The Shadow Dancers

by Angus McLean

  ‘And your brothers…sisters?’ Katie prompted. It wasn’t something they had discussed before so she didn’t know what his family make up was.

  ‘One of each. Sister’s a nurse, married with kids. Brother’s a DOC ranger, spends most of his time out in the bush so he doesn’t have to talk to people.’

  ‘Not big on conversation?’

  Moore smiled. ‘Not big on people. I got all the social skills in the family.’

  ‘Gee,’ she said dryly, ‘that was lucky.’

  They were walking up a narrow cobbled side street, approaching a small taverna in a stone building, when Katie made a pssst sound. Moore glanced at her.

  ‘We’re being followed,’ she whispered.

  He nodded briefly and smiled. ‘I know. There’s a guy up ahead in a blue shirt and shades, saw him earlier.’

  ‘And a guy behind us too. White shirt and a moustache.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘What do we do?’

  They were almost level with the tavern now. There was a middle aged man sitting alone at a table, a newspaper spread on his lap. Smoke curled from a cigarette in the ashtray and he had a coffee at hand. He looked up with shrewd dark eyes as they came near. He was close to fifty and running to fat, with weathered features and a hefty moustache. He made eye contact with Moore and gave a crafty smile.

  ‘I think we should ask this guy,’ Moore said.

  He stopped and looked down at the man. The man smiled. Moore looked back and waved to the guy in the white shirt who had been following them. ‘It’s okay,’ he called, ‘we found him. Thanks anyway.’

  He pulled out a chair and sat. The guy in the white shirt stopped further down the street and got out his phone.

  The man at the table looked to Katie, who stood awkwardly, unsure what exactly what was going on. He gestured to the spare chair.

  ‘Please, sit,’ he said in a thick accent. ‘Miss Kathryn.’

  She did as he asked and he surveyed them silently for a long moment before picking up his cigarette and taking a slow drag. He exhaled through his nostrils. Moore thought it made him look like a bad guy in some Steven Seagal B-movie, shortly before Steve and his ponytail kicked a dozen asses and whispered some cool lines.

  ‘Welcome to Crete,’ the man said. ‘My name is Leon.’

  ‘You obviously know who we are,’ Moore said.

  Leon nodded and stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Yes. And what you are.’

  Moore slid his sunglasses up onto his head and waited.

  ‘I understand why you are here,’ Leon said. He reached for his coffee and took a surprisingly delicate sip for such an indelicate-looking man.

  ‘The High Commissioner always brings people with him,’ Moore nodded. ‘Can’t be too careful these days, even in paradise.’ He smiled engagingly.

  Leon gave him the slightest frown, like a teacher with a slightly backwards child. ‘You didn’t listen,’ he said. ‘I said I understand why you are here, yes? It means I know why you are here, Mr Robert Moore.’ His dark eyes studied Moore’s face. ‘Do we understand?’

  Moore studied him back. Clearly the man was no fool. ‘We do,’ he said. ‘You are…police?’

  ‘No, no, no.’ Leon tut-tutted and shook his head. ‘Not police, no. We are…colleagues, you see?’

  Moore nodded slowly. The Greek’s National Intelligence Service was a very experienced and brutally efficient outfit, with access to the second-largest intelligence database in Europe. It wasn’t surprising therefore that they had been rumbled.

  Katie sat back and stayed quiet, letting Moore take the lead. ‘We appreciate you touching base with us,’ Moore said. ‘I have heard many good things about your organisation.’

  ‘And I yours.’ Leon nodded graciously. ‘We have many things in common I believe, one being maintaining the security of our own proud nations. These are troubled times, Mr Robert Moore, and we would all do well to tread carefully.’ His dark eyes probed Moore’s again, before turning to Katie and studying her for a long moment. He reached into his shirt pocket and produced a business card, which he slid across the table.

  Katie picked it up. It simply had a cell phone number printed on it in plain black type.

  ‘I sincerely hope you enjoy your short stay on our island. It has seen much unrest and trouble over time, and your countrymen’s blood has unfortunately been spilled here helping us to defend our honour. I do hope there will be no more of this in the near future.’

  Leon paused again. His meaning was clear. ‘Should you have any questions or…problems, I would like you to call me before you do anything else. Yes?’

  ‘I understand.’ Moore gave a short nod. ‘Thank you for taking the time.’

  Leon nodded sagely, folded his hands over his portly stomach, and looked at them.

  ‘A mule can be a stubborn beast,’ he said carefully. ‘They do not always want to drive the cart for the farmer, you see. We have found the old ways are usually the most effective. When the mule does not want to drive the cart, the farmer must dangle a carrot in front of its nose. This makes the mule move forward to get the carrot. It makes the mule behave nicely, you see.’

  His dark eyes crinkled and the hefty moustache wriggled like a black caterpillar.

  ‘But mules are not always smart,’ he continued. ‘So the farmer must also carry a stick. If the mule decides it does not want to do as it is told, well…’ He shrugged expressively. ‘That is what the stick is for, you see?’

  Moore smiled and chuckled.

  ‘Yes, I understand where you’re coming from,’ he said. ‘I’ve always been a fan of carrots myself.’

  Leon gave a low harrumph.

  ‘Of that I am pleased.’ He drained his coffee, slapped the table top and stood. ‘It has been a pleasure,’ he said. He shook hands with them both. ‘Enjoy your stay. I look forward to not seeing you again.’

  ‘Likewise.’

  He stepped out and walked down towards the waterfront. The guy in the white shirt fell into step with him. The guy in the blue shirt, further up the slope, had disappeared.

  Moore turned to Katie.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s our welcoming committee.’

  ‘He seemed nice,’ she said with more than hint of sarcasm. ‘Pretty hung up on livestock though.’

  ‘You’re fairly stubborn,’ he observed. ‘Maybe you’re the mule?’

  ‘Huh,’ she snorted. ‘I guess that makes you the horse’s arse then?’

  Chapter Forty Nine

  They reached the hotel with an hour to go. Katie stripped off and grabbed the first shower, while Moore took Jedi’s hint and shaved. He dried his face and peered round the corner into the shower.

  ‘Pervert,’ Katie said, wiping water from her face and sweeping her hair back.

  ‘I confess,’ he agreed, tugging his pants down. ‘You got me on that one, copper.’

  He stepped into the shower with her and put his hands around her waist, pulling her to him. She leaned up and kissed him quickly before pushing back and taking the soap.

  ‘No time for this,’ she said, ‘so behave yourself.’

  She used the soap to build up a foamy lather in his chest hair, then turned him round and washed his back too.

  ‘There. Done.’ She put the soap back on the dish.

  ‘What about the rest?’

  She grinned impishly. ‘I think you can manage that yourself. I’m getting out.’

  ‘But you’re still dirty.’ He scratched at an imaginary mark on her shoulder. ‘I’ll help you.’

  He took the soap and washed the “mark” away, then moved on to washing her chest. She didn’t protest when he slipped his soapy hand across her breasts, dwelling on each nipple until it hardened beneath his palm. She pressed closer to him, and he turned her to the wall.

  ‘Let me wash your back,’ he said softly, rubbing the bar of soap over her shoulder blades, then down her back to her hips. She leaned forward and pushed back against him, feeling him rising
against her buttocks.

  Moore ditched the soap and shifted his feet for a better angle.

  He hoped the hot water wouldn’t run out.

  Ingoe had snagged a double suite on the top floor of the Majestic, using it both for himself and as a briefing room.

  When Moore and Katie arrived they found the Masoes and Ingoe with a pair of fit-looking guys in dark suits who had bodyguard written all over them. Another man stood with them, sipping a coffee and watching them as they entered.

  He was average height and stocky, with greying hair and a goatee.

  Moore ignored them all and motioned for Ingoe to follow him. He held the door open until Ingoe had joined him in the bedroom. Like anything that Ingoe touched the room was neat as a pin with everything in its place.

  ‘We got rumbled in town,’ he informed the Ops Officer.

  Jedi’s eyes twinkled with amusement, and he even cracked what may have been a smile. ‘Fat guy called Leon?’

  ‘That’s him. Why am I not surprised you already knew?’

  Jedi gave a modest shrug. ‘I’ve met him before. That, and he knocked on my door about thirty seconds after I checked in. Did he give you the carrot and stick tale?’

  ‘Katie found it highly amusing.’

  ‘Huh. There’s nothing amusing about that man, believe me. He’s been with the NIS forever, and they’re an outfit you tangle with at your peril. I figured he’d probably tap you two as well.’

  ‘A heads up might’ve been good,’ Moore said, feeling he’d been played.

  ‘What was the point? It was going to happen anyway, and it wasn’t like he’d haul you away in handcuffs. It was a good test for young Katie-she’s used to being on the other side.’

  Moore eyed him suspiciously. ‘What, are you looking to recruit her?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Jedi’s poker face came back, all signs of humour gone. ‘Always looking, you know that. Good operators are a rare breed. She seems to be doing alright so far.’

  Moore couldn’t dispute that, and felt a stab of petty jealousy. It wasn’t like he had any claim on the young detective, but it still irked him that plans were being made for her without any input from him. Jedi was watching him closely.

  ‘So what exactly is going on with you two?’ he enquired. ‘Is it serious or situational?’

  Moore felt his cheeks get hot. ‘Does it matter?’ he tried.

  Ingoe’s face got harder. ‘Yes it matters, or I wouldn’t be asking. It matters if you drop your guard because you’re worried about your girlfriend, and it matters if you’re not thinking straight because you’re thinking about nailing her instead.’ His hard eyes probed Moore’s. ‘So yeah, it fuckin’ matters.’

  Moore took a moment to get a grip on himself before replying. ‘Honestly, I don’t know. It could be something or not.’

  It felt awkward talking about his feelings with another bloke. They were two battle-hardened SAS soldiers talking like lovesick teenagers. Moore wanted the ground to swallow him up and make the moment disappear forever.

  ‘Rob, listen.’ Jedi’s tone was softer now. ‘I know you’ve had a shit time of it and things are getting on top of you. This is your chance to prove yourself to yourself again. I know you’re up to it. The Director knows you’re up to it.’ He paused, then jabbed Moore firmly in the chest with a finger. ‘You need to believe in yourself, and get your mojo back mate. Don’t let anything else cloud your focus on the job. Yeah?’

  Moore nodded mutely. His cheeks were burning but Jedi’s words struck a chord with him. He knew the other man was right. The drinking, Michelle, his angst over Danni, all the other stupid shit he’d been doing. He’d lost his groove, and he couldn’t afford to.

  He knew the drill; Jedi had spoken to him about it now, so that was it. No second chances. If he fucked this up he was gone. He may as well go and pack his bags. He shook his head, a thousand thoughts running through it. No way. No goddamn way. Not after all he’d fought for through the years. He wasn’t going to be some nobody on a scrapheap, burned out and washed up and thrown aside for a younger, faster model. Fuck that.

  He looked to Jedi, meeting his gaze.

  ‘All good,’ he said quietly.

  Jedi nodded once, slapped him on the shoulder and opened the door. The talking was over.

  They re-joined the others, and Moore noticed the man with the goatee studying him across the room while he sipped from a cup of tea.

  Moore dropped his jacket on the back of a sofa, extending his hand to the man.

  ‘Rob Moore,’ he said.

  The man’s grip was firm.

  ‘Mark Gutry,’ he replied with a nod.

  He had watchful green eyes behind wire rimmed glasses and wore a charcoal suit.

  ‘Mark is from NAB,’ Ingoe said, ‘he’s here for some liaison with our foreign friends.’

  Moore nodded. The National Assessments Bureau was a very small intelligence agency which fell under the umbrella of the Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet, mainly focussing on collating and analysing intelligence on other nations. He wondered if the man’s presence was somehow linked to Paul Oldham’s situation, or whether it truly was just a liaison visit. He decided there was no point in asking.

  ‘Chris and Alex,’ Ingoe continued, introducing the two Personal Protection Officers. ‘They’re with the Minister.’

  There was another round of hand shaking before Ingoe began the briefing. Utilising his laptop he showed them the floor plan of the hotel they would be at, including vantage points, exits and planned escape routes if things went pear-shaped.

  The lead PPO, Chris, ran through the planned movements for the dignitaries and Ingoe ended with an intel update. This consisted of the theories around Natalie’s disappearance and the Parker kid’s death, which was all news to both Vince and Nga and the two PPOs.

  ‘Hence the need to boost the security,’ Ingoe concluded. He looked around the assembled faces. ‘I know it’s unlikely to amount to anything but we’re in the business of risk management. Any questions?’

  There were none, so after a time check the two cops and the Masoes departed to collect their respective principals. Moore decided to give the NAB man a nudge and see what he could shake loose.

  ‘So Mark,’ he said, slipping his suit jacket on, ‘what’s the real reason you’re here?’

  Gutry shrugged nonchalantly. ‘My role is liaision with the other agencies, so it’s good to come to events like this where there’s always a few of my peers floating about.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Moore looked and sounded unconvinced.

  Gutry glanced at Ingoe who gave an almost imperceptible flick of his chin. Gutry put his hands in his pockets and considered his words carefully before continuing.

  ‘It would be fair to say that the PM is also concerned about the situation with Mr Oldham and his daughter. I’m just keeping a bit of a watching brief.’

  ‘So you have concerns over the Minister himself,’ Moore pressed, ‘or is it just the situation with Natalie?’

  Gutry paused again before answering. He was obviously a man adept at information control.

  ‘The concerns are not over the Minister himself, no,’ he replied carefully.

  ‘So what aren’t you telling us?’ Katie wanted to know.

  Gutry took his hands out of his pockets and opened them expressively while he spoke.

  ‘Look guys, I appreciate it’s annoying when you think info’s being withheld from you…’

  ‘Which it is,’ Katie cut in.

  Gutry’s cool green eyes flickered.

  ‘You have to appreciate there are certain things that I’m not allowed to disclose to you, and you may not like it, but unfortunately that’s the way it is.’ He looked apologetic. ‘If I could tell you, I would. It always makes sense to share as much info as we can to get the job done-we’re all in the same game, after all.’

  Ingoe stepped forward now, taking the lead back. ‘Guys, you know as much as we can tell you, and pushing harder ain�
�t gunna change that. Believe me, if there was something you needed to know, then you would know.’ He looked between them. ‘Okay? Right, we need to get cracking. We’ve still got a job to do.’

  Chapter Fifty

  The cocktail evening was held in the ballroom of a plush hotel just outside Chania itself, an ancient stone building converted into a hotel.

  It perched on the lip of a cliff overlooking the sea, with spectacular views. The waves crashed onto the rocks far below, foaming white in the evening light. The odd light bobbed at sea as fishing boats returned to harbour.

  Various dignitaries and Government officials were in attendance, along with a select number of tour members with deep enough pockets.

  The ballroom had been decorated with art, wall tapestries and candelabra, and tables covered in white linen held canapes and drinks. Red-coated wait staff circulated with trays and collected glasses.

  Moore had to admit it was impressive, but the most impressive thing for him was the sight of the handful of elderly veterans being treated like royalty. There was no more than a dozen of them there, all around ninety or more, hunched and wrinkled but looking sharp in their dinner suits adorned with shiny medals.

  He watched a couple of old boys laughing as they listened to a tale being retold by another vet, their eyes twinkling as they laughed like schoolboys. He recognised the service medals they wore, acknowledging their service in different theatres of war. One proudly wore a Military Medal on his now sunken chest.

  ‘You pretty much get medals for turning up to work in the military,’ he confided to Katie as they stood off to the side, trying to remain unobtrusive. ‘Even a bloke who spends his whole career folding blankets in Waiouru or a chef in a field kitchen is going to get some gongs. But these guys are different-most of their shiny stuff is for actually serving in theatres of combat. There’s one bloke over there with a Military Medal, which is for bravery.’ He shook his head with admiration. ‘These guys are the real deal, Katie.’