by Susan Lewis
‘I’d say lay it all on the table,’ Tom responded. ‘We’re not the ones with anything to hide.’
As he took the phone, Elliot got up from his computer and went to refresh his coffee. Though he was half-listening to Tom, he was finding it hard to get past the mention of Nick, for even to think of Laurie on the phone to him, never mind everything else they were doing, was tearing him apart so badly it was as though he was losing control.
He was still standing in the kitchen, staring at his empty coffee cup, when Tom came in with the phone. ‘She wants to talk to you again,’ he said, passing it over.
Taking it, Elliot put it to his ear.
‘Are you there?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘When are you coming back?’
‘Friday. Possibly Saturday.’
‘I’m taking a camera to Katie’s on Friday. It’s just to give her a feel for it, a kind of rehearsal to help her make up her mind, but I can meet you at the flat late Saturday afternoon, if you like.’
He turned to look out of the window, where the mountains that rose up behind the terrace were misted by rain.
‘We need to talk,’ she reminded him.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you at the flat.’ He was about to ring off when something compelled him to add, ‘What about Nick? When’s he back?’
‘I don’t know. I think at the weekend.’
‘Will you be staying with him?’
She paused. ‘That wasn’t my intention.’
Already wishing he hadn’t asked, he said, ‘Call me when you’ve spoken to Malton,’ and abruptly ended the call.
As he returned to his computer the phone rang again, and seeing the name of his SIS contact and close friend, Chris Gallagher, he gladly clicked onto the diversion.
‘OK, this is what I’ve got so far,’ Chris told him. ‘They know you’re working with Tom Chambers, which won’t come as a surprise, but they don’t seem to know you’re with him now, which means we spirited you out of the UK without hitting their radar. You might have some hassle getting back in if you come the conventional route, they’ll want to know where you’ve been, they might even detain you, so if you can make it to Le Touquet I’ll pick you up in the Rockwell, just let me know when.’
‘l owe you for this,’ Elliot told him.
‘I’m glad to be of help. Now listen, there’s more. I spoke to Laurie earlier and she’s definitely on the right track with Christopher Malton. He’s in regular contact with Daniel Allbringer, over in the States, and with Michael Dalby, here in the UK. Dalby’s recently been in Washington, so that puts him in the right place when this new committee convened. One of the guys on the ground here in London tells me that orders are coming direct from Dalby himself, but there haven’t been many, just to haul Tom in if they find him, and hand him straight over to the Yanks. Ask Tom if he’s familiar with the name Deborah Gough?’
‘Deborah Gough,’ Elliot said to Tom.
Tom’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘What about her?’
Elliot relayed Tom’s question.
‘I think she’s part of this committee,’ Chris responded. ‘I’ll give you more when I get it. Now for the big one. I can’t mention any names, but the advice I’m receiving for Tom is to get rid of whatever Josh Shine gave him – burn, erase, nuke, whatever needs to be done, just don’t get caught with it in his possession.’
Elliot looked at Tom. ‘Why?’ he asked.
‘If you’ve seen it, you’ll probably be able to answer that better than I can, but I trust the guy I spoke to, so I’m going to add my voice to the advice, get rid of it and move on.’
Elliot said nothing. He didn’t have to, Chris would already know how unlikely it was he and Tom would heed the advice.
‘You’re still supposed to be on sabbatical,’ Chris reminded him. ‘If you break that agreement, they’ll go after you in ways that’ll make you wish you’d never heard of Tom Chambers, which brings us neatly to your contact with our own illustrious round table of spooks – and one in particular.’
Elliot inwardly groaned. ‘What about him?’ he said.
‘Have you spoken to him?’
‘No.’
‘Then you should probably prepare for a visit. It would make sense, considering his superiors know you’re in touch with Tom, and once Laurie starts collaring some very important people with some extremely awkward questions, they’re going to presume you’re behind it.’
‘Laurie’s her own person.’
‘Of course, but just keep in mind that there are often more effective ways of reaching a person than dialling direct. And on that note, I’ll leave you.’
With the ominous meaning ringing in his ears, Elliot disconnected and turned to Tom who was still staring at him, listening to his end of the call.
‘Who was that?’ Tom asked.
‘His name’s Chris Gallagher,’ Elliot answered. ‘He’s a pilot, an art dealer and ex-SIS. He’s also a good friend, and someone I trust implicitly.’ He didn’t add that in his capacity as art dealer, Chris Gallagher had brought Andraya Sorrantos into his life. This had no relevance to what they were discussing, nor was Chris in any way to blame for the course Elliot had embarked upon as a result of the introduction. All that mattered here was that Chris had access to people and information that was going to prove vital if they continued with this investigation. ‘Tell me more about Deborah Gough,’ he said, as Tom came to sit at the table.
Tom arched his eyebrows, and rested his chin on one hand. ‘The last I knew, she was CIA,’ he answered. ‘Probably still is, if she’s involved in this. I’ve never met the woman, but I’m told she’s pretty impressive. Fearless is the word I remember being used. And extreme. She used to head up Counter Intelligence at Langley, but that was a few years ago. She could have made it to executive director by now, or even higher. We can probably find out easily enough.’ He was searching for the fax Katie and Michelle had sent a few days ago, that contained the names of those who’d drawn up the initial recommendation for the P2OG. ‘She’s not here,’ he said, as he looked through, ‘but she could have been a member of the commissioning panel, which is classified I see.’ He read on for a while, then started to chuckle as he registered some of Katie’s comments. ‘We should get her to write this,’ he said, ‘she’s good.’
Laurie was seated opposite the arch conservative, Sir Christopher Malton, feeling probably only half as awed as he would like, for there had been no mistaking the condescension that emanated from behind his horn-rimmed glasses as he’d deigned to glance up from his desk upon her arrival.
‘I appreciate you seeing me at such short notice,’ she said, as the door closed behind his assistant who’d offered neither coffee, nor to take her coat.
‘It will have to be brief,’ he told her, not bothering to hide his impatience, nor to look up from the notes he was making.
‘Then I’ll come straight to the point,’ she said. ‘What can you tell me about an elite military/intelligence task force called the Proactive Pre-emptive Operations Group, or P2OG for short?’
Frowning, he turned over a page and continued to read as he said, ‘I believe it was an idea generated by certain members of the US Defense Department back in 2002, and commissioned for analysis by a group of experts.’
Surprised that he’d answered so readily, she said, ‘So it doesn’t actually exist, except on paper?’
‘I believe that is what I said,’ he responded, still engrossed in his paperwork.
She noted down his answer, then looked at him again.
‘What do you know about the details of a terrorist plot that were leaked to Tom Chambers?’ she asked.
A few seconds ticked by before he said, ‘Who?’
‘Tom Chambers,’ she repeated.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Noting that he’d said ‘what’ and not ‘who’, she asked, ‘Are you telling me you’ve never heard of Tom Chambers?’
Sig
hing, he put down his pen and linked his long, arthritic fingers on the stack of papers in front of him. ‘What is your point, Ms Forbes?’ he said shortly.
‘My point is,’ she said, ‘that the US authorities have enlisted the help of our own law enforcement in their search for Tom Chambers, and I was hoping, as a member of the Joint Intelligence Committee, that you could tell me why they are so keen to interview him.’
His steely eyes bored into hers, almost causing her to flinch. ‘If you require information concerning the police,’ he responded, ‘wouldn’t you do better to talk to them?’
‘I have. They’re not very forthcoming either, so maybe I’ll ask the question again, what do you know about the details of a terrorist plot that were leaked to Tom Chambers?’
He started to answer, then seemed to rethink, and scrutinized her in a way that was clearly meant to intimidate, and after almost a minute of it came close to succeeding. ‘Terrorist plots, or let’s say, what appear to be terrorist plots,’ he said finally, ‘are coming to light one way or another all the time, so unless you can be more specific, I’m afraid I can’t give you an answer.’
Realizing he was fishing for information, she said, ‘I’m referring to a plot concerning the Sizewell B Nuclear Power Station.’
His eyes immediately widened. ‘I can assure you, if any such plot had come to the attention of the intelligence services I would know about it, and as I don’t, I think that rather puts your colleague’s source into question.’
Grateful for such an accommodating lead-in, she said, ‘What do you know about Joshua Shine?’
Not a muscle in his furrowed face flickered as he said, ‘I don’t believe I’m familiar with the name.’
‘He was the Political Officer at the US Consulate in Lahore. We’ve been trying to reach him, but he seems to have disappeared.’
He merely looked at her, as though expecting her to enlighten him with the relevance of this new subject.
‘Do you know where he is?’ she asked.
‘I believe I just told you I’ve never heard of him,’ he replied. ‘And as your enquiries seem to be focusing on Americans, wouldn’t you be better served at the US Embassy?’
Laurie was writing in her notepad. ‘“Never heard of him,” ’ she quoted under her breath. Then looking up again, she resumed her smile and ignoring his question said, ‘Sir Christopher, how long have you been a member of the British-American Project for a Successor Generation?’
He face turned to stone.
‘I’m sorry. Do you have an objection to answering?’ she asked. ‘I mean, it’s not classified information, is it?’
‘Of course not, I’m simply curious to know what relevance it has to what we were discussing.’
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out,’ she confessed. ‘You are a member, aren’t you?’
‘I am.’
‘And you do meet regularly with other members, both sides of the Atlantic?’
‘I wouldn’t say regularly, but yes, we meet from time to time.’
‘Have you met recently, to discuss Tom Chambers?’
His head drew back. ‘I am not about to divulge details of meetings that have absolutely nothing to do with you,’ he responded witheringly.
‘So you have discussed Tom Chambers?’
‘That is not what I said.’
Her heart was starting to thud as she glanced down at her notes. ‘But you were with Daniel Allbringer of the US Defense Intelligence Board, in Florida on October 1st and 2nd this year?’ she said.
His face darkened, showing his annoyance at this checking of his movements.
‘You were also in Washington, just after that, attending a meeting with several other members of the British and American intelligence services?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you didn’t discuss Tom Chambers, or the leaked details of a terrorist plot that has Sizewell B as its focus?’
Leaning forward he said, ‘It was not on the agenda, but even if it were, I can assure you, it is not a matter I would be discussing with you.’
‘I see,’ she replied, making a point of writing his answer down again, not because she’d forget, but because she wanted to unsettle him. ‘Mr Allbringer’s considered something of a hawk in his own country, isn’t he?’ she said. ‘No, it’s OK, you don’t have to answer that, it’s a matter of record, as are your own similar views on pre-emptive action.’
The skin round his mouth was starting to pale. ‘Where’s the question, Ms Forbes?’ he demanded.
‘Oh, there are plenty,’ she responded. ‘Perhaps you can tell me how many members of your elite British-American society stand to gain, either financially or politically, by aligning themselves with the neo-conservatives? In fact, what I would really like to know is how deeply the neo-cons are involved, through members of your society, in setting our own political agenda, and to what lengths any of you might go to ensure a continuance of power?’
He was on his feet, face quivering with outrage, but before he could speak she said, ‘Please tell me what you know about the terrorist plot that has fallen into Tom Chambers’s hands.’
His eyes bulged behind their lenses.
‘Have any arrests been made as a result of this plot being uncovered?’ she asked.
He didn’t answer.
‘Is that a yes or a no?’ she prompted.
‘This interview is over,’ he snarled, starting for the door.
‘So a terrorist cell is penetrated, a plot uncovered, and in spite of knowing who’s involved, no arrests are made.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Something’s not right here, Sir Christopher, is it?’
Coming to tower over her, he spoke in a fiercely sibilant voice. ‘You may think you’re clever with all you’ve managed to deduce so far, but let me tell you, you’re jumping to all the wrong conclusions. The information Tom Chambers has is false. It was planted on him by a rogue agent, who is waging a personal vendetta against his own government. The agent concerned is now under arrest.’
‘And this agent would be?’
A quick sharpness in his eyes told her he’d just realized his mistake.
‘The man whose name you’re not familiar with,’ she reminded him.
For a horrible moment she thought he was going to strike her, then quite suddenly his whole demeanour changed. ‘Look,’ he said, assuming a long-suffering, almost avuncular air, ‘I fully appreciate why you and your friends think there’s a story here, but let me assure you, there isn’t. Let me also remind you that Elliot Russell is bound by an agreement to cease all investigative reporting for the period of one year. I don’t believe that time is up.’
‘Do I look like Elliot Russell?’ she said tightly.
As he started to respond the phone rang and snatching it up he listened to the voice at the other end, then said, ‘Thank you,’ and rang off.
‘That was a reminder that I’m already late for my next meeting,’ he told her. ‘However, I want to say this before you go – Elliot Russell is a fine reporter, you both are, so you’re doing yourselves a grave disservice by becoming involved in crackpot conspiracy theories that are never going to hold up under any amount of scrutiny. So I would suggest, if you want to retain the well-deserved credibility you have earned, that you give up on this nonsense now, before your reputations and your careers become damaged beyond repair.’
The unexpected tone of sincerity startled her, and remained with her as she rode the lift down to the ground floor and stepped outside into the chill, windy thoroughfare of Whitehall. It wasn’t that she’d been taken in by it, because she hadn’t. However, it was intriguing her that this was now the second time she’d been warned to safeguard her career.
‘It confirms,’ Elliot responded down the line when she told him, ‘that they’re already planning to do everything they can to discredit Tom, if he goes public with what he has.’
‘Precisely,’ she said, hailing a cab as it turned out of Horseguards.
‘And he claim
s Joshua Shine is under arrest?’ he continued. ‘On what charges?’
‘I don’t know. He didn’t use the name, but it’s definitely who he was talking about.’
‘I’ll get Max on to it. Where are you now?’
‘On my way home. Hang on.’ After giving the driver her address, she jumped into the back of the cab and slammed the door. ‘So, to precis,’ she said, as they merged into the traffic, ‘Sir Christopher now knows everything Tom wants him to know, and he’s definitely worried. More than worried. He also wants me to remind you of your agreement to shut down for a year.’
‘As if I’d forgotten,’ he responded. ‘You sound tired.’
‘Not really, just coming down after the adrenalin rush of challenging someone with the power to destroy me.’
There was a smile in his voice as he said, ‘It’s not going to happen.’
Finding herself wishing he’d be there when she got back, she resisted telling him so and said, ‘I’ll put everything in an email when I get home. Any more news your end?’
‘Nothing you don’t already know.’
‘I’ll talk to you later then.’
‘Sure.’
Neither of them rang off, and as she sat listening to the silence she was imagining him at the other end, the sternness of his expression that covered the pain, the stillness of his body that masked the unrest. She wanted so much to tell him she missed him, because it was how she felt, but then she thought of Nick and her eyes closed in despair.
‘Better go,’ she whispered, and ended the call.
A moment later, as the taxi cut across Trafalgar Square, her phone rang again. She held on to it, staring out of the window, wanting it to be him calling back, but when she looked at the readout it was Katie’s number on the display.
‘How did it go?’ Michelle asked.
‘I’m putting it all in an email to Elliot,’ she answered. ‘I’ll send you a copy, but in a nutshell, when I asked what part the neo-cons are playing on the British political stage I obviously hit a very sore spot.’
‘Interesting,’ Michelle murmured. ‘Did you mention anything about the British-American Successor Generation?’
‘Absolutely. Another hit. God they make me sick with all their exclusive societies, think tanks, top secret projects … It’s all highly suspect if you ask me, downright Masonic even. How to make the very rich even richer, and keep the rest of us in a state of fear, or ignorance or just plain dumb servitude to their billion-dollar empires.’