Trust would not come easily.
They reached the end of the long corridor at the back of the Scotland Yard building. A high security reinforced door opened onto a small inner courtyard; the back door of the prison van was already thrown open. Henry got into the vehicle without looking at Pole. The van door slammed shut and Henry was on his way back to HSU Belmarsh.
Pole almost felt sorry for him. He ruffled his goatee and stayed in the yard to watch the van pass through the heavy gate that led to the street. An icy gust of wind made him shiver. He walked back through the corridor and towards the room where Nancy and Marissa were debriefing about what Henry had said. Pole had noticed a nascent shadow on Henry’s face. Henry did not seem the sort to grow a beard. A silly idea, of course; why should he not?
No, Henry was close shaven, clean-cut, the blade doing its job close to his jaw and close to his throat. It seemed important and yet Pole could not make it out yet.
* * *
The door had shut behind them. Nancy had barely said goodbye to Henry. It felt inappropriate to demonstrate their closeness in front of Marissa.
Marissa had been outstandingly controlled. Not a hint of nerves or anger, after what she had just gone through. Remarkable. Her eyes had followed the two men leaving the room, her heavy frame tilted forward, ready to follow them. Nancy cleared her throat. Marissa’s body twitched, awoken from her concentration.
“What do you think?” Nancy asked, moving to the chair Pole had occupied next to Marissa.
“Very bright. Not what I expected – intelligent of course; I thought he would be – but not as brash or arrogant as I had anticipated.”
“You think you can work with Henry, despite …” Nancy hesitated. Should she bring terrorism into the conversation? She, who never shied away from the hard questions, was uncertain.
“Despite his IRA connections?” Marissa asked. “You look surprised Nancy. Wasn’t it you who taught me to ask the tough questions?”
“It seems the pupil has exceeded the master.” Nancy laughed, joining fist and outstretched hand in the sign of a Kung Fu master.
Marissa hesitated and joined Nancy in a giggle; it was nice to be a little less serious.
“I’m not so sure about that but I’m glad you feel that way nevertheless.” Marissa carried on smiling. “And to answer your question, I can’t deny it, it is unnerving to be working with a former IRA operative. But now that I’ve met him …”
“I’m glad of it. He will deliver what he has promised.”
“I have no doubt about it. He is – on a mission.” Marissa’s face became thoughtful.
Nancy nodded. Henry was dedicated, almost obsessed with the idea of redemption. A subject he spoke regularly about. But Marissa had put her finger on something new. Something had moved in Henry’s attitude. Nancy could not quite fathom what, unless she took his letter at face value.
Marissa’s voice came back into focus. “… burner phone might be difficult.”
“But we won’t leave the phone with him all the time and we may even be able to limit his access.”
“You mean narrow it to a specific country?”
“For example.”
“A good idea. Still …”
Pole knocked and walked in. Nancy smiled as she turned in his direction. He had stopped inside the door frame, making sure he was not interrupting an important conversation.
“Come in; it is your interrogation room after all.” Marissa said.
“Just making sure I’m not intruding on something essential.” Pole smiled. “You may have been talking fashion or hairstyles.”
“That is so not PC.” Marissa chuckled. Her smile broadened to uncover a small gap in the middle of a set of otherwise perfect teeth.
“Then what? Henry’s long list of must-haves?”
“That’s more like it.” Marissa kept smiling.
“Superintendent Marsh is going to have a fit,” Pole mused. “I like it.”
“Perhaps I should be the one asking?” Nancy’s eyes sparkled, teasing him.
“Not a chance.” Pole crossed his arms. “I am keeping my powder dry for a better occasion.”
“You mean there will be a better occasion than asking Marsh to let Henry have a phone?”
“Absolutely. No doubt. Obvious.” Pole replied almost serious.
“Am I missing something glaring?” Marissa questioned, amused.
“Hardly.” Pole gestured dismissively and came to sit at the table. “Going back to the case, how much are you prepared to disclose to him?”
“I’m not sure yet. Let’s see how he gets on with what he’s been given so far.”
Pole dropped his head forward a fraction. Considering.
“What if he needs to meet with Mark Phelps?”
The room stood still for a moment. Nancy felt her stomach drop at the memory of her meeting with Mark.
“I’ve spoken to Mark myself. He’s had time to think.” Marissa aligned a paperclip on the wad of documents in front of her.
“Has he changed his mind?” Pole sounded dubious.
“Somewhat. He can see that Henry is the right person to help deliver the evidence for the case.”
Nancy felt almost relieved but there was a chill in Marissa’s tone. “If he simply does not want to deal with him directly it should be workable, but is there something else?”
“There is. Mark wants to meet Henry, just once, to talk about his involvement with the IRA.”
A deep intake of air came from Pole. Nancy was mildly surprised. How strange? Perhaps this is what she had felt when she had spoken to him. The need to make sense of it all. The need for a confrontation with his tormentor. It brought victims some release, made it easier for them to move forward.
Nancy felt two pairs of eyes on her waiting for her reply. She was Henry’s principle contact. What would he say?
Accept? Refuse?
“Maybe this is a good way for Henry to atone?” Pole said, serious. No banter about Henry’s famous need for redemption. Something he liked to tease Nancy about every time she brought the subject up.
“Maybe.” Nancy could genuinely not decide. Henry’s desire to make amends was to be on his own terms, he would choose how and when to do so. Would the Henry-in-control-of-his-destiny agree to see a victim – not his victim, but nevertheless a victim of terrorism? A terrible reminder of the depth of his failure. “I need to think about how I approach him about this.” She spoke slowly, beginning to gauge what it would take.
“Otherwise …” Marissa let the sentence hang. It was not a threat, simply fact. It was Mark Phelps’ price for assisting with the investigation.
“We understand,” Pole said.
Marissa stood up, wincing as she did so. She rubbed her back and opened her satchel, methodically pushing her papers into it.
“Henry is due to come back tomorrow morning first thing. Belmarsh likes to get him through their gates before the other inmates are allowed out.”
Marissa nodded. “I’ll be here.”
* * *
He stood arms stretched, legs apart – a vulnerable position he had learned to cope with. The prison officer frisked him, ran a metal detector up and down his body. Henry turned around to complete the check. He was only through gate three. Another five to go before he reached the inside of HSU Belmarsh where he could move a little more freely. The journey back from Scotland Yard was always a deflating experience – as he had learned the last time he had been allowed out. Today had been particularly testing. The guards that had been around when MI6 first made contact were the same and yet they had behaved as if nothing had happened. Henry’s mind was racing. He had to find a way to deliver the Ultimate Beneficial Owner of the Panama fund structure. He had been restless through the entire return trip at the thought of the plan coming together, at Kamal – Abu Maeraka’
s – words. He was also concerned. Henry would be allowed only minimum contact with inmates from now on. Still, he could not be denied a shower or gym time. And he needed to have the conversation, not about Abu Maeraka’s ploy for escaping, but about Nancy – no one must target her or the deal was off.
The usual metallic sound almost startled him. It was another door being opened. The routine checks started all over again. How many times did you need to frisk someone to be sure he was not carrying anything on his body? The thought of smuggling something inside his backside had felt repulsive to start with but what would he now accept should his freedom depend on it? Suddenly the idea did not sound so distressing after all. Henry almost smiled. Give him another ten years and he might consider it a perfectly good option.
Henry stopped before the final door. It was almost 7pm and dinner was now available. He was asked to move into a small room; he would be brought some food, almost certainly cold and barely edible. But, hell, he had been allowed out, yes out. He would gladly eat a piece of cardboard if it meant he could keep visiting the outside world.
The officers had left him on his own. He started shaking again, a tremor born from excitement and danger. Henry stood up and stretched his tall body. It felt heavy and muscular.
“Be ready,” Abu Maeraka had said. He was. He wanted to shout the words in his throat building up to a roar.
Henry stretched again. Could he ask to go to the gym? The concern for Nancy dripped over his enthusiasm like ice from a thawing tree.
The small spy window carved into the door opened and closed almost instantly. Another inmate stepped in carrying a tray. Not someone Henry knew, even by sight. There was no eye contact; the guard was surveying the young man’s every move. As he placed the small tray on the table, the young man brushed aside the small paper napkin that had been hurriedly placed on top of a plastic spoon. The paper towel dropped to the floor.
Henry froze. The young man mumbled an apology, picked up the napkin and disappeared as quickly as he had come. The door banged shut after him.
Such a clumsy gesture and yet such an important one. Was Abu Maeraka speaking? Be ready.
Or could it have been a genuine mistake? Henry replayed the scene in his mind. The very slow movements to place the tray on the table, the young man’s hand trembling as he brushed the napkin away, his back hiding his movements from the guard – too deliberate. Big K had warned Henry. Abu Maeraka was building an army, his influence growing stronger every day. But wherever the young man came from, HSU or main compound, the message was clear … Be ready.
Henry looked at the unappetising-looking pizza on his plate – a piece of cardboard, hey. He wolfed it down. It was fuel for a purpose.
* * *
Nancy and Marissa had left. Andy wanted a word. Marsh, The Super, wanted him – now. But he would have to wait his turn. Pole locked the door of his office and actioned the security pad that required a code to open it. The latest in security measures. His second mobile phone was ringing. He hesitated, but what was the point in delaying. He needed to speak to Harris anyway.
“Harris,” Pole kept his voice bland, no sign of anger, none of anticipation.
“Inspector Pole.” Harris was waiting. He held all the cards, at least for the time being. Pole clenched his jaw.
“He has made a number of demands. In particular, one for a mobile phone.” Pole elaborated further and gave Harris the details.
“A phone, good. Just make sure you limit the range and we will do the rest.”
“Right,” Pole replied. Harris seemed to have anticipated Henry’s request or had he suggested it?
“How has Marsh reacted?”
“I am about to have that conversation.” Pole’s voice took on a stubborn edge. He would not be pushed to discuss every step of the enquiry whether Harris liked it or not.
“Don’t worry, Marsh is far too keen on his new high-profile case and he will be delighted to know Ms Wu is involved.” The tease was hardly bearable.
Pole did not reply, torn between giving Harris a piece of his mind and terminating the call. “My secret weapon. Marsh will never say no to her.”
Pole could hear the smile in Harris’ voice, good shot it said. “I gather.”
“How far are you with Crowne?” Pole asked.
“As much as I would like to show you the big picture, Inspector Pole, I am afraid I can’t discuss with you the —”
Pole interrupted bluntly. “Harris, don’t give me that bull. This is not the first time I’ve worked with MI6 so don’t piss me off unnecessarily.”
“I genuinely can’t tell you.” Harris sounded serious. “But I can tell you that I will keep Ms Wu and Ms Campbell safe.”
“Now somehow that does not give me the warm glow it is supposed to,” Pole replied. “Since you have mentioned Ms Wu perhaps you can tell me where your investigation into her father’s disappearance is at?”
“It is China and it was thirty years ago – very little has surfaced so far, a few cuttings on him as an artist and that is about it, and yes, before you ask, I am trying.”
“You are trying, Agent Harris, I am glad even you admit that.” Pole had moved to his desk, pleased with his pun. “Any timeline?”
Harris sounded interested enough in finding out more about Nancy’s father. Pole asked a few more questions. Harris replied patiently and Pole wondered …
“Do you have any particular interest in Mr Wu?” Pole was unexpectedly direct. He was listening. There was a short intake of breath, a slight hold and release. Harris’ voice remained even.
“None that I can think of but I will let you know if that changes,” Harris carried on. “Before you go, Inspector Pole, it would be good if you could arrange for Crowne to be on his own tomorrow between eleven and noon.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Pole hung up and threw the mobile on his desk. He slumped into his chair. Dealing with MI6 meant that he would never be one step ahead. There were too many moving parts he could not see, was not told about. As for being kept safe – Pole’s experience told him otherwise. He was certain Harris would choose the security of his asset over and above that of Nancy or Marissa.
Pole’s mobile rang. He grunted.
“I’m on my way Denise.”
“The great man is waiting for you. Impatiently.”
“I am walking as we speak.”
“No, you are still at your desk wondering how to get what you want from him.” Denise’s voice had a cheerful tone that Pole trusted.
“Can’t fool you, can I?”
“No. You have two minutes to materialise in front of his door.”
“Now, I am walking.”
* * *
Marsh was outside his office speaking to his PA, Denise, when Pole arrived. Pole slowed down in the hope The Super would walk into his office without noticing him but was out of luck. Marsh straightened up and looked towards Pole over his half-moon glasses. He waited for his DCI to approach and walked into his office without a word. Denise rolled her eyes. Pole moved an eyebrow up but there was no time for pleasantries. The great man was waiting.
“The latest please?” Marsh asked as he sat down behind his desk. Pole resisted the urge to ask him which case he wanted to discuss; he needed to convince Marsh about the phone.
“The first meeting with Crowne was a success. I think the SFO prosecutor is impressed and convinced he can help.”
“You think or she is?”
“She is.”
Marsh shot Pole a look. “Timetable?”
“A series of daily meetings for the next three days. There is a lot to go through and the SFO needs to speed up the information gathering phase. They are willing to support Crowne in facilitating his requests.”
Marsh suddenly moved forward in his leather chair. “What does Crowne want that is contentious then?” His voice showed that
he was weighing up the impact of a dangerous situation. No matter how much Pole disliked Marsh for his brusqueness and political ambition, he was a clever man.
“Top of the list – a burner phone.” Pole gave it to Marsh straight, there was no need to be subtle with him.
Marsh’s eyebrows rose and stayed like that until he had sat back in his chair.
“I see. And the SFO is willing to support this?”
“As long as we limit the range of the phone.”
Marsh nodded. “Which destination?”
“Panama.”
“I don’t like it but you and the SFO are going to tell me that there is no other way, right?”
“Right.”
“What does Ms Wu think?” Marsh’s eyes moved away from Pole for a short moment. Pole straightened up a little. “She also believes it is not ideal —”
“Of course,” Marsh interrupted. “Perhaps we can discuss options.”
“I am not certain you will —”
“I’ll ask Denise to arrange a meeting,” Marsh interrupted again. “Please let Ms Wu know.”
“Shall I tell the SFO we have a delay?” Pole made a final attempt.
“No. But let them know I need a second opinion.”
Pole left a few minutes later. Perhaps Nancy could pretend she had a headache. A permanent one at the thought of meeting The Super.
Chapter Seventeen
“I suppose it would be too much to ask to be allowed gym time or even fifteen minutes on the rowing machine?” Henry asked as he was walking alongside one of the officers.
The small podgy man smiled. “Don’t push it. You’ve been allowed out, right?”
“That doesn’t mean I was able to run a marathon along the banks of the Thames, John.”
“A good set of press-ups in your cell should do the trick.” John was still amused. He had been working in HSU Belmarsh for almost two years. His time was due to end soon, much to Henry’s regret. John had managed to be pleasant without compromising the Sacro Saint Dicta of HSU – “Thou Shall Not Fraternise With The Cons.”
“Perhaps a shower after the set of press-ups, then?” Henry twisted his nose. “I don’t want to offend my Scotland Yard colleagues with a good dose of BO and give Belmarsh a bad reputation.”
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