‘Any ideas?’
She huffed. ‘I might need a minute on that. Possibly a year. Is Fowkes confusing this with another similar incident? Or using the chance discovery of a skeleton to scare Sandford? Or is there a totally different explanation?’
‘You tell me.’
‘At least we know Fowkes is not flying solo. That creates three possibilities. One, he is in control and the one with the plan, the others are back-up. Two, they are equal collaborators. Three, those others are using him.’
‘Keep going, I’m tired.’
‘What is Fowkes trying to achieve? Power? Some kind of vengeance? Money?’
‘Unlikely with him. He’s never shown any interest.’
‘Ideology?’
‘Which goes with power. He assumed Morland-Cross would be his front man. But he turned out to be malleable in a way he never expected.’ Quine sighed. ‘If only we knew what was said in those conversations between Fowkes and Morland-Cross.’
‘We would if Sandford had allowed my organization in from the outset and bugged them,’ said Isla.
‘Whatever it was made Jed think M-C needed to be killed.’
‘Not necessarily. It may just have been an attempt to frighten him and bring him back on board. But it went wrong. Or he resisted. So they set up the self-asphyxiation.’
‘Skilled work,’ said Quine.
‘Yes, but doable by two strong professionals who know how not to leave bruises. You don’t need much gear. Ligature, plastic bag and something to stuff in his mouth.’
‘God, what a world.’
‘Finally,’ said Isla, ‘there are the two most dangerous scenarios of all.’
‘It gets worse?’
‘The first we mentioned before. Fowkes is collaborating with foreign governments or agencies to damage this country.’
‘Or?’
‘We’re facing some kind of attempted coup. Whether internal or external. But it feels different. You don’t need to depose a leader, you just need to control his mind and actions.’
‘You’re scaring me, Isla.’
‘But we’re in the game,’ she said, ignoring him. ‘At all costs, Fowkes mustn’t know the skeleton’s not Andrea. We have to see how far he wants to go.’
Sandford was only mildly cheered by Quine’s appearance at Archbishop’s Park in brand-new jogging gear. He suspected the email had been worded to reassure him; if so, it had not worked. He dreaded the report back from Hungary. The chances of disproving Fowkes’s story seemed as remote as ever – it would dog him for the rest of his life.
He stopped at the gate, the security detail hanging behind as usual. ‘Good morning, Joe, ready to go?’
‘Not sure I can run and talk at the same time.’
‘We’ll do half a circuit.’
They stopped at a different bench, less discreet. Quine had a sense of Sandford tiring of the security, desperate to recapture his freedom. With a shadow like this hanging over him, the oppression must be stifling.
‘Tell me about Budapest.’
Quine told the full story without interruption. ‘Thanks,’ Sandford said. ‘So I didn’t kill this poor girl.’ He spoke bitterly. ‘But I raped her and made her pregnant. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Did you?’ asked Quine sharply.
He turned on him fiercely. ‘For Christ’s sake, what do you think I am?’ Quine stayed silent. ‘Sorry, you’re right, it’s a question I have to address. For my own sake if no one else’s. I have to find another explanation.’ He paused. ‘There has to be one.’
‘Have you spoken to the Cabinet Secretary about Fowkes’s covert visit to the IPRM office and his presence during the car chase that followed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you ask him to bring in MI5 officially?’
Sandford shifted uncomfortably. ‘No, I still thought it best to wait till you were back.’
‘There’s enough to go on. There’ll be no issue about the Home Secretary issuing a warrant for electronic surveillance.’
‘He’ll enjoy that,’ said Sandford sourly. ‘He might jump in his chair but he was always an enemy of M-C and he loathes Fowkes.’
There was one more button Quine had wondered whether or not to push. It was as much out of curiosity as anything else that he did.
‘Robbie, shouldn’t you now tell the security service, perhaps even the police, about Jed’s allegation? He’s been shown to have lied. Anything else he claims will also be assumed to be a lie. Whatever happened to Andrea in the flat will never be more than Jed’s story. Andrea’s sister’s story will stay in Hungary and never constitute legal evidence. You’re off the Andrea hook.’
Sandford seemed suddenly agitated. ‘No, I can’t. Ever.’ He leant forward and stared blankly at a clump of trees. ‘Anyway you’re wrong. How can I ever be off that hook?’
45
‘I’ve been sent back in,’ said Isla.
‘What!’ Quine exclaimed. ‘Or, rather, where?’
‘My desk at the Treasury.’
‘That’s crazy.’
‘Actually, the way my boss worked it out, it made sense.’
Isla described how she and her head of desk, whom she named as ‘James’, had spent the morning analysing every angle. The overriding problem he identified was that Fowkes would now be on his guard. They needed him to make a big enough error to nail him. By this he meant sufficient to have him expelled from the Treasury as a security risk and discredited. The latter was the priority. Criminal charges could come later if they were warranted.
James interrogated her about the exchange of glances with Fowkes in the Mayfair street of IPRM’s head office.
‘Did he definitely ID you?’
‘He appeared to catch my eye.’
‘But you were parked some way down the street.’
‘Yes, seventy-five metres or so. Maybe more.’
From this James concluded that there was only one way to relax Fowkes. ‘You see, it’s no good replacing you with someone else. Fowkes will smell a very large rat. So we have to assume,’ he told Isla, ‘that while Fowkes might have believed he saw you in the car, he has no concrete evidence. You yourself are the best person to reassure him. You need to be in regular contact with him. Smile at him. Say hello when you have the chance. Never follow him. Always be in your seat when he returns. He’ll begin to doubt himself. Because if you really were tracking him, you’d have to stay out of his sight for ever more. Wouldn’t you? So what we need, before it’s too late, is to return you to the lion’s den. Get you back in your Treasury seat. Right now. And then, however long it takes, when the moment comes – you’ll sense it – then you move. Then you follow. Then he must not see you.’
‘So how was it?’ asked Quine.
‘Squeaky,’ Isla replied. ‘And unreal. As if I was on a film set.’ She saw him notice the bandage on her right wrist. ‘I thought it might help. Make it seem I’d had some kind of injury. Had to take a few hours off. The woman who sits beside me spotted it. “Fell off my bike,” I whispered.’
‘Smart.’ Quine was coming to enjoy each new Isla ruse.
‘You always need a story. You know that. Even if it’s as weak and cobbled together as this one.’
‘And Fowkes?’
‘Showed at five. God knows what he’d been doing. But at least I was there. He flicked a glance in my direction just as he was opening his office door. His expression was utter mystification.’
‘And you?’
‘I saw him come in – I’m sure he didn’t spot me at that point – and glued my face to my screen. At the opportune moment, I looked up, made it seem I’d just happened to catch his eye and gave him a sweet smile. He returned it with a twitch of the mouth.’
‘The other Spad?’
‘You mean Thomasina?’ He nodded. ‘I assume she’s out.’
‘Mourning the man she’d thought would make her a star,’ said Quine.
‘She was using him,’ said Isla. ‘Five thirty,
’ she continued, ‘he went next door to see the new Chancellor. The bugs went in last night. It must have been their first meeting since Morland-Cross’s death. Want to listen?’
‘Am I allowed?’ he asked.
She laughed. ‘Don’t ask.’
She inserted a stick into her computer, allowed a few seconds, clicked on an icon and upped the volume.
JED FOWKES: Welcome, Chancellor.
MARGARET LASCELLES: Thank you, Jed.
The opening words were followed by rustling and footsteps, indicating her rising to shake his hand and both sitting down at a meeting table.
ML:Hardly the circumstances anyone might have wanted. I was enjoying my role as Leader of the House but I felt I couldn’t refuse the Prime Minister.
JF:I’m glad you didn’t. However terrible it all is.
ML:Jed, I’m greatly hoping that you’ll stay on as my special adviser.
(A short silence.)
JF:I don’t know, Margaret. It feels raw right now.
ML:I understand. It doesn’t have to be permanent. Perhaps if you could tide me over for the next three months at least. Then see how you feel.
JF:Who else are you thinking of bringing in?
ML:No one. No one else knows this place as well as you. And how to work the civil servants.
JF:In broad terms, how do you see it panning out?
ML:I need a minimum three months’ lead-in time. I’ll follow your advice and the policies you wish to implement.
JF:That’s very generous.
ML:It’s not generosity. It’s practicality. And it assumes that you would want to bring about the radical changes that you and M-C – and others, including me, of course – always spoke of.
(A longer silence.)
JF:Does the Prime Minister understand this?
ML:My reading is that he wants it.
JF:He didn’t always.
ML:Indeed. M-C’s death has had a huge impact. He feels he owes this to him. And, I suspect, it has reminded him of what he entered politics to achieve. That we weren’t doing this just to compromise once we had power.
JF:Yes. I’m often sad about the trimming and tacking.
ML:Not now. The future is ours to take. Only a week to go to the Royal Speech. The Prime Minister told me he wants to work hand-in-glove with you personally to finalize it. He intends it to be our blueprint for the next four years.
JF:He said that?
ML:He was most emphatic about it.
JF (after a long pause): Margaret, Chancellor, I am delighted to accept your offer.
‘Sandford’s laying a trap,’ Quine said. ‘I don’t know what it is. He’s keeping it close. Not a word to me.’ He is also playing one hell of a risky game, he thought to himself. He had better be able to control its ending. ‘What happened then?’
‘I heard a movement of chairs, guessed the conversation was over and I started packing up my stuff. I wanted him to see me leave as he was walking back to his office. To know I wasn’t waiting for him. I couldn’t risk searching for any expression on his face. I left without a single glance behind.’
‘Are you OK?’
‘None of us are machines. I was twitchy. Waiting for the tap on the shoulder. Not a big deal.’
‘You don’t need to do this.’
‘I do. It’s what we’re paid to do.’ She looked at the stick. ‘They’ve got all this back at Thames House now. That’s not what I’m there for any more. I’m just the honeypot.’ She breathed deeply. ‘Oh, one more thing. There’s someone you should try to see. He’s more clued up than anyone on those unholy alliances you mentioned.’ She passed him a card with a name and phone number.
‘He never talks to journalists,’ said Quine. ‘I’ve tried a few times. Always turned me down.’
‘Wrong,’ she replied. ‘He never talks to political journalists. He occasionally talks to a certain type of security correspondent. You know, the ones who sniff MI5’s bum and print what they’re told. But you’re neither now. You’re a historian exploring a changing world three decades back. He might just bite.’
Quine’s phone rang. An unrecognized number. ‘Hello.’
‘Is that Mr Q?’
‘Mrs T, how nice to hear from you. I’m so sorry, my phone didn’t recognize the number.’
‘Yes. Well, I’m phoning from a neighbour.’
‘Oh?’
‘I thought it might be safer.’
Quine felt a sudden fear. ‘Has something happened?’
‘Nothing to worry about. No one’s hurt or anything.’
‘Do go on.’
She hesitated. Unlike her, he thought. ‘There’s something I think you should know. There was a break-in at the house when I was out shopping this afternoon.’
Oh no, thought Quine, surely not. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said as calmly as he could, ‘that’s horrible. Very frightening for you to come back and discover it.’ He held his tongue. He must allow her to speak and not show alarm.
‘Well, it was a bit of shock at first, but I’m all right now. I just wanted you to know. And also to say,’ he sensed her putting her lips next to the mouthpiece, ‘everything’s all right. If you see what I mean,’ she whispered. ‘I thought better to use another phone. Just in case.’
‘That’s extremely clever of you, Mrs T.’ Relief surged through him. ‘Yes, do be careful on your own phone. I’ll make sure the right people check it’s not been tampered with.’
‘I’d be most grateful.’
‘No, it’s me who should be grateful. Did they take anything else?’
She chuckled. ‘There’s nothing of any value. Mind you, the place is all topsy-turvy and I’m afraid your room got quite a going-over. We’ll be needing some new floorboards there—’
‘Then I must refund you for those,’ interrupted Quine. ‘And any other damage.’
‘Mr Q, don’t even think of it!’
‘We’ll see about that. You’re a wonder, Mrs T. I’m so grateful to you and very much hope to see you again very soon.’
Two hundred and seventy miles away, Mrs Trelight, bursting with pride, returned to her house and paid another visit to the freezer chest. She lifted the lid, pushed several items to one side and pulled out a package from the bottom. On the freezer bag, written in heavy blue ink, were the words ‘PORK BELLY’. Within were several layers of wrapping – waterproof plastic, bubble wrap, white masking tape and more waterproof plastic. At the heart lay six brown files. She put the pack back at the bottom and above them a large frozen package marked ‘PIG, SHOULDER, LEG, CHOPS, KIDNEYS’. Above that she placed further small packs of frozen produce. The burglar had not even opened the freezer lid.
She must keep those chops for when Mr Q was next passing by.
Sandford arrived home at 11 p.m., having hosted a Number 10 dinner for the American ambassador, most of which he spent listening to the ambassador’s wife. It had been tedious but not arduous, allowing his thoughts to wander. These days they only seemed to land in unpleasant destinations.
In his box was his bedtime reading, including a transcript of the day’s Treasury intercepts. He had argued with the Cabinet Secretary over access to the raw intelligence, finally resorting to history.
‘It has always been the prerogative of a Prime Minister to call for this, Kevin. You may remember the precedent established by Winston Churchill. Particularly with regard to Ultra.’
‘Yes, Prime Minister.’
‘I am capable of understanding and interpreting this material in the case of Jed Fowkes. I’ve known him a lot longer than anyone around here.’
‘Yes, Prime Minister,’ conceded the normally genial Sir Kevin Long.
As it turned out, rather than anything said by Fowkes, he was most drawn to Margaret Lascelles’s remark about him.
ML:It has reminded him of what he entered politics to achieve. That we weren’t doing this just to compromise once we had power.
Well, she was never going to survive his next reshuffle anyway. As f
or Jed, his ambition was frightening. His plot seemed to be unfolding smoothly, scene by scene, whereas he still had no clear resolution in sight.
Five days, excluding the weekend, to the Royal Speech. He had ordered all previous drafts to be excised, citing the death of Morland-Cross as his reason. He recalled Quine’s words about ‘endplay’. Was the speech part of it? Or just a step in the plan? He calculated the timing. Back him against a tight deadline or allow him leeway? It had to be now. Let’s see what you’ve got, Jed.
It was just after midnight. He went into the bedroom and collapsed on his side of the bed, looking briefly at Carol. There was no acknowledgement or response. Silence filled the room. She turned a page of her book; he always asked her what she was reading. Not tonight.
‘We have to move on, Carol,’ he finally said. Her eyes stayed glued to the page. ‘I’m sorry for my part in the argument we had. That wasn’t the real us.’
‘Your part?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re saying I had a part in it?’
‘It’s a private email.’
‘Which I set up for you.’
‘I said before. I’m grateful to you.’
‘I felt you were threatening me.’
‘I didn’t mean to.’
‘So that’s all right then. You didn’t mean to.’
He breathed deeply, went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
46
Quine rang the bell of a handsome block of mansion flats just by Westminster’s Roman Catholic cathedral. The door buzzed. He entered and gave his name and that of Sir David Vaughn. The porter phoned an internal number, received approval and directed him to the lift.
Vaughn, a career MI5 officer who had retired as Director-General in 2007, was notoriously discreet. Quine knew of several journalists who had asked for off-the-record meetings, both during and after his tenure, and been rebuffed, some more courteously than others. One, the Guardian security correspondent, presumably not of the right sort, had managed to distract the porter and ride the elevator to the sixth floor to ring the bell of the flat itself. He had returned to his office a nervous wreck with a clearer understanding of the menace a former spymaster could convey.
A Time to Lie Page 25
