  “Let’s just go to bed.” She spoke through a yawn. And the way she said it, there wasn’t a come-on for miles around.

  His bag was waiting in her room, unopened. There was no preamble; all those pretences had been scoured off by the years. She escaped from her jeans and stepped into the en-suite, leaving him to it. He waited until he could hear her peeing before he checked the bag again, making sure the Makarov was there and loaded.

  He tried the bathroom door and went inside. And even though no good would come of it tonight, he couldn’t resist drawing her hips towards his and wrapping himself around her. She tasted fresh, like the perfect after-dinner mint. But sleep was the only thing on the menu.

  Last thing before lights out, he plugged the mobile in and turned the glow to the wall. Then he hit the light switch and lay there, Miranda’s leg against his, strong and sensuous. He closed his eyes and relived the craziness of the day. He felt wrung out by the end of it and turned towards Miranda in the dark, smiling at the sound of her sleeping. With any luck, they’d get a lie-in. The way the day had gone, he was definitely feeling lucky.

  * * *

  It took a few seconds to realise that the ringtone was his. Miranda squirmed under the duvet, muttered and elbowed him sharply. He was wide-awake now, scrabbling over the side of the bed for the phone. Miranda hit the light, behind him.

  “Hello?” It could be any one of three, four if he included Karl in the list.

  “It’s Clarity. I’m at Engamel. You need to come now — I can’t talk.” She cut the call.

  He slumped out of bed to his knees and hit speed-dial. Karl picked up second ring, sounding impossibly alert.

  “Thanks, T
ommo, I’ll do what I have to then get on the road. I’ll see you there. Stay sharp.”

  As he dragged his clothes on, he was intoxicated with excitement. If he was anything, he was a creature of purpose and here was a purpose he could relish. He unzipped the bag and dug out a torch and the Makarov. As he turned to holster it in a side pocket, Miranda was sitting up in bed, watching him.

  She didn’t say anything at first — she didn’t need to. Her face was a collage of disappointment and concern. He would have been more concerned too, if he’d had the time.

  “Is it always going to be like this?”

  He figured she knew better than to expect an answer. “Go back to sleep; I’ll ring you later.” He didn’t bother qualifying that because it would only raise questions he didn’t have answers to. As he reached the front door, he heard another mobile going off. Probably Sam or Terry’s — women trouble after all, then.

  Chapter 39

  The door closed, like the great divide — on one side, Miranda and her family; and on the other a place of shadows and intrigue: Karl’s world. He connected the mobile to the hands-free unit and started up the car, heading for the M25 London Orbital Motorway, to pick up the M40 for Chipping Norton and the Engamel Facility.

  It was four thirty in the morning and he was wired from a lack of decent sleep, thoughts whirling in his head to the sound of the engine. And the further he travelled, the less anything made any sense. Why had Clarity rung him now? And what was he supposed to do — turn up at the gate like a minicab and whisk her away? Nah, Michael Schaefer wasn’t the amenable type. There was no plan and another ten miles of driving made no impact on that.

  The mobile kicked off again. He clicked the button and prepared to shout — the earpiece being safe and sound, back in the box. It must be Karl unless Clarity was ringing with an update.

  “Yeah, it’s Thomas. Go ahead, I’m driving.”

  “Thomas?” The voice repeated, as if weighing him up. “This is Internal Communications — we spoke before. I did say we’d talk to you again.”

  Even though he didn’t count himself as a believer anymore, religious education at school had taught him three things: 1) Fight the good fight with all thy might; 2) Jesus loved him just the way he was; and 3) There were no coincidences, just the unseen hand of God. Or, in this case, the unseen hand of someone else.

  “What do you want?”

  “Perhaps we can be of mutual assistance again. Are you still there, Thomas?”

  He winced — rookie mistake, giving his name away. “Yes, I’m here. Look, I’m a bit busy right now.” No response. Then he remembered what time it was. “How did you know I’d be up and about this early in the morning?”

  At first there was silence. “You’re driving one of our vehicles.”

  Logic checked in. The car must have a tracer on it, and that meant they probably knew his destination. “Do you know who I am?” he heard his own voice pitch upwards.

  “No, Thomas; I don’t. But I still think we can help each other.”

  For the next fifteen minutes that calm, objective voice instructed him on what to say at Engamel’s security gate, and how to find his way around the building, and what to watch out for.

  He couldn’t be sure what he’d given away — certainly not Karl’s involvement. But whoever they were, they understood the situation more clearly than he did, and they had their own objective: protect the operative.

  Once he was on the M40 he rang Karl, starting with the standard failsafe. “You free to talk?” The background noise sounded like a small lorry.

  “No. McNeill out.”

  End of discussion. Now, that was a weird one. Formal. Like maybe Karl had company and didn’t want him identified? That would rule out Christine, Ann Crossley and the major, unless there was someone else present. He rubbed an eye with the ball of his thumb; he needed a coffee.

  * * *

  Thirty-one . . . thirty-two, he caught himself counting the lampposts, imposing numerical order on the unknown. “Chipping Norton,” he read the sign aloud, as if to confirm it, and gripped the steering wheel tighter. The mobile was no comfort — Karl out of reach and Miranda further away than ever.

  He watched for the exit, and after that the nondescript minor road snaking through the countryside like a threat. The sky was pale and clear. It held the promise of a good day, if he could figure out what one of those was anymore.

  Warning signs informed him he was on private land with strictly no unauthorised access. The speed bumps were so far apart that he took them for pressure sensors. Coming, ready or not. Beyond the road, fenced in on both sides, he saw discreet steel and glass buildings, scattered across the landscape.

  A new sign appeared, warning of extreme tyre damage to the unauthorised. Then a shining oasis of brilliance erupted up ahead — a reception desk and sentry box combined. He pulled alongside, gave his name and arced his Surveillance Support Unit ID card across the glass. This was never going to be a surprise raid.

  There was no preamble, just a check of his name against a list and a caution to follow the signs. Then a button was pushed and a wide row of spikes in front of the car dropped below the surface of the road. The instant he passed through, a yellow arrow appeared on a display board, pointing straight ahead. A few yards on, another came on in sequence — this was electronic ‘follow my leader.’ He kept to a steady speed and trailed the arrows for another fifty yards, arriving in an empty parking area where a flashing rosette shone out from the tarmac in a parking bay.

  He parked dead centre, engine off. It was an edgy kind of quiet, like before a storm. Nothing stirred. Common sense suggested he’d be under CCTV surveillance so he kept his hands visible, far from the handgun. As soon as he was out of the car, a light appeared above a door. He locked up and took a slow, steady walk towards it, checking out the terrain in case he had to make a sudden about turn.

  As expected, the door opened automatically, closing behind him as the lock set. Past the point of no return now.

  “Keep walking, Tommy.” Michael Schaefer’s voice ricocheted through the speakers. “Sorry to drag you out of bed at this hour,” he sounded almost pleasant.

  Thomas thought about that as he advanced along the corridor. Why wouldn’t he be? Clarity might have been the one to call him, but not so long ago Schaefer had offered him a job. So why did Schaefer want him there?

  The doors he passed had colour codes and card-swipe mechanisms, and the sort of handles that suggested biometric security.

  “Next door on the right — come on in, we’re all waiting.”

  Uh oh. That didn’t sound good. He touched the door and it levered in effortlessly. The first thing he saw was Schaefer, glass in hand.

  “Hey everyone, Tommy made it to the party!”

  He looked behind Schaefer, remembering the advice on the phone call to stay sharp; one fire exit on the far side, difficult to get to unless he went through Schaefer — always an option though. He was so focused on his own thoughts that it took a moment to realise there were other people in the room. Sitting down to one side, as if awaiting judgement: Clarity and Major Eldridge. The major wasn’t in good shape at all.

  “I think his arm’s broken.” Clarity spoke quietly.

  “Can you believe this asshole, Tommy?” Schaefer pointed at the major with his glass. “Who the fuck does he think he is — pointing a fucking gun at me.” He freed his hand from behind his back and let the baseball bat hang down. “And what about you, Tommy?”

  He swallowed hard, playing for time or an angle, whichever proved to be more useful. “I got a call to come here, Mr Schaefer. I assumed you needed to see me.”

  Schaefer’s gleeful laughter poisoned the room. “It’s about time I got some respect around here. That’s right, Tommy, I sent for you. That job I offered you has just become a promotion. But first you need to prove your worth.”

  He looked over at Clarity and the major, then back at Schaefer very slowly. “I’m listening.”

>   “A little radical action is needed to keep the Scavenger project on track. You see Tommy, there’s a bright future for the right man. All he has to do is eliminate the competition.”

  Clarity glanced back at him. He looked away to the far windows. Where’s Deborah? “Mr Schaefer, I’d really like to work with you . . .” Work on you, you fucker. “. . . But I’m not sure I understand your meaning.”

  Schaefer’s eyes narrowed and his mouth widened. “You said you’d used a gun before, didn’t you?”

  Thomas put a hand to his mouth; he wasn’t pretending. This guy was out of his tree. “How much money are we talking about?”

  “Name your price, Tommy — whaddya say, 50K a head plus bonuses? There’s only the four of us here, no cameras in this room and this is private land. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

  He flinched a little as he felt the moment slip away.

  Schaefer shook his head with disgust. “Nah, I thought not. I’m disappointed, Tommy. I really hoped you’d come through for me. Hey, the cavalry has arrived.” He looked down to his left. “Let me patch them through.”

  A wall screen fizzled into life, showing a Land Rover stopping on its own rosette of lights. Thomas’s jaw gaped as Karl and Sir Peter scurried towards the building.

  “Come on in, guys — the party’s just getting started.” Schaefer spoke aloud, eyes still on the monitor screen, obviously miked up.

  Thomas watched through gritted teeth as the screen switched to a different camera. There was Karl’s Land Rover — the one Thomas had last seen parked outside his flat — sat on the tarmac, out some distance on another side of the building. The front of the vehicle was clearly visible and so was the canister underneath.

  He checked the room again. Schaefer was staring intently at a screen. Major Eldridge’s eyes were closed. Clarity sat close to him, one arm draped over his shoulder.

  He stood adrift in the standoff and folded his hands together. “Shouldn’t we get him an ambulance?”

  Schaefer sniffed the air indifferently. “Tell you what, Tommy, as soon as we’ve taken care of business, you can do whatever you like.” He reached across to a release button and the door swung inward.