‘I don’t doubt he’s cracked the Guinness Book of Records for making British informer history,’ Tallis said with heavy cynicism, ‘but he’s embarking on different territory this time.’
‘We’re all embarking on different territory, Paul. Frankly, with the current state of affairs, we need all the help we can get. Problem we’ve got is we can’t watch everyone all of the time. There simply aren’t the resources.’
And sometimes you have to dance with the devil, Tallis thought.
That evening he cooked steak and treated himself to a bottle of decent wine the colour of dirty crimson. He enjoyed neither and cleared it away, wishing he had a dog to feed his meal to. He would have enjoyed the companionship, too. Loneliness was not a natural state for him, although it had plenty of advantages. Life was less complicated. He could please himself.
Opening the back door, he went outside, sat on the step and looked out across the garden. For a fleeting moment he sensed he had company. He called out, thinking it was Charlie—if he was honest, hoping it was. No reply.
He got up, stalked the small perimeter, peering into bushes, expecting next-door’s cat to scoot across the grass. Nothing. Must have been the wind whistling through the trees.
He retreated to the back step, the concrete cold against his rear. He felt as if he was losing his touch. He regarded himself as being good at reading situations and people, but lately he’d begun to doubt his own abilities. Even Asim had him worried. He was too much the puppet-master, which was probably why he’d chosen not to be as open with him on the phone as he should have been. On impulse, he pulled out his mobile and punched in a number. The recipient answered almost immediately.
‘Hiya!’
‘Hello.’
‘All well?’
‘Fine.’
‘Good.’
Tallis cleared his throat. ‘I wanted to hear your voice.’
‘Is that the only reason you called?’ Charlie Lavender laughed.
She had a good laugh. It was low and earthy, no staccato notes. Tallis decided to change the mood music, put it onto a more businesslike footing. ‘You’re aware of the latest intelligence on Kennedy?’
‘That, rather than being a suspect, he’s on the trail of a terrorist plot involving organised crime, yes. Not sure I exactly understand the motivation. Terrorists need nobody’s help. There are enough of them, either homegrown or threatening, to pour in through our porous borders from Afghanistan, Iraq and Jordan, without having to do dodgy deals with those they consider to be infidels.’
‘See your point. On the other hand, no self-respecting organisation, al-Qaeda or otherwise, ever turned down the chance of funds or safe houses.’
‘But what’s in it for organised crime?’
Tallis thought about what Kennedy had said about keeping the law at arm’s length. Suddenly, it began to make sense. ‘Easy. As long as terrorism continues to dominate headlines, it takes a lot of heat off the Mr Bigs. While the police are searching for terrorists, they can carry on business as usual. Basically, it’s in their interests for the law to be looking in the wrong direction.’ No different from the Mafia. History proved that they were masters at taking advantage of political strife and instability.
‘Christ, you really think so?’
‘I do.’
‘Let’s hope Kennedy busts the plot wide open, then.’
‘Yeah.’ And that was the problem. Kennedy might have contacts, but could he discover and identify the players, transport routes, safe houses, cells and targets? A major problem with a terrorist outfit like al-Qaeda was its compartmentalism: one cell gets shown out and sealed off but without compromising the other cells in the structure.
‘You don’t sound too hopeful. Are you a pessimist, Tallis?’
‘Realist,’ he said. ‘You?’
‘Optimist, through and through.’
‘Good. And on that optimistic note I’d better let you go.’
‘’Night, then, Tallis. Talk again soon.’
‘Yeah.’ Look forward to it, he thought, closing his phone.
He sat a while longer. The conversation with Lavender had helped sharpen his focus in a surprising area. Kennedy had crept underneath his skin in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Some of the time he hated the man, other times he admired him, no, felt warm towards him, moved by him. Tallis didn’t believe himself to be a fool. Psychologically aware, he understood the emotional dimension, the hidden dangers, yet the image of Kennedy with his boy was impossible to erase from his mind.
Neither could he forget the power of Ergul’s words to Alpi at the meeting.
You’re right. He’s the man who killed Tardarti.
27
* * *
TALLIS checked in with Rex first thing. He was told that Kennedy was spending the day quietly at Shakenbrook with his family but had left orders that, should Tallis call, he wished to speak to him.
‘Put him on,’ Tallis said, studying his nails, wondering what was going to be dropped on him this time. All thoughts of a peaceful Sunday went out into the long grass.
Kennedy’s tone was immediately repentant. ‘I’m sorry about yesterday. Shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I apologise unreservedly.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Stressful situation for both of us.’
‘No, I was wrong.’
‘Well, never mind. It’s forgotten.’
Brief silence. Was that it, Tallis wondered, or was there more?
‘There will be another meeting of the Commission in five days’ time. It will take place in London, easier for some of the blokes to get there.’
Tallis felt his nerves sharpen. Why so soon? What was going on? Was this as a result of the sidebar? ‘Where exactly?’
‘Won’t know until the last minute. Even then the venue is likely to be changed.’
‘Pity.’ We could get the place bugged, he thought.
‘Security,’ Kennedy said, as if reading his mind. ‘Naturally, I’d like you to be there.’
‘That’s good.’ You don’t have a choice, Tallis thought. He supposed it came hard for a man used to calling the shots to being on the butt end.
‘Thing is, I like you, Tallis…’
‘Mr Kennedy, we have a professional arrangement and—’
‘Yeah, yeah, not cool, but allow an old guy a little indulgence. You’re the same age as Billy, did you know that?’
‘Erm…’
‘He’d have been strong, like you. Was strong. Smart talker, too, knew his stuff. Takes after his old man in the good looks department, of course.’ Kennedy let out a laugh riven with sadness. ‘So proud of him, you know. Didn’t tell him when I should have done.’
Tallis dug a fingernail into the soft part of his hand. He’s playing you, he thought. He knows your weakness and he’s going for it.
‘Listen to me go on,’ Kennedy said, more cheerful. ‘Have a good day, Tallis. Look forward to seeing you tomorrow.’
‘’Bye, Johnny, and thanks.’ Tallis cut the call, cursing his momentary loss of judgement. Johnny, indeed.
Deciding to go for a run, he changed into sweats and trainers and went out onto the street. A British Telecom van was parked a hundred yards down the road, one bloke sitting inside reading a newspaper, the other outside studying a telegraph pole.
‘Morning,’ one of them said as he sped past. Seven punishing miles later they were still there as he jogged back up the road.
‘Don’t you blokes ever get a day off?’ He grinned, pausing briefly.
‘Twenty-four-seven, mate.’
Tallis met the guy’s eye. Maybe, he thought, maybe not…
Tallis returned to find a blackbird flapping around in his sitting room. From the sooty marks on the furnishings, it had obviously taken a tumble down the chimney. Opening all the windows, he managed to shoo it out. The next hour was spent clearing up dirt and bird crap. In the back of his mind he remembered his late grandmother, a Croatian national, telling him that a bird in the hous
e meant a run of bad luck. Something he definitely didn’t need right now, he thought grimly.
He took a long hot shower and dressed. Starving, he cooked himself bacon and eggs for a late breakfast, eating it in silence. No radio, and definitely no television. That leaves the rest of the day to kill, he thought, washing up. Truth was, he didn’t know what to do next so that, when his mobile rang shortly after noon, he picked it up with a sense of relief.
‘Lunch at my place.’
‘Shall I bring flowers?’ Tallis said, tense.
‘Lavender would be nice.’ Click.
Picking up his keys, he went outside, scanning the drive. The B.T. blokes, or whoever they were, had gone. There were no familiar or unfamiliar faces. Satisfied, he climbed into the TT, reversed out onto the street and drove down to the main road, heading through Birmingham and back out towards the general direction of Coventry. Deliberately overshooting to Rugby, he doubled back, eventually pulling into the tired-looking estate and parking the car in the street some distance from the safe house. There was no sign of Lavender’s Yamaha but, then, he didn’t really expect to see it on show. Letting himself in, he found her standing in the kitchen. She was wearing jeans and a tight black sweater that hugged the curves of her body. Her face, again without make-up, shone with radiance. He wondered if some of it might rub off on him.
‘At least the code worked even if it was a bit 007.’ She beamed.
He let out a laugh. ‘Thank God you came to my rescue. I was seriously thinking I’d have to do something boring like mow the lawn.’
‘Glad to be of assistance,’ she said, still smiling.
‘What I meant—’
‘Is that you’re in danger of becoming an adrenalin junkie.’
Tallis flashed a grin. Had she got him here under false pretences? Did she expect him to take her in his arms? Should he? ‘You dragged me all the way here to discuss my mental state?’
‘I wanted to show you my holiday snaps.’ She handed him a stack of photographs. The smile faded.
He shot her a puzzled look, took them. The subject in all the shots was the same: a man, medium height and build, neatly cut short fair hair, eyes blue, no particular distinguishing features, mid-thirties at a guess. Tallis ran through the photographs for a second time, paying more attention to the locations, which were familiar to him—the road opposite the clinic, streets running adjacent to the premises in Lye and Walsall, outside the greasy spoon where he’d eaten breakfast with Kennedy after Gabriel had been killed.
Charlie was studying his response intently. ‘Recognise him?’
‘Never seen him before in my life.’
‘You should have done. It’s you he’s tailing.’
Tallis looked up. ‘Not Kennedy?’
She shook her head. ‘You’re his target. He’s taken photographs of you and tried to follow you back home yesterday, but your counter-surveillance routine paid off.’
Thank God it had become second nature, Tallis thought. ‘Could be MI5.’
‘Wouldn’t waste their time.’
‘Thanks.’
‘What I meant…’ She flashed a cheeky smile. ‘They’re already overstretched.’
‘And unable to spare any more resources,’ Tallis said soberly, remembering his conversation with Asim.
‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘why, in heaven’s name, would they be watching you? You’re practically one of them.’
Nice of you to say so, he thought. It wasn’t exactly how Sean and Roz had made him feel, he remembered. ‘One of yours then?’ He meant Organised Crime. He wondered if Napier or Shaw were trying to muscle their way back into the inquiry, a supremely foolish move. He put the possibility to Lavender.
‘No,’ she said, adamant.
Tallis raised an eyebrow.
‘I’ve already run a check.’
He drew up a chair.
‘Coffee?’ she said brightly. ‘I brought milk with me this time.’
He would have preferred a shot of whisky. ‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘Any ideas?’ Charlie said, flicking the kettle on.
‘Some, but none fit.’
‘Problem shared and all that?’
He looked up into eyes so green they dazzled him. She was always smiling, he noticed. He couldn’t make out if this was part of her naturally cheerful disposition or whether it was a cover for nerves. ‘Remember last time we talked?’
‘And you told me about the Turkish connection.’
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Two of those guys at the Commission, part of the so-called Turkish Mafia, recognised me as the man who killed Tardarti.’
‘How the hell do you know that?’
‘I speak fluent Turkish.’
‘And they actually spoke in front of you?’
‘In front of everyone, actually.’
The kettle flicked off. Charlie turned, hurriedly made coffee, spooning sugar into his mug.
‘You remembered.’ He smiled.
‘It’s my job to remember things.’ She smiled back, the hint of a blush on her cheeks. She pulled up a chair next to him. He could feel her knee close to his, her breath on his face. She tapped the photos with a finger. ‘This bloke isn’t Turkish.’
‘No.’
‘So he’s not connected to them. Next idea?’
‘Could be any one of the gang members’ goons or associates.’
‘Think that’s likely?’ she said.
‘Every single one of those dons, for want of a better description, believe there’s a bird dog in their midst.
‘A what?’ she frowned.
‘In twentieth-century parlance, a receiver of stolen goods, but there’s an older meaning—a watcher, an observer, somebody who lies in wait.’
‘Like the old CIA expression, We have a stranger in the house, meaning a mole.’
CIA? Tallis thought. He immediately remembered Koroglu, the hard bastard American working alongside Ertas in Turkey. When a man grabbed your balls, you didn’t forget him in a hurry. Revealing nothing, he agreed. ‘Back in the 1940s it also referred to a pimp, or someone who attempts to steal a girlfriend from another man.’
‘Basically, someone’s onto things,’ she stated. ‘Makes it dangerous for Kennedy.’ Perhaps that accounted for Kennedy’s bad temper the day before. Tallis scratched his forehead. If the Americans had tipped Asim off about Kennedy, and MI5 weren’t seen to be taking any action, had the Yanks decided to take the law into their own hands? Or had he got it all wrong? A part of him dearly hoped so. And that wasn’t good. He told Charlie about Kennedy speaking to the members of the Commission alone. ‘He reckons he’s persuaded them that his credibility, and mine, is unimpeachable.’
‘The fact he lost one of his own men would seem to bear that out.’
‘That’s what bothers me.’
She took a sip of coffee, gave him a shrewd look from underneath a set of long dark lashes. ‘You suspect Kennedy’s kicking with both feet.’
Outwardly playing the informer, supplying high-grade information while secretly supporting terrorism, was what Charlie meant. ‘Maybe.’
‘Why?’
‘Search me.’
Charlie didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘This little private conference he called. You have absolutely no idea what was discussed?’
‘None.’
‘And they all emerged looking a damn sight happier than when they went in?’
‘Apart from Ahmed.’
Charlie gave a sigh. ‘Which adds up if Kennedy’s right about his connections.’ When she spoke next, there was strain in her eyes.
‘But if he isn’t. If he’s playing his own game, you pose a threat, and Kennedy has access to a lot of people.’
‘And I won’t necessarily know who to watch out for.’
Charlie picked up one of the photos. ‘Maybe he’s one of them.’
28
* * *
HE SHOULD have thought of it before.
After leaving Charlie, he drove
to an off-duty chemist and bought a pair of disposable gloves, the type that hairdressers wore for mixing peroxide and bombers used for making bombs. Next, it was straight to Lye. Parking outside, in Kennedy’s private slot, he got out of the TT and casually glanced up through a mist of falling rain to the church tower. No glint of a long-range lens. No sign of a watcher. Whoever was tailing him seemed to have taken the day of rest seriously.
As newly appointed head of security for Kennedy, he held the master keys to both sets of premises. Taking out the appropriate bunch, he let himself in. Once inside, he dropped the deadlock to prevent unwelcome guests then, pulling on the gloves, set about booting up all six computers downstairs. It took him an hour and a half to sift through the various files. Satisfied that he’d seen nothing of startling import, he went upstairs to Kennedy’s office suite. Punching in the code, the door sprang open. First he turned the place over, checking drawers, dossiers, a diary. He found a black-bound notebook with lists of names that read like a rogues’ gallery. Careless, Tallis thought, or another masterstroke from the lord of misinformation? On the point of putting it away, he spotted one entry at the top of a page at the back. Underlined twice, one word, it read: Mephisto. What the hell did that mean? he wondered.
Careful as a bank manager, he returned everything to its rightful place. Next, he switched on Kennedy’s computer. As he waited for it to boot up, he went to the window, took a look outside. Four kids were playing football in the road. An old man carrying a plastic bag was shuffling along the pavement. Other than that, it was quiet, the rain a natural deterrent.
Tallis took a seat in Kennedy’s leather chair, half expecting him to walk through the door and give him a bollocking. For a moment Tallis sat there flexing his shoulders, trying to loosen his thinking and get inside the man’s head, work out his motivation and if he was playing it straight. Family was all, Kennedy had said. Probably the only true words he’d ever spoken. Then why jeopardise it, Tallis thought, or did Kennedy fondly believe that when his work was done he’d be given a new identity for himself and those he loved? Aside from the inherent difficulties of the witness protection programme, there were two problems with that. No such deal had been offered, and how did you hide a man who needed twenty-four-hour specialist nursing care?
The Mephisto Threat Page 24